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Reflection: God’s Light in Our Hands (29th Jan, 2026, Year A)

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Readings

2 Samuel 7.18–19, 24–end – Then King David went in and sat before the Lord, and said, ‘Who am I, O Lord God, and what is my house, that you have brought me thus far? And yet this was a small thing in your eyes, O Lord God; you have spoken also of your servant’s house for a great while to come. May this be instruction for the people, O Lord God! And you established your people Israel for yourself to be your people for ever; and you, O Lord, became their God. And now, O Lord God, as for the word that you have spoken concerning your servant and concerning his house, confirm it for ever; do as you have promised. Thus your name will be magnified for ever in the saying, “The Lord of hosts is God over Israel”; and the house of your servant David will be established before you. For you, O Lord of hosts, the God of Israel, have made this revelation to your servant, saying, “I will build you a house”; therefore your servant has found courage to pray this prayer to you. And now, O Lord God, you are God, and your words are true, and you have promised this good thing to your servant; now therefore may it please you to bless the house of your servant, so that it may continue for ever before you; for you, O Lord God, have spoken, and with your blessing shall the house of your servant be blessed for ever.’

Mark 4.21–25 – He said to them, ‘Is a lamp brought in to be put under the bushel basket, or under the bed, and not on the lampstand? For there is nothing hidden, except to be disclosed; nor is anything secret, except to come to light. Let anyone with ears to hear listen!’ And he said to them, ‘Pay attention to what you hear; the measure you give will be the measure you get, and still more will be given you. For to those who have, more will be given; and from those who have nothing, even what they have will be taken away.’

Reflection

In our reading from 2 Samuel, we hear King David responding to God’s promise with humility and wonder. Having been told that God will establish his house and his kingdom, David does not rush to claim honour or status. Instead, he sits before the Lord and asks a striking question: “Who am I, O Lord God, and what is my house, that you have brought me thus far?”

David recognises that God’s generosity goes far beyond anything he could have expected or deserved. What God has promised is not simply for David’s own benefit, but for the sake of God’s people and for generations yet to come. David’s response is grounded in gratitude, awe, and trust. He acknowledges that it is God who has made Israel God’s own people forever, and that it is God’s name, not David’s, that will be made great.

There is a deep sense here that faith begins with receiving rather than achieving. David does not build God a house; instead, God promises to establish David’s house. God is the initiator, the giver of light and life, and David’s calling is to live in response to that grace.

That posture of response carries us into the Gospel reading from Mark. Jesus speaks in images that are simple yet unsettling. A lamp, he says, is not brought in to be hidden under a bowl or a bed, but to be put on a lampstand so that it gives light. Light, by its very nature, is meant to be seen. And faith, by its nature, is not meant to be hoarded or concealed.

Yet Jesus also adds a note of warning and challenge: “Pay attention to what you hear.” The measure we use will be the measure we receive, and more besides. This is not about earning God’s favour, but about how we respond to what God has already given us. Light that is welcomed and shared grows brighter; light that is ignored or hidden begins to fade.

When we place these readings alongside one another, a pattern emerges. David receives God’s promise with humility and thanksgiving, recognising that it is God’s work from beginning to end. Jesus invites his hearers to receive God’s word with attentiveness and courage, allowing it to shine outwards rather than remain private or hidden.

For us today, this raises searching questions. Do we, like David, recognise our lives as gifts shaped by God’s grace? Are we attentive to what we hear from God, or do we allow familiarity to dull our listening? And when God’s light is placed in our hands, do we try to keep it safe and contained, or do we allow it to be seen in the way we live?

In the life of faith, God does not ask us to manufacture the light. The lamp is already given. Our calling is to place it where it can do what it was always meant to do: illuminate, guide, and give hope. As God established David’s people in love and faithfulness, so God continues to work through ordinary lives, attentive hearts, and quiet acts of faithfulness.

May we, like David, sit before the Lord in humility and trust, and may we, like the lamp on its stand, allow the light of Christ to be seen—so that God’s name, and not our own, is made great.

Amen.

