How a 2nd-Century Saint Taught Me to Pray for Internet Trolls (and Everyone Else)

A simple daily ritual to soften your heart in a world addicted to outrage.

Holy men need caffeine too.

There’s this story from early Christianity that’s been sitting with me lately like a quiet ember that refuses to go out.

Polycarp was a Christian leader in the 2nd century—think less megachurch pastor, more barefoot elder who smelled like olive oil and holy defiance. When Roman soldiers came to arrest him, he didn’t hide behind a legal team or flee through the back entrance of the catacombs.

He greeted them.

Offered them a meal.

And then, while they ate, he asked for two hours to pray.

Not to bargain with God. Not to curse the empire. Not even to escape.

He just… prayed for everyone he had ever known.

Friends. Enemies. Betrayers. Strangers he barely remembered. People he hadn’t seen in decades. Possibly even the guy who stole his sandals in 96 AD.

That image gripped me—not because it was dramatic, but because it wasn’t. It wasn’t performative sainthood. It was deeply human. Quiet. Subversive in its gentleness.

So I started doing something similar. A modern riff on an ancient rhythm.

Every day, I pause.
I breathe.
And I pray—not for things, but to let go.

No agenda. No fix-it list. Just a simple blessing:

I wish them deepest well-being, happiness, and joy.

I say it for the people I love.
For the people I’ve let slip away.
For the people who ghosted me after one too many Jesus quotes.
And yes—for the trolls in the comment section who show up like caffeinated hornets, stinging before reading.

Here’s the kicker:
Some days it feels like nothing.
Other days, it feels like the most radical thing I do.

Because in a world engineered to reward outrage, choosing tenderness is a quiet rebellion.
It doesn’t mean letting people walk all over you.
It means refusing to carry their poison inside your own soul.

It’s not about sainthood. It’s about spiritual self-defense that doesn’t turn you into what you’re defending against.

So yeah, maybe I’m praying for you.
Maybe I’m praying for that guy who called me a heretic with a man bun.
Maybe I’m praying for the me from 10 years ago who thought he had to fix everyone.

But mostly, I’m praying because it feels good to be soft in a world trying to turn us all into sandpaper.

Give it a shot.

🧡 “Before I pray for others, I like to take few minutes remember the ones who prayed for me.”

If your soul battery’s running low, begin by receiving. Call to mind those who loved you into being—their presence is still a blessing.

👉 Read Meet the Sweater-Wearing Bodhisattva to charge up first.

No one’s going to arrest you for sending out a little peace.

(And if they do, at least offer them snacks.)

—Virgin Monk Boy

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(Yes, you can literally buy me a coffee. Enlightenment isn’t free, darling.)

Holy men need caffeine too.