While it was still dark

John 20:1–10 as a spiritual compass for the change of era

Following is the president’s message of Archbishop Charles Jason Gordon at the opening of the Annual Plenary Meeting (May 11–16) of the Antilles Episcopal Conference in Jamaica.

My brothers in Christ,

“Early on the first day of the week, while it was still dark, Mary Magdalene came to the tomb…” (Jn 20:1)

We begin our reflection in the dark—not only because the times we live in are overshadowed by global economic uncertainty and social and economic distress, but because the gospel itself leads us to that place of uncertainty where faith must rise. Like Mary Magdalene in the garden, the Caribbean Church stands at the edge of loss, surrounded by signs of global and regional crisis, and yet drawn toward a mystery we cannot yet fully comprehend.

This is the spirit in which we must approach our time: not as an era of change, but a change of era. This signals a profound shift in the rhythms and rules of our global, regional, and ecclesial life.

The tomb is empty. The old world—with its certainties, its systems, its securities—has passed. A new reality has dawned, and we, like Peter and John, are called to run toward it, to enter in, to see, and to believe—even while it is still dark.

And yet, it is precisely in such moments that the Church is called to deepen its listening, strengthen its witness, and become again the servant and sacrament of hope.

Discerning the change of era: approaching the tomb

The economic and social shift is not an abstract theory but a daily struggle. Our region is marked by profound dislocation. Across the Caribbean, 28 per cent of households experience food insecurity. Unemployment among our youth exceeds 18 per cent.

The region’s external debt averages over 82 per cent of GDP. In education, only 4.9 per cent of our Caribbean Secondary students passed five or more subjects in 2024. Just 36 per cent passed mathematics.

Behind each percentage point lies a face—a mother skipping meals, a graduate without work, a child robbed of a future. These signs of the times cry out for a discerning and unified response from the Church.

These numbers are like grave clothes—signs of death, of systems that no longer serve life. But just as Peter and John saw the linen wrappings folded in the tomb, we too must learn to interpret what these signs reveal: not only loss, but transition; not only disruption, but invitation.

The old economic models—built on deregulation, privatisation, and profit without ethics—are failing. But something new is stirring. The global shift back toward regulatory systems, focused on the common good, presents a kairos moment for the Caribbean.

It is time to reimagine how we walk with our people—especially the poor—in a way that is spiritually anchored and socially responsive. This historical realignment is more than political or economic; it is spiritual. God is drawing humanity back toward communion, justice, and care for the least.

Transforming statistics into stories of hope: seeing and believing

John tells us that Peter entered the tomb first, but it was the beloved disciple who “saw and believed.” To see differently—to read the signs of the times through the eyes of faith—is the task of pastoral leadership.

We are called not only to analyse statistics, but to transform them into stories of hope. Behind every percentage is a face; behind every policy failure, a wounded child of God.

In every community where the Church responds with food, education, accompaniment, or advocacy, we are writing a new Gospel for our region. Just as Mary Magdalene’s encounter turned mourning into mission, so too our encounter with the poor can become the site of resurrection hope.

Cardinal (Luis Antonio) Tagle has reminded us: hope is not optimism. It is the quiet, stubborn conviction that even where death seems to reign, God is at work. In this way, our parishes, schools, and diocesan ministries must become places where the folded grave clothes are noticed—places where we proclaim not only the hardship, but the hidden grace.

Becoming centres of hope: running together

Peter and the beloved disciple ran together toward the tomb. Each brought their own pace, their own response. Yet they ran toward the same mystery, and they arrived in communion.

So must we, as bishops across the English, French, and Dutch Caribbean, run together—forging unified and practical pathways for our people. Though we speak different languages and shepherd distinct contexts, we share the same mission: to make our local Churches centres of hope.

This calls us to:

• Create regional strategies for food security, youth employment, and sustainable development;
• Reimagine Catholic education as our most valuable gift to the region, shaping both the integral development and faith formation of our young;
• Develop shared formation programmes in Catholic Social Teaching and integral human development;
• Collaborate on communication platforms to tell our stories and witness together;
• Strengthen inter-diocesan solidarity, especially for smaller or more vulnerable communities.

The tomb is empty—not only in Jerusalem, but in our own paradigms. This is not about standardisation, but about solidarity—the kind that builds capacity across borders, languages, and cultures. Our unity can become a signpost for regional renewal.

Synodality: a new way of seeing

Synodality is the Church’s way of entering the tomb. It is a journey of listening, of mutual discernment, of shared tears and shared faith. In a time when centralised solutions have failed and technocratic fixes have fallen short, synodality invites us to walk humbly and courageously with our people, trusting that the Spirit speaks in the margins as well as the centre.

As Caribbean bishops, we are being called to model this synodal conversion:

• To listen to the cries of the poor as the voice of the Spirit;
• To engage men, women, youth, and the marginalised as co-protagonists in mission;
• To read the signs of the times not with fear, but with faith.

Synodality is how we move from institutional survival to missionary creativity. It is how we renew our pastoral imagination and re-root ourselves in the gospel.

Like Mary Magdalene, the apostle to the apostles, many of our faithful—especially women, young people, the men on the fringes and the marginalised—are already standing near the tomb, weeping and waiting.

The question is not whether the risen Lord will speak. The question is whether we will hear Him call us by name, and whether we will allow those on the periphery to lead us toward new life.

Synodality is not a process we manage. It is a conversion we undergo.

Conclusion: while it is still dark

“Early in the morning, while it was still dark…” The Gospel is honest about the darkness—but it is more insistent about the light.

We live in a change of era. But we are not without guidance. The grave clothes are folded. The stone is rolled away. The dawn has begun.

My brothers, let us not linger in fear. Let us run toward the future together—carrying not only the wounds of our people, but the promise of the Resurrection.

Let us lead not with anxiety but with vision. Not with nostalgia but with prophetic courage. And not in isolation but as a regional communion of pastors—walking with our people, listening to the Spirit, and proclaiming together that God’s love is the strongest force for change and for community development.

The change in the global economy has given us new rules—rules now in our favour. These are the same conditions that brought us to independence and the emergence of a local Church. The wind is now at our back.

Let us make our dioceses and our Episcopal Conference a field hospital of mercy, a school of discipleship, and a beacon of hope.

Let us enter this change of era, not with anxiety, but with apostolic hope.

The tomb is empty.

The Lord is risen.

And we are being sent.

Thank you.