Reflection: Words of Grace (28th Jan, 2026, Year A)

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Readings

2 Samuel 7.4–17 – But that same night the word of the Lord came to Nathan: Go and tell my servant David: Thus says the Lord: Are you the one to build me a house to live in? I have not lived in a house since the day I brought up the people of Israel from Egypt to this day, but I have been moving about in a tent and a tabernacle. Wherever I have moved about among all the people of Israel, did I ever speak a word with any of the tribal leaders of Israel, whom I commanded to shepherd my people Israel, saying, ‘Why have you not built me a house of cedar?’ Now therefore thus you shall say to my servant David: Thus says the Lord of hosts: I took you from the pasture, from following the sheep to be prince over my people Israel; and I have been with you wherever you went, and have cut off all your enemies from before you; and I will make for you a great name, like the name of the great ones of the earth. And I will appoint a place for my people Israel and will plant them, so that they may live in their own place, and be disturbed no more; and evildoers shall afflict them no more, as formerly, from the time that I appointed judges over my people Israel; and I will give you rest from all your enemies. Moreover, the Lord declares to you that the Lord will make you a house. When your days are fulfilled and you lie down with your ancestors, I will raise up your offspring after you, who shall come forth from your body, and I will establish his kingdom. He shall build a house for my name, and I will establish the throne of his kingdom for ever. I will be a father to him, and he shall be a son to me. When he commits iniquity, I will punish him with a rod such as mortals use, with blows inflicted by human beings. But I will not take my steadfast love from him, as I took it from Saul, whom I put away from before you. Your house and your kingdom shall be made sure for ever before me; your throne shall be established for ever. In accordance with all these words and with all this vision, Nathan spoke to David.

Mark 4.1–20 – Again he began to teach beside the lake. Such a very large crowd gathered around him that he got into a boat on the lake and sat there, while the whole crowd was beside the lake on the land. He began to teach them many things in parables, and in his teaching he said to them: ‘Listen! A sower went out to sow. And as he sowed, some seed fell on the path, and the birds came and ate it up. Other seed fell on rocky ground, where it did not have much soil, and it sprang up quickly, since it had no depth of soil. And when the sun rose, it was scorched; and since it had no root, it withered away. Other seed fell among thorns, and the thorns grew up and choked it, and it yielded no grain. Other seed fell into good soil and brought forth grain, growing up and increasing and yielding thirty and sixty and a hundredfold.’ And he said, ‘Let anyone with ears to hear listen!’ When he was alone, those who were around him along with the twelve asked him about the parables. And he said to them, ‘To you has been given the secret of the kingdom of God, but for those outside, everything comes in parables; in order that “they may indeed look, but not perceive, and may indeed listen, but not understand; so that they may not turn again and be forgiven.” ’ And he said to them, ‘Do you not understand this parable? Then how will you understand all the parables? The sower sows the word. These are the ones on the path where the word is sown: when they hear, Satan immediately comes and takes away the word that is sown in them. And these are the ones sown on rocky ground: when they hear the word, they immediately receive it with joy. But they have no root, and endure only for a while; then, when trouble or persecution arises on account of the word, immediately they fall away.And others are those sown among the thorns: these are the ones who hear the word, but the cares of the world, and the lure of wealth, and the desire for other things come in and choke the word, and it yields nothing. And these are the ones sown on the good soil: they hear the word and accept it and bear fruit, thirty and sixty and a hundredfold.’

Reflection

In our two readings this morning we hear about God’s word being spoken — and about how that word is received.

In the reading from 2 Samuel, King David has settled into his palace. Life feels secure. Looking around, David realises something feels wrong: he lives in comfort, while the ark of God still rests in a tent. David’s instinct is a good one. He wants to do something for God. He wants to build a house for the Lord.

At first, the prophet Nathan affirms him. But then God speaks again — and gently turns the whole idea on its head. God does not ask David to build him a house. Instead, God promises to build David a house — not of stone and cedar, but a living house: a dynasty, a future, a people held within God’s faithfulness.

It is a striking moment. David’s plans are not wrong, but they are not the point. God reminds David that it has always been God who acts first: I took you from the pasture… I have been with you wherever you went… I will make for you a great name. God’s purposes do not depend on human effort or impressive structures, but on God’s own gracious initiative.

That theme carries through into the Gospel reading.

Jesus sits beside the lake and tells a story about a sower scattering seed. The seed is generously sown, almost wastefully so. It falls on all kinds of ground: the path, rocky places, among thorns, and finally on good soil. The focus of the parable is not really on the skill of the sower, or even on the seed itself — but on the soil that receives it.

