NeuroDivine

Reflection on the readings at morning prayer for St Malachy’s Day. Psalm 16 | Malachi 2:5–7 | John 21:15–17

On this feast of St Malachy, I find myself drawn into quiet contemplation—not of grandeur or public acclaim, but of the quiet vocation to tend, to teach, and to walk faithfully. The scriptures for today—Psalm 16, Malachi 2, and John 21—form a sacred thread, each offering a glimpse into the heart of spiritual care. And as I read them through the lens of my own experience—rooted in Irish soil, shaped by silence and rhythm—I hear them differently. I hear them deeply.

Psalm 16 speaks of trust and joy, not as fleeting emotions but as a steady presence. “You show me the path of life,” the psalmist says, and I believe him. That path, for me, is not always straight or swift. It winds gently through the contours of daily prayer, through the comfort of repetition, through the quiet rituals that give shape to my days. The Lord is my portion—not in noise or spectacle, but in the stillness where I find peace. Joy, in this sense, is not exuberant—it is rooted. It is the quiet knowing that I am held.

Malachi speaks of the covenant of the priesthood—a covenant of life and peace, marked by reverence and truth. “True instruction was in his mouth,” the prophet says, “and nothing false was found on his lips.” I think of this often. I speak slowly. I weigh words carefully. I do not rush to teach or proclaim. I guard knowledge not with eloquence, but with integrity. Reverence, for me, is not performance—it is the quiet flame that burns in the sanctuary of my mind, where God meets me not in thunder, but in the hush between thoughts. I do not lead with charisma. I lead with presence.

And then there is John 21. Jesus asks Peter three times, “Do you love me?” And each time, Peter answers yes. Each time, Jesus responds with a command: “Feed my sheep.” This exchange is tender, but it is also piercing. It reminds me that love is not abstract—it is embodied. It is expressed in care, in attention, in service. I feed sheep differently. I feed them with structure, with gentleness, with the rhythms of prayer and work. I feed them by creating spaces where difference is not merely tolerated, but cherished. I feed them by being faithful to the quiet call, even when the world demands noise.

St Malachy, the reformer and pastor, understood this. His leadership was rooted in prayer, in care for the poor, in a deep desire to restore the Church to holiness. He did not seek power—he sought peace. And today, I honour him not by imitating his actions, but by embodying his spirit. I honour him by living my vocation as I am—contemplative, rooted, faithful.

On this day, I do not ask to be more than I am. I ask only to be faithful. To walk the path of life. To speak truth with reverence. To feed the sheep entrusted to me.

And in that, I find joy.