This reflection was written by Jeroham Meléndez, who works in communications at Dio, for this week’s Wingèd Ox, a weekly news digest distributed to the college community. You will find reflections from previous weeks here.

A couple of weeks ago, I had the honour of attending the installation of the new Archbishop of Canterbury, Sarah Mullally. It was a short trip with an intense agenda and, somewhat to my surprise, a truly magnificent celebration. There was a palpable sense of enthusiasm, optimism, and hope. It felt, in every sense, like a true celebration. Witnessing the depth of trust and responsibility placed in Sarah, we hold her in prayer and gratitude, trusting that God will sustain and guide her in the ministry entrusted to her.

I found myself deeply moved by the experience. Even though there were around 2,000 people present at Canterbury Cathedral, I was aware that I was surrounded by distinguished guests, and that the process of deciding who would attend must have been a careful one. I felt humbled to be there.

This was not my first Anglican Communion event, yet it was one of the occasions when I felt most at ease, peaceful, even. Reflecting on why, I realised that it was not the scale of the event, but something deeper that brought that sense of quiet joy.

In our Anglican tradition, we rightly honour roles and responsibilities; though at times, titles can become longer than the names themselves. Some of you may already be familiar with this; others will likely become so as you find your place within the structures of the Church.

I am aware that some were surprised when they heard I had been invited. There are many, clergy and lay alike, who carry many more visible markers of accomplishment. Why, then, was I invited?

I can only marvel at the mystery of God’s call. I was seen, perhaps through the eyes of others acting as instruments. Even when our efforts seem unnoticed within human structures, God’s grace finds us and calls us forward.

The service took place on March 25th, the Feast of the Annunciation in the lectionary. It was a fitting reminder that God calls his servants by name, not only in great ceremonies or public moments, but often in quiet, hidden ways. The angel of the Lord comes just as easily in private, unseen spaces.

As we come to the end of the academic term, we look ahead to celebrating our graduating students on May 4th. While they will be missed in our community, it is a joy to see many move forward in response to God’s call. Like Mary at the Annunciation, they step forward in faith, saying, “Here am I, the servant of the Lord.” Some are beginning ministries, others are moving into new chapters of service, and each is taking that step in trust, knowing that God goes before them.

At the service, I sat just behind the Ancient Chair of St Augustine, of which I am sharing a photo. It is a powerful symbol of continuity and leadership in the Church. Seeing it, both occupied and, at moments, empty, was a quiet reminder that the Church is not ultimately about the seat itself, but about the calling it represents. For those stepping into ministry, it is an invitation to lead with humility and grace, recognising that no one takes that place by merit alone, but by God’s call and empowerment.

For those still discerning their vocation, this too is part of God’s timing. We may not yet see the path clearly, but God’s call comes in many ways, sometimes public, sometimes quiet, and often at unexpected moments. God sees us, knows us, and calls us forward, even when the journey feels uncertain.

My reflection on this experience is simple: God sees us with grace, even when we feel unseen by others. Our calling, as Jesus teaches, is to do likewise, to look beyond structures of power, or prestige and to recognise one another with that same grace.