Jesus explains that the seed is the word of God. The same word is offered to all, but it is received in very different ways. Some hear it and it barely touches them before it is lost. Others receive it gladly, but it never puts down roots. Some allow it to grow, but other things — worry, wealth, distraction — slowly choke it. And then there are those who hear the word, hold onto it, and allow it to bear fruit.

When we hear these words in church, it is tempting to place ourselves immediately in the category of “good soil”. But Jesus tells this parable not to reassure us, but to invite us to honesty. What kind of soil are we today?

Like David, we may come to God with good intentions. We may want to do the right things, to build something worthwhile, to be faithful. But both readings remind us that faith is not first about what we do for God, but about how open we are to what God is doing in us.

The promise to David is not built by David’s effort; it is received by trust. The harvest in Jesus’ parable does not come from frantic activity, but from soil that is deep, open, and receptive.

In a Church of England context — with our long traditions, our beautiful buildings, our busy diaries — this is an important word. God does not reject our plans or our structures, but neither are they the heart of the matter. What matters is whether God’s word is finding room to take root in us: in our worship, in our common life, and in the quiet, unseen places of our hearts.

So this morning’s question is a gentle one. Where might the soil of our lives have become compacted, shallow, or crowded? And where might God be patiently at work, preparing deeper ground?

The good news, in both readings, is that God is faithful. God continues to speak. God continues to sow. And God delights to bring growth — not by our strength, but by grace.

May we be given ears to hear, hearts ready to receive, and lives in which God’s promise can truly take root and bear fruit for our community.

Amen.

Sermon: Light Dawning, Kingdom Near (Sun 25th Jan, 2026, Year A)

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Readings

Isaiah 9.1–4 – But there will be no gloom for those who were in anguish. In the former time he brought into contempt the land of Zebulun and the land of Naphtali, but in the latter time he will make glorious the way of the sea, the land beyond the Jordan, Galilee of the nations. The people who walked in darkness have seen a great light; those who lived in a land of deep darkness — on them light has shined. You have multiplied the nation, you have increased its joy; they rejoice before you as with joy at the harvest, as people exult when dividing plunder. For the yoke of their burden, and the bar across their shoulders, the rod of their oppressor, you have broken as on the day of Midian.

Matthew 4.12–23 – Now when Jesus heard that John had been arrested, he withdrew to Galilee. He left Nazareth and made his home in Capernaum by the lake, in the territory of Zebulun and Naphtali, so that what had been spoken through the prophet Isaiah might be fulfilled: ‘Land of Zebulun, land of Naphtali, on the road by the sea, across the Jordan, Galilee of the Gentiles — the people who sat in darkness have seen a great light, and for those who sat in the region and shadow of death light has dawned.’
From that time Jesus began to proclaim, ‘Repent, for the kingdom of heaven has come near.’ As he walked by the Sea of Galilee, he saw two brothers, Simon, who is called Peter, and Andrew his brother, casting a net into the lake—for they were fishermen. And he said to them, ‘Follow me, and I will make you fish for people.’ Immediately they left their nets and followed him. As he went from there, he saw two other brothers, James son of Zebedee and his brother John, in the boat with their father Zebedee, mending their nets, and he called them. Immediately they left the boat and their father, and followed him. Jesus went throughout Galilee, teaching in their synagogues and proclaiming the good news of the kingdom and curing every disease and every sickness among the people.

Sermon

The season of Epiphany is all about light. It is about God making himself known — not hidden away, not distant, but revealed, shining out into the world as it really is. Each week of Epiphany we are invited to notice where that light falls, and what it shows us.

Today’s readings speak very clearly into that theme. Isaiah proclaims that “the people who walked in darkness have seen a great light.” And Matthew tells us that Jesus begins his public ministry in Galilee, fulfilling that ancient promise: light dawning in a place long associated with darkness, hardship, and neglect.

This is not accidental. God’s light does not first appear in the centres of power or prestige. It appears on the margins.

Isaiah is speaking to a people who know what darkness feels like. They are not imagining it. This is not poetic exaggeration. They have known invasion, loss, exile, and fear. They have walked in the shadow of death — not as a metaphor, but as lived reality. And it is precisely there that God promises light.

Notice what kind of light Isaiah describes. It is not just comfort for private sorrow. It is a light that changes reality. It brings joy like the joy of harvest. It breaks the yoke of oppression. It shatters the rod of the tyrant. This is not a gentle glow to help people cope — it is a light that transforms the world.

