I sat in Clonard Monastery this morning and listened to a sermon that I’m still turning over in my heart hours later. The message was blunt: “It’s dark out there.” And it is. Gaza. Ukraine. Political chaos. Closer to home; racism, violence, deepening poverty. Scrolling endlessly through headlines can leave us feeling helpless, even hopeless.
Steve’s sermon took us back to 1987, into the heart of a Belfast darker and bloodier than the one we know today. And in that place—right here in our own city—a light began to flicker. It was the light of Fr Alec Reid, and others like him.
Many know Fr Alec as the quiet priest who tried to save two dying British soldiers in an alleyway near Casement Park. But he was much more than that. He was a man of prayer, disturbed deeply by the violence outside his monastery walls, who decided that he couldn’t just pray for peace—he had to go out and make it.
Steve told of The Letter in his sermon—a single envelope, once stained with blood, that contained the seeds of a peace process. It was a candle in the dark, carried by a priest who believed that Jesus meant it when he said, “Blessed are the peacemakers.” And that candle, tiny though it was, helped ignite a process that changed the course of our city.
Born in 1997, I grew up in a Northern Ireland where peace was the norm, not the exception. But that peace was not guaranteed. It was built, quietly and courageously, by people who dared to love their enemies. People like Fr Alec.
And it’s here that the 4 Corners Festival comes in. It invites us to cross boundaries—geographical, political, spiritual—and encounter one another in places we might otherwise avoid. It’s about making peace tangible and personal. It reminds us that reconciliation isn’t just something that happened in the ‘90s; it’s something we’re called to live out now, in 2025, in every conversation, every gesture, every community project.
Steve’s sermon ended with a call—not to clergy or politicians, but to all of us: Take your flickering candle and carry it into the dark.
I needed to hear that.
Because sometimes I think peacebuilding is for other people—older people, braver people, more important people. But this message reminded me that peace starts with me. It starts in how I speak to people I disagree with, how I respond to conflict in my workplace, how I allow space for grief and pain, even when I don’t have answers. It starts in small acts, done with great hope.
We are the next generation of peacebuilders. Not with grand plans, but with humble courage. With prayerful hearts and willing hands.
So here’s my hope: That we would be what Steve so beautifully called a “cluster of party-popping, evil-stopping, darkness-toppling, hope-dropping pilgrims of peace.” That we would live lives that carry the Gospel into the grey corners of our world—not with noise, but with light.
That would be a legacy worthy of Fr Alec. And worthy of the Jesus he followed.