When I was about eight or nine years old, I was out with my mates. As we passed Our Lady Star of the Sea, St Anne's, I said, "Let's go in and have a look inside." We weren't up to mischief; it was simply curiosity.

As we wandered around the church, I vividly remember the sweet smell of the incense, the creak of a floorboard, and the deep silence. Yet it wasn't an empty silence. There was a presence. Standing in the chapel, looking up at the stained-glass window of Our Lady of Lourdes, I felt completely at home.

At that time, my life was marked by great turbulence and vulnerability. My family was breaking down, and as an only child I spent many lonely hours on my own.

It was in that vulnerability that a seed was planted, though I neither knew nor understood what was happening. A deep longing welled up within me. I found myself drawn to the church and began attending Morning Prayer before taking myself off to school.

I didn't come from a religious family and I hadn't been baptised. Yet the desire to belong to the Church became so strong that I eventually approached the parish priest. He became a huge influence in my life.

After five years of, quite literally, haunting the church, I was baptised, confirmed, and received my First Holy Communion—all in one evening, at the age of thirteen. The following week, I was serving at the altar.

Looking back now, I realise it did not begin with a grand plan, nor with a dramatic lightning bolt from heaven.

It began with an open church door.

An open door may seem such an ordinary thing. We pass through doors every day without giving them much thought. But church doors speak of something much deeper.

They are a sign of welcome. They say, "Come in. You belong. God is here." They invite the curious, the searching, the lonely, the wounded, and those who don't yet know what they are looking for.

I know that because I was one of them.

A simple open door became the place where God quietly met me. It became the beginning of a journey that has shaped my entire life.

They remind us that Christ himself is the Door. He is always open to those who seek him. The Church quite literally keeps her doors open because her heart remains open. Every time we cross that threshold, we leave one world behind and step into another reality, into God's presence.

Along my journey thus far, God has blessed me with the most immense and extraordinary experiences.

He placed angels in my life.

Some perhaps in ways people might not fully understand, but I know they were there.

They guided me, protected me, challenged me, and slowly taught me another way of living. They gently prepared me to hear what the Lord was asking of me.

Only this past Christmas, it seemed as though that particular chapter came to an end. It felt as though they had all stepped back, almost as a parent eventually let’s go of the hand of a child who has learned to walk.

Not because they had abandoned me.
But because the Lord was saying, "It’s time Paul."
Time for the next chapter.

Now, I should probably confess something.
If anyone here imagines that formation has been effortless for me, please allow me to correct that impression!

I have always struggled with studying.
I become distracted rather quickly.
Actually... rather quickly may be putting it mildly.

I like moving at a hundred miles an hour. Sitting still with a theology book for hours has never been my natural gift.

I'm fairly sure my Director of Formation, who isn't sitting too far away from me today, could confirm that with considerable enthusiasm!
He has shown extraordinary patience.

So, if today feels like a miracle to anyone, imagine how he must be feeling!

But perhaps that is another reminder that God's grace does not depend on our perfection.

Jesus in today’s Gospel Says, "I thank you, Father, because you have hidden these things from the wise and learned and revealed them to little children."

The Lord doesn't ask us to be impressive, perfect and to know everything. He asks us to be available.

Our Journey of Faith isn't about passing exams, getting everything right, having all the answers.

Faith is an encounter with a person, the person of Jesus.

I first met him because someone introduced me to him.
For me, that someone was Mother Mary.

Our Blessed Mother never keeps us for herself. With the gentlest, most motherly touch, she always takes us by the hand and leads us to her Son.

Quietly. Patiently. Without forcing us. She simply says, "Look at him. Listen to him, Do whatever he tells you!

There have been many moments when I have been the reluctant disciple.
Moments of pushing back.
Moments of resisting.
Moments of wondering whether the Lord had perhaps got the wrong person altogether.
There have certainly been moments of feeling profoundly unworthy.
God simply remains faithful.

Everything happens in God's good time. Not ours. His!

So today, as I prepare to begin this new chapter of diaconal ministry, I do so with a heart overflowing with gratitude.

Gratitude to God, whose faithfulness has never failed.
Gratitude to Mother Mary, whose gentle hand always led me to her Son.
Gratitude to my wife and children, family, friends, priests, formators, this parish, and everyone who has encouraged me, prayed for me, and—perhaps at times—wondered whether I'd ever get here!

Gratitude for one ordinary church door.

A door that was open.
Because if it hadn't been open, I genuinely don't believe I would be standing here today.

Perhaps that's the invitation for all of us.
To keep the doors of our churches open.
To keep the doors of our homes open.
Above all, to keep the doors of our hearts open.
Because we never know who might walk through them.  Or better still...
Who might be waiting for us on the other side.

 Jesus still says exactly what he said all those years ago: "Come to me."

This invitation has never changed.

It is as fresh today as it was the first time I heard it.

By Deacon Paul Briers