Hold that in mind as we turn to the gospel.

Matthew tells us that after John the Baptist is arrested, Jesus withdraws to Galilee and makes his home in Capernaum — “by the sea, in the territory of Zebulun and Naphtali” – quoting the prophet Isaiah. Matthew is careful, deliberate, almost scholarly here. He wants us to see that this is the fulfilment of Isaiah’s prophecy. But more than that, he wants us to understand what kind of Messiah Jesus is going to be.

Galilee was not the obvious place for the kingdom of God to begin. It was politically unstable, economically poor, religiously suspect in the eyes of the Jerusalem elite. If you wanted to launch a movement of spiritual renewal, Galilee would not have been top of the list. And yet — this is where Jesus begins.

The light dawns where people are tired, overlooked, and uncertain.

And what does Jesus say as he begins his ministry? Not a long explanation. Not a theological lecture. Just this: “Repent, for the kingdom of heaven has come near.”

That word “repent” can easily be misunderstood. It is not about self-loathing or fear. At heart, it means to turn — to change direction, to reorient your life because something new has arrived. Jesus is saying: God is closer than you think. Life can be different now. Turn towards it.

The kingdom of heaven is not something distant, postponed, or abstract. It has come near — near enough to touch, near enough to follow, near enough to change everything.

And immediately, Matthew gives us an example of what that looks like.

Jesus walks by the Sea of Galilee and calls Simon Peter and Andrew, James and John. Ordinary working people, busy with nets and boats and family responsibilities. And he says to them, “Follow me, and I will make you fish for people.”

And they do something extraordinary. They leave their nets. They leave their boats. James and John even leave their father. And they follow him.

Now, this is not meant to shame us. This is not a test of whether we could do the same tomorrow. It is a picture of what happens when light breaks into darkness — when the kingdom comes near enough to be recognised.

These men are not responding to an idea. They are responding to a person. They are drawn by the presence of Jesus himself. In him, they glimpse a different future, a different way of being human, a different ordering of priorities. And somehow, they know it is worth everything.

That same pattern continues as Jesus goes throughout Galilee: teaching, proclaiming the good news of the kingdom, and healing every disease and sickness among the people. Word and action together. Truth spoken, and compassion embodied. Light not only proclaimed, but lived.

This is Epiphany faith. Not faith that stays safely inside walls, but faith that steps into real places of pain, confusion, and need. Faith that speaks hope and also does something about it.

So what does all this mean for us, here, today?

First, it reminds us that God’s light still shines in dark places. Not just “out there” in the world’s great crises, but in the quieter, more personal shadows we carry with us. Grief, anxiety, loneliness, uncertainty about the future. Isaiah does not say the people stopped walking in darkness before they saw the light. The light came while they were still walking.

If you are walking in darkness today — unsure, weary, or afraid — the gospel reading today hopefully provides you with assurance that Christ has already come near.

Secondly, this passage invites us to ask what it means to follow Jesus where we are. Most of us are not being asked to leave fishing boats behind. But we are all asked to reorient our lives — to let go of what binds us and holds us back, and to trust that God’s kingdom is more real, more lasting, than the things we cling to for security.

Following Jesus is not about having everything figured out. Peter and Andrew certainly didn’t. It is about responding to the light we have been given and taking that next faithful step.

And finally, these readings remind us that the church is called to be a sign of that light. Not the source of it — Christ is the light — but a reflection of it. A community where burdens are lifted, where healing is sought and found, where good news is spoken in word and deed.

In a world that still knows deep darkness, the message of Epiphany is not naïve optimism. It is hard-won hope. It is the conviction that God has entered fully into the mess of human life, and that nothing is beyond the reach of his redeeming love.

The people who walked in darkness have seen a great light. That light is Jesus Christ. And he still walks by the shores of ordinary lives, still says “Follow me,” still proclaims that the kingdom of heaven has come near.

May we have eyes to see that light, hearts ready to turn towards it, and lives willing to reflect it — for the sake of the world God loves.

Amen.

Funeral Address for Rachel Copley

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Rachel Copley was a much loved sister in Christ who worshiped in the Mirfield Team Parish over many, many years. She will be sorely missed by many people in the parish, the town of Mirfield, the staff and congregants at Wakefield Cathedral where she worked, and by many countless others in other communities whose lives she touched for the better.

