NeuroDivine

I am heartbroken to hear of the fire at the mosque in England, coming so soon after the attack on the synagogue in Manchester. These are not just buildings—they are homes of prayer, of memory, of community. To see them harmed is to feel the ache of something sacred being violated.

As an autistic Anglican living in Ireland, I often experience faith as rhythm—quiet, patterned, textured. I find God not in noise or spectacle, but in the steady pulse of shared ritual, in the dignity of difference, in the courage it takes to keep showing up. And I believe, with all my being, that every faith tradition deserves safety, reverence, and room to breathe.

When one community is targeted, all of us are wounded. The fire may have burned wood and stone, but it also scorched trust. And yet—I still believe in peace. Not the peace of silence or avoidance, but the peace that comes from standing beside one another, even when it’s hard. Especially when it’s hard.

To my Muslim and Jewish siblings: I grieve with you. I pray for your healing. I honour your resilience. May your sacred spaces be restored, and may your hearts be held gently in the days ahead.

And to all who long for peace among faiths: let us keep lighting candles, even when the wind is fierce. Let us keep building bridges, even when the ground shakes. Let us keep believing that love—real, stubborn, holy love—is stronger than fear.