There is something about a threshold that slows us down. A doorway. A gate. The hush before dawn. New Year’s Day feels like that kind of space — neither fully behind us nor yet clear ahead. Here at Rydal Hall, cradled by ancient hills and winter-bare trees, the turning of the year feels less like a firework and more like a held breath.

The Celtic Christians had a deep reverence for moments like this. They spoke of thin places — those times and locations where heaven and earth seem closer, where God feels nearer than usual, not because God has moved, but because we have stopped long enough to notice. The New Year is one such thin place. Time itself feels translucent.

Scripture reminds us that God is already at work in this in-between space:

“See, I am doing a new thing! Now it springs up; do you not perceive it?”

— Isaiah 43:19

Not will do, but am doing. Even now. Even here.

Many writers over the years have written about prayer as attentiveness — learning to pay loving attention to God who is already present. As a new year begins we are challenged to bring our whole selves before God without performance. Together, they remind us that transformation rarely begins with grand resolutions but with quiet surrender.

The world urges us to start the year with ambition: be more, do better, try harder. The Celtic way whispers something gentler: begin again. Begin with blessing. Begin with listening. Begin where your feet already stand.

In the old Celtic rhythm, the day began at dusk, not dawn. Darkness came first — not as an enemy, but as a womb. Perhaps that is a gift for us as we enter this new year. We do not have to see the whole path. We only need enough light for the next faithful step.

At Rydal Hall, surrounded by creation that has weathered centuries of turning seasons, we are reminded that growth is often slow and hidden. Roots deepen in winter. 

This is a good moment to ask not What should I achieve this year? but What is God inviting me to receive?

The Celtic saints often spoke blessings over ordinary moments — rising, travelling, working, resting. They believed God was not confined to holy places but present in every breath. As this year begins, perhaps our prayer is not for dramatic change but for faithful presence: to notice God in the mundane, to bless the ordinary, to walk humbly with love.

So we stand at the threshold together. Past behind us — with its joys and griefs. Future ahead — unknown but held. And God here, now, steady as the hills.

A simple prayer for the year:

Christ before us, Christ behind us,

Christ within us, Christ beside us.

May we walk gently, love boldly,

and notice the new thing God is already doing.

Amen.