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Good morning!

Ever since I visited as a penniless student, I have always loved the Italian city of Naples – with menacing Mount Vesuvius in the bay.

In the shadow of that same volcano, the bustling Roman city of Pompeii thrived — markets rang with voices, frescoed homes glowed with colour, families shared meals, and children played in sunlit streets.

Life felt eternal, predictable, secure.

The mountain loomed quietly, its slopes green with vines, mistaken for a gentle guardian rather than a sleeping force.

Then, without warning, the earth roared. Ash rained for hours, pyroclastic surges raced down, and thousands perished.

Homes, temples, dreams — all buried under meters of debris.

Yet in that sudden end, Pompeii was preserved: loaves in ovens, graffiti on walls, bodies frozen in final gestures of terror or embrace.

The casts of victims remain haunting testaments to fragility.

Today, nearly two millennia later, Pompeii whispers a timeless truth: our world is not as permanent as we assume. We wake to routines — coffee brewing, loved ones nearby, plans stretching into tomorrow — taking them as given.

But disasters, whether volcanic, pandemic, or personal, remind us how swiftly the ordinary can vanish.

Climate shifts, unforeseen crises, or quiet health turns can erase everything that we cherish in an instant.

When I look at Vesuvius, I think of gratitude for my own life: the warmth of a hand, the sound of laughter, the simple safety of home, the breath in our lungs.

Pompeii speaks of humility before nature’s power and the preciousness of now.

So, today I pray in thanksgiving for the fragile beauty of this day. Guard our hearts against taking love, life, and peace for granted. Amen.

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