Address

When I arrived as a fresh-faced member of the clergy here in Mirfield, Rachel and I quickly realised that we had met before, many years prior, when we both worked in marketing teams. We soon became friends, bonding over our shared faith, our connections to the Cursillo movement, and war stories from our previous corporate lives. I came to know Rachel as a deeply faithful person with a boundless drive to build up and make better the lives she touched and the communities and organisations that she so capably served. In other words, she was a woman of faith, hope and love.

And, therefore, it seems so fitting that Rachel’s family chose our reading from Paul’s first letter to the Corinthians for us to hear today.

We have come together today in love and in sorrow, to commend Rachel into God’s keeping, and to support one another as we grieve. Moments like this can leave us feeling fragile and uncertain. Words can feel inadequate, and yet it is often through words — carefully chosen, gently offered — accompanied by loving actions, that comfort can begin to take root.

The reading from Saint Paul’s first letter to the Corinthians is one that many people know well. It is often read at weddings; celebrations of new beginnings. Yet at its heart, it is not about a simple happiness; it is about what endures when everything else feels uncertain or has fallen away. Paul writes of faith, hope and love—and reminds us that the greatest of these is love.

Paul is honest about the limits of human life and understanding. He speaks of seeing “in a mirror, dimly”, of knowing only in part. That can feel very close to our experience today. In grief, the future can seem unclear, and the reasons for loss hard to grasp. Faith does not pretend that everything makes sense to us, but it does trust that God remains present, even when we cannot see the way ahead.

Faith, in this moment, is trusting that Rachel is known and loved by God more deeply than we could ever imagine. It is the faith that says that death is not the end of the story, because our lives are held within God’s eternal purposes. It is the faith that says that we will be reunited with God and with Rachel once more in the future, and for eternity.

Hope, too, is not wishful thinking. Christian hope is quieter and stronger than that. It is the hope that God’s love is stronger than death, that nothing — not even our deepest sorrow — can separate us from the love of God in Christ Jesus. Hope gives us permission to grieve honestly, while still trusting that light will come again, even if slowly and gradually.

And then there is love. Paul tells us that love is patient and kind; that it bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, endures all things. Love is what has brought us here today. Love for Rachel, love for one another, love for God, and love that continues even now, shaped by memory and thanksgiving. Death does not erase love. The love we have shared remains part of who we are, and it continues to bind us together.

At the end of the reading, Paul tells us that faith, hope and love abide—these three. They remain. They endure beyond the moment, beyond loss, beyond even death itself. Today, as we entrust Rachel to God, we do so held by those enduring gifts.

So, as we hold Rachel in our hearts before God today, we give thanks for a woman of faith, hope and love, and I pray that the same faith that Rachel knew may steady us, hope sustain us, and love surround us — and that we are all held, now and always, in the everlasting arms of God.

Amen.

Sermon: Rock Mass – Celebration of the Week of Prayer for Christian Unity (18th Jan, 2026)

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Readings

Ephesians 4:1-13 – I therefore, the prisoner in the Lord, beg you to lead a life worthy of the calling to which you have been called, with all humility and gentleness, with patience, bearing with one another in love, making every effort to maintain the unity of the Spirit in the bond of peace. There is one body and one Spirit, just as you were called to the one hope of your calling, one Lord, one faith, one baptism, one God and Father of all, who is above all and through all and in all. But each of us was given grace according to the measure of Christ’s gift. Therefore it is said, ‘When he ascended on high he made captivity itself a captive; he gave gifts to his people.’ (When it says, ‘He ascended’, what does it mean but that he had also descended into the lower parts of the earth? He who descended is the same one who ascended far above all the heavens, so that he might fill all things.) The gifts he gave were that some would be apostles, some prophets, some evangelists, some pastors and teachers, to equip the saints for the work of ministry, for building up the body of Christ, until all of us come to the unity of the faith and of the knowledge of the Son of God, to maturity, to the measure of the full stature of Christ.

