October invites us to slow down and notice. Autumn trees blaze for a moment before surrendering their leaves; evenings shorten; harvest is gathered. This is a season that trains us in attention. And perhaps that is precisely what the Church needs most just now: not simply more activity, but a more deliberate discipline of paying attention — to God, to neighbour, to creation, and, crucially, to how we communicate.
We live in an age where messages fly constantly across screens, yet clarity is often absent. Many churches still struggle to communicate well — to tell their story in ways that are welcoming and compelling. Too often, church websites lie dormant: outdated service times, broken links, or notices about last year’s events still on display. I notice it everywhere. The result is that newcomers or those in need of pastoral care often pass us by too easily. If the first door they try to open is our digital one, and it looks closed, we should not be surprised when they do not try another.
Paying attention means recognising that communication is ministry. Jesus himself paid attention with his words; his parables resonated with ordinary life. The early Church grew not only through deeds but also through testimony — stories told and shared with conviction. Today, our testimony is as likely to be encountered on a screen as in a pew. If we neglect that space, we fail in our witness.
This is not to say that every parish needs to become a media enterprise. But it does mean we must take seriously the call to be accessible. Attention