Let Us Rise
Happy Easter Sunday to you.
For Christians around the world, Easter marks the end of Lent, which is a season of reflection, sacrifice, and preparation. But more importantly, it’s the day when Catholics and Christians remember that Jesus rose from the dead.
At its heart, Easter is a story of renewal. A reminder that even after darkness, doubt, and suffering, something new can emerge. I love that.
It’s also a day about rising. Those of you who read The Sunday Paper each week know that our masthead calls on us to rise above the noise and move humanity forward. So, this season in particular, I’ve been thinking a lot about that word: rise.
In many ways, that one word captures the spirit of what we try to do here every week. But as easy as that is to say, what does it actually mean in our daily lives? What does it mean to rise when the world feels heavy, divided, or overwhelming, like it does right now? What does it mean to rise when the noise of our culture—the anger, the fear, the constant chatter—threatens to drown out our better instincts?
I’ve recently started asking myself what rising really looks like in practical terms. Here’s how I think it has quietly guided what we try to do here at The Sunday Paper every week.
R — Report. We report stories that matter. Stories of courage, compassion, and truth that might otherwise get lost in the noise.
I — Inspire. We bring together voices, insights, and experiences that remind us what’s possible in the human spirit.
S — Share. We share stories and ideas that help us see one another more clearly. When you pass them on, you help more people rise.
E — Empower. We try to empower each other to live with greater purpose, kindness, and courage in our own lives.
In this week’s Sunday Paper, we looked for people who rise. First, we asked Lisa Ling to interview USC's Dean of Religious Life Varun Soni, who shares the remarkable spiritual inspiration he's witnessing in today's younger generations. And we introduce you to a group of “grandfluencers” who are rising in their own powerful way—fighting vaccine hesitancy by reminding us of a time without them.
I’ll be honest with you. I find myself needing the word RISE right now just as much as anyone. I want to rise in my life for myself as well as for my children and my grandchildren. I want to rise for my friends in their moments of fear and sadness and success. I want to rise in my work to make it matter and count. And I want to rise for my country. I want to stay present and vocal when I see things I cannot accept in silence. I want to rise in opposition to injustice, both in this country and in this world. I want to rise in love, in compassion, and in understanding. Like so many of you, I want to be a light in the darkness.
That said, I know rising isn’t always easy or free. For millions of people living paycheck to paycheck, rising can cost you your job, your social circle, and even your sense of safety. That fear is real, and I don’t dismiss it.
But I’ve also been thinking about another cost, one we don’t talk about as much. The cost of staying asleep. The cost of inertia. The cost of apathy. Because that also costs us. Quietly. Slowly. It seeps into our lives and into our culture, and by the time we feel it, it can be very hard to reverse.
Those are the feelings and desires I’m carrying into this Easter Sunday. And I suspect many of you are carrying something similar.
The more I’ve thought about the word rise, the more I’ve realized that it happens in quiet moments all around us. When you feel loved, you rise. When you offer love to someone else, they rise. When you take a moment to notice another person and call out the good you see in them, something in them rises. When you acknowledge something your child has done—an act of kindness or courage—you can see them rise right before your eyes.
We lift one another this way every day, often without even realizing it.
But life also has another way of calling us to rise. It knocks us down along the way. Parents die. Friends do too. In fact, on Holy Wednesday, I went to visit with my pastor because our mutual friend Sister Edith had passed away that morning.
Sister Edith taught my kids confirmation. She was born in Ireland and had been a nun her entire adult life. She was a force of nature and change in the Los Angeles Diocese. But most importantly, she was my pastor’s best friend, so I wanted to go and check in on him and his heart.
It’s really so hard to lose a best friend, especially one who has been there for you in decades. Someone who shares your ministry. Someone who understands the dark nights of the soul and the light of a new day. My heart went out to my pastor who serves our community day in and out, and who asks us each to rise in our own way every day.
That’s what someone who ministers does. They walk beside you. They encourage you. They listen and remind you to rise.
When I went to say goodnight, he said, “Maria, I’m on the edge of eternity now, and you know what? The view is pretty good.”
I went to my car and wept. Truth be told, we are all on the edge of eternity. Moments like these can bring you to your knees. And yet, in their own difficult way, they also ask something of you. They ask you to rise to meet a new, stronger version of yourself.
In that sense, life itself is a constant invitation. A constant beckoning. A quiet call to rise.
Easter reminds us that rising is not just something that happened once long ago. It is something we are called to do again and again in our own lives.
So today, whether you celebrate Easter in a church, around a family table, or simply in your heart, I invite you to think about what it might mean for you to rise this week. Rise above the noise that divides us. Rise above the fear that tells us nothing can change. Rise above the cynicism that can slowly harden our hearts. Rise by seeking truth. Rise by lifting others. Rise by sharing wisdom and kindness wherever you can. And rise by remembering that renewal is always possible in our lives, in our communities, and in our world.
Easter reminds us that even after the darkest night, something new can emerge.
Wherever you are today, and whatever burdens you may be carrying, may you feel the quiet promise of this day. A promise that hope is never lost. That new life can break through. And that each of us, in our own small but meaningful ways, can rise. And when enough of us do, together we will rise above the noise and help move humanity forward.
My friends, let us rise.
And if this resonated with you, please share it with someone who needs to rise this week. This is how we move ourselves and humanity forward, one person at a time.
P.S. Here is my Easter gift to you: A RISE card to share, to reflect on, and to remind you what you need to do in life and how you can help others. It’s simple, profound, and impactful. I would love it if you would share your own acronym for RISE and what it means to you in the comments.
Prayer of the Week
Dear God,
Help us to rise with courage, lead with love, and trust that even in the quietest moments, you are making something new within us.
Amen.
Also in this week’s issue:
• The “Remarkable and Unexpected” Spiritual Inspiration From Today’s Younger Generations
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