Silence, the Pope, and Broiled Fish

I have not been here in this way in a while. I apologize for my silence.

Still, “When words are many, sin is not absent, but he who holds his tongue is wise.” Proverbs 10:19

That’s the simple reason for my recent silence in these blogging spaces.

You don’t have to be a writer and speaker for your days to be filled with words in our times. Talking heads abound.

On any given morning, the moment I switch off my phone alarm, the temptation begins to check notifications. There, I’m sure to find breaking news from several media outlets I follow, right beside the days’ weather and one or two emails encouraging Christian outrage at one transgression or another.

I have thoughts. I have opinions. I consider writing but seriously, don’t we all need a giant pause where the only sound we hear is water lapping and birds calling from the trees?

Notifications beckon but my commitment is God’s Word first. One verse, at least, in my thoughts before the bombardment begins. Hopefully, more. And a prayer. There’s an area rug beside my bed that reminds me when I plant my feet to pray. “Lord, I am yours and You are everything. Thank you for life, breath, a new day, and especially Jesus. I surrender my soul to Your Holy Spirit and ask for Your eyes, Your ears, Your heart, Amen.”

Doesn’t always look as beautiful as I write it to be (although, more days than not now, it does). Better to begin the day in the silence of my mind filled with His promises than the opinions of others paid to incite indignation and fear.

Today, the death of the Pope was everywhere. That broke into my thinking with all the sorts of conflicting thoughts a faithful Protestant might have at the passing of the Catholic pope. I didn’t know or follow Jorge Mario Bergoglio, but I thought, what a lovely day for a believer to go home.

My heart was full this Easter. I was home with people who love me as one of them. The music we sang was familiar and true. Our humble pastor spoke truth brilliantly so I remembered Jesus and I learned. There was hot coffee and simple food. The sunrise and the morning services were full of the powerful truth that Jesus rose from the dead.

Jesus. Rose. From the dead. Historical fact.

He lives. He has triumphed—triumphed, the Spirit reminded my muddy soul—over sin, over death, over hatred, over evil, over all. Because He lives, I can face tomorrow.

Because He lives, anyone under the salvation and Lordship of Jesus Christ, if they departed this outpost of glory today is enjoying the radiance of eternal life even now.

Us, we’re still caught in the tension of the glory here but yet to come and the muck of our own grounded lives.

So, I’ve been speaking to women at retreats around the U.S. and reveling in seeing God work through His Word in their lives.

And as my soul fed on their stories, transformations, healings, encouragements, and conversions, my body gained weight on the lovely (and abundant) food, my head recovered from a concussion caused by a collision with the lid of my trunk at the airport, my voice held up despite an extended illness just prior to the events that gifted me with laryngitis, and I survived all the joys and challenges of air travel and long miles alone on the road.

The tension of the glory here, and yet to come.

It’s speaking season and it’s not done yet. A few more commitments before I settle back to life at home.

Speaking is a marvelous, messy mystery where the murk of my humanity (like the need to shower and sleep, the inevitability of my struggle with vanity and insecurity, and the terrifying prospect of standing before complete strangers who may or may not receive what I have to offer) merges with the miracle of the Holy Spirit at work in our midst because when two or three gather in His name, there He is.

Between these mountain-tops, there’s that landing home full of laundry, bill-paying, birthday-gift shopping and celebrations, catching up with family and friends and clients and assignments, dinners to be cooked, scales to be faced, prayers to be prayed and more words to be written.

I’m working on a new project. One that’s so precious and that I’m so eager to share but first, I need to be sure I’m hearing from God and not just my own enthusiasm. I tend to run off with a headline and forget to read the fine print and so, I wait.

In the midst of all these words, I had none for here. Occasionally, I felt guilty but here’s what I know about you, my readers, my friends. You’re not interested in words thrown here because it’s “that time.” Your time is full, too. Why waste it with a duty post?

And I was with some of you face-to-face.

I relish that. I adore the opportunity to dialog. To listen to your hearts. To know more of you and minister with hugs, unhurried conversations, and yes, food.

But I missed meeting you here, too. Still, I haven’t much to say. A long list of wordy assignments awaits me today along with packing once again to see God work.

One thought struck me yesterday as my pastor preached.

In Luke 24:36-49, Jesus was patiently assuring His follower that yes, indeed, although He was dead, He is now alive. Even after He showed them His hands and feet, they still “disbelieved for joy and marveling,” (v 41).

Then, “he said to them, ‘Have you anything to eat?’ And they gave him a piece of broiled fish, and he took it and ate before them.” (vs 41-43).

By this, they saw Jesus was alive—He ate. A piece of fish here. Also, He shared a meal with those on the road to Emmaus. He cooked fish for Peter and the others on the beach.

With all my struggles with food, suddenly I remembered that I eat because I live. Life is a gift. Life is beautiful. Jesus ate to show He lives.

And we will eat again with Him in the Kingdom.

Our relationship with Him and with food will be right and it will be an eternity where all that was wrong is reversed so that going forward, our eternity is as He envisioned us to be.

Plan to join Him there, loved ones. There’s a seat at His table for you.

O glorious day. I would love to return home on the day after celebrating His resurrection with the Body of Christ. If I do, be sad for my loss but rejoice that I am home and have found my seat at His table.

Jesus said in Revelation 3:20, “Behold, I stand at the door and knock. If anyone hears my voice and opens the door, I will come in to him and eat with him, and he with me.”

**I’d love to come speak at your women’s event and visit with you face-to-face! Planning something or want help planning? Email me at lorisroel@gmail.com. Let’s chat (and share a meal).

Silence, the Pope, and Broiled Fish https://t.co/iq3b2q9MMC #PopeFrancis #JesusLives

— Lori Roeleveld (@lorisroeleveld) April 21, 2025