As we move into this new year together, I find myself wanting to reflect with you on the importance of openness — openness to God, to one another, and to the gentle promptings of the Holy Spirit in our everyday lives.
Around us the world feels deeply unsettled. Conflict and violence continue to scar many parts of our world. Political uncertainty, economic pressures, environmental concerns and growing social division weigh heavily on hearts and minds. Alongside these wider anxieties are the personal challenges so many carry quietly — grief, exhaustion, illness, loneliness, and fear for the future. It is not always easy to listen for God’s voice amid so much noise.
Yet we do not walk this road alone. As Church we understand ourselves as a family of faith — diverse, imperfect, and deeply loved — journeying together in hope. Saint Paul reminds us, “If one member suffers, all suffer together; if one member is honoured, all rejoice together” (1 Corinthians 12:26). In our shared life, we carry one another, especially when the way feels hard.
Over recent months I have been on sabbatical, a time which has only just come to an end. It was a gift of space — breathing space — a chance to step back from the usual pace of ministry and inhabit time differently. There was time to reconnect with friends and relatives, and with former colleagues, listening again to one another’s stories. There was space for reading, writing, reflecting and praying — not driven by urgency, but shaped instead by attentiveness.
During that time I was reminded how deeply we long for peace, and how rarely we allow ourselves to receive it.
One moment in particular has stayed with me. While visiting the Sistine Chapel — a place shaped over centuries by prayer and discernment — I found myself in what might be called holy bustle. Thousands of tourists and pilgrims passed through. Announcements repeatedly asked for silence; reminders were given not to take photographs or videos. The space felt full and overwhelming.
And yet, sitting beside me was a young woman holding a tiny baby, fast asleep in her arms — utterly at peace in the midst of it all. That tender moment stayed with me. It reminded me of Jesus’ extraordinary ability to find, create and bring peace — not by removing the noise, but by dwelling calmly within it. “Peace I leave with you; my peace I give to you,” he says — “Do not let your hearts be troubled, and do not let them be afraid” (John 14:27).
So often we imagine peace as something that will come once life settles down. But the peace Christ offers is different. It is not the absence of difficulty, but the presence of God within it.
Times of rest and reflection help us remember this. They remind us that our lives are not sustained by effort alone. When we make space, we learn again to trust — trusting that God continues to hold the Church, our communities, and our own lives, even when we loosen our grip.
When we make space, we become more attentive. And it is often through attentiveness that the Holy Spirit speaks.
The Spirit rarely shouts. More often, the Spirit nudges — through a conversation that lingers, a scripture that will not let us go, a moment of stillness, or a quiet sense that something new is being asked of us. As the psalmist writes, “Be still, and know that I am God” (Psalm 46:10).
My prayer for this year is that we might continue our journey together with eyes and ears open — attentive to God’s presence even amid uncertainty — trusting that Christ walks with us, and continues to bring peace in the midst of holy bustle.