NeuroDivine

After the music has settled and the candles have burned low, today has been a quieter kind of Christmas.

This morning began in two sanctuaries—first with the Church of Ireland, then with the Roman Catholic community here in Monasterevin. Two Eucharists, two traditions, one story of Love choosing to dwell among us. There’s a particular grace in moving between altars on Christmas morning: the same Gospel sung in different cadences, the same Light refracted through different windows.

And now, the rest of the day unfolds in the gentlest of ways. No grand feast, no frantic timetable, no pressure to perform festivity. Just home.

Andrew is in the kitchen working his quiet magic—homemade beef casserole for dinner, apple crumble waiting its turn. The cats have declared themselves supervisors, though their supervision mostly involves sleeping in strategic locations. The house is peaceful, soft around the edges, the kind of stillness that feels like a blessing rather than an absence.

Christmas doesn’t need to be loud to be holy. Sometimes the incarnation arrives in the hush after the hymns, in the warmth of a shared meal, in the steady presence of the one you love, in the soft weight of a cat who has decided you are the safest place in the world.

Wherever you are today—surrounded by noise or wrapped in quiet—I hope you find a moment where the Light feels close.

A blessed Christmas to you all. May peace make its home with you.