Every Friday at St Alban’s, our parish hall becomes a place of welcome and warmth. Normally I greet the volunteers, have conversations with our guests, and say grace before the meal. It’s a rhythm I cherish, a way to be present, to listen, and to give thanks.

But today, while I was greeting people as they arrived, something unexpected and deeply moving happened.

A senior gentleman, whom I’ll call B, approached me with quiet gratitude. B speaks Mandarin and doesn’t communicate in English, which has made his visits to our lunch program challenging. A few weeks ago, he was involved in an incident—one of those moments where language barriers can quickly lead to misunderstanding and heightened emotions. B was frightened and unsure of what might happen next.

I happened to be nearby and was able to step in, translate, and help calm the situation. With God’s help, the tension eased. The misunderstanding was resolved, and B felt supported and safe.

Today, B returned not just for lunch, but to thank me. He told me that because of how the situation was handled, with care and respect, he now feels comfortable continuing to come. He even shared that he’s open to exploring the church and faith more deeply.

I didn’t say grace aloud today, but grace was present. It was present in the courage of B, in the quiet work of our volunteers, and in the Spirit that moves through our shared meals and conversations.

This is the kind of community we are striving to build at St Alban’s. A place where language doesn’t divide, where fear doesn’t isolate, and where every person is met with dignity and welcome. A place where peace is practiced, not just preached.

Thanks be to God for moments like these. For the chance to bring comfort, healing, and hope, even in the simplest of interactions.