It means standing at the edge of something — and being honest about it.

I came to ministry training not with answers but with wounds. Twenty-five years of feeling shut out of the Anglican Church I grew up in. Of trying, repeatedly, to belong — and circling back, each time, to a faith I was faking. Patriarchal liturgy, an incomplete God, stories that didn’t hold the fullness of my experience. And underneath it all, an ache that never went away.

What brought me to OneSpirit Interfaith Foundation was a calling: to heal my church hurt, and to reconcile — genuinely — with God. The God of my understanding which cannot be contained within organised religion but always spirals back to Jesus and Mary Magdalene. The energy of gnosis, of agape, of eternal Love. The Great Mystery that has many names and no single face. The closest I might come to describing my way, is Mysticism.

OneSpirit’s roots go back to the 1970s, when spiritual leaders across traditions sought new ways to heal division in the wake of global trauma. Among them was Rabbi Joseph Gelberman — a Holocaust survivor whose response to unimaginable loss was compassion rather than despair. He believed profoundly in unity through diversity, and in 1981 co-founded The New Seminary in New York, where interfaith ministry was not an idea but a lived practice. That founding spirit of compassion continues to flow through OneSpirit Interfaith Foundation today.

I want to be clear about something, because it matters. Interfaith ministry is not a pick-and-mix approach to faith — not a spiritual buffet where you take a little of this and leave the rest. Quite the opposite. The path I walked through OneSpirit was one of the most demanding things I have ever done. To go within. To sit with everything you thought you knew about yourself. To gradually, honestly, challenge the beliefs that were handed to you and the stories you had told yourself for decades — that takes immense courage. It takes faith. A deeper faith, perhaps, than I had ever been asked to bring to any pew or altar. It is an act of surrender to the Divine, a trust that the ground will hold even as everything familiar falls away. And what I discovered in that process — what I want you to know — is that I was never alone in it. Not for a single moment.

What it offered me — and what I couldn’t find anywhere else — was an invitation to peel away the layers: the identities I had accumulated, the expectations society had written onto me, the internal architecture I had built to survive rather than to thrive. To ask, perhaps for the first time with real honesty: who am I truly here to be? That is not a comfortable question. It asks everything of you. But on the other side of the unravelling is something extraordinary — the freedom to build anew, from the ground of your own authentic being.

At the heart of my ministry is a practice I think of as spiritual accompaniment — walking alongside another person as they find their own way. It is not therapy, and it is not coaching. A coach asks: how can I help you grow, achieve, become? Spiritual accompaniment asks something altogether different. It creates a still space in which you are already seen as whole, already enough, exactly as you are in this moment. There is no agenda to fix, no problem to solve. Instead, there is deep listening — to your words, to your body, to the wisdom that is already quietly inside you. Spirit is always the third presence in that room: a co-creation between the one who holds the space, the one who is received, and the Sacred itself. What I have found, again and again, is that the most powerful thing is not what is said — it is what becomes possible in the silence.

No creed. No doctrine. In their place, a holy respect for the many ways Love is expressed in this world. A theology of both/and, where you are seen in your wholeness and met exactly where you are.

That is what I offer here, too.

If you have ever felt spiritually homeless — if faith has been more wound than welcome — you are in the right place.