John 12:31-36 – Now is the judgement of this world; now the ruler of this world will be driven out. And I, when I am lifted up from the earth, will draw all people to myself.’ He said this to indicate the kind of death he was to die. The crowd answered him, ‘We have heard from the law that the Messiah remains for ever. How can you say that the Son of Man must be lifted up? Who is this Son of Man?’ Jesus said to them, ‘The light is with you for a little longer. Walk while you have the light, so that the darkness may not overtake you. If you walk in the darkness, you do not know where you are going. While you have the light, believe in the light, so that you may become children of light.’ After Jesus had said this, he departed and hid from them.

Sermon

One of the great challenges of our time is learning how to live well with difference. We live in a world that often feels fragmented — divided by opinions, identities, backgrounds, and experiences. Even within families or communities, it can feel hard to stay connected when we see things differently. Against that backdrop, today’s readings speak with surprising clarity about unity — not as wishful thinking, but as something real, costly, and deeply rooted in Jesus Christ.

In the letter to the Ephesians, Paul urges Christians to “live a life worthy of the calling you have received.” That calling is not first about what we believe or what we do individually, but about who we are becoming together. From the very beginning, Christianity understood itself as a shared life — a community drawn together by God.

The qualities that are named next tell us a lot about the kind of unity being imagined: “Be completely humble and gentle; be patient, bearing with one another in love.” These are not abstract virtues. They are the skills needed for living closely with other people, especially people who are not the same as us. Unity, the Bible suggests, is not automatic. It requires effort, patience, and grace.

Crucially, this unity does not depend on everyone thinking alike. In fact, the passage goes on to celebrate difference. We hear about different gifts and roles, all given for a shared purpose: “to equip his people for works of service, so that the body of Christ may be built up.” The image of the body makes it clear — unity is not uniformity. A body needs different parts, doing different things, if it is to be alive and healthy.

But if unity is not created by sameness, what holds it together?

This is where the reading from John’s Gospel becomes essential. Jesus speaks about what is about to happen to him — his death on the cross — and he says something remarkable: “And I, when I am lifted up from the earth, will draw all people to myself.” Notice that phrase: all people. Not people who are alike. Not people who agree on everything. All people.

For Christians, unity does not begin with us reaching out to one another, as important as that is. It begins with Jesus drawing us to himself. The cross stands at the centre of Christian unity because it is there that God’s self-giving love is revealed most fully. It is there that barriers are broken down — between God and humanity, and between people themselves.

Jesus speaks of light and darkness: “Walk while you have the light.” In John’s Gospel, light represents truth, life, and the presence of God. To walk in the light is to allow our lives to be shaped by what we see in Jesus — a love that gives itself for others. When we walk in that light, we discover that we are walking alongside others who are also being drawn towards him.

This helps us understand what the letter to the Ephesians means by unity. Unity is not something we manufacture by trying harder to get along. Nor is it something we achieve by ignoring real differences. Christian unity is something we receive, as we gather around Jesus Christ. We are united not because we are the same, but because we are held by the same love.

That is why the passage speaks of “one body and one Spirit … one Lord, one faith, one baptism.” The focus is not on us, but on God’s action. Unity is God’s gift before it is our task. Our calling is to live into that gift — to protect it, nurture it, and allow it to shape how we treat one another.

Particularly for those who are new to Christian faith, this is an important point. The church is not a gathering of people who have everything sorted out. It is a community of people who are learning, often slowly and imperfectly, what it means to live together in the light of Christ. Differences of background, personality, experience, and understanding do not disqualify us. They are part of what God brings together.

The reading from Ephesians speaks of growth — “until we all reach unity in the faith and in the knowledge of the Son of God.” That word “until” reminds us that unity is not a finished achievement. It is a journey we take together, guided by Christ. Along the way, we will misunderstand one another, disagree, and sometimes fail. But unity is sustained not by our perfection, but by Christ’s faithfulness.

So what does this mean for us today?

It means that Christian unity begins by keeping Christ at the centre. When we lose sight of him, our differences easily become divisions. When we stay close to him, those same differences can become gifts.

It means that humility and patience are not optional extras, but essential expressions of unity. Bearing with one another in love is not a sign that something has gone wrong; it is a sign that we are truly living together.

And it means that unity is always something we do together. No one walks in the light alone. We are drawn, side by side, towards Jesus Christ, who gathers us into one body and calls us to grow into his likeness.

As Jesus says, “Believe in the light … so that you may become children of light.” To believe is to trust him enough to walk together — not despite our differences, but through them — held in the unity that only he can give.

May God give us grace to live that unity, for his glory and for the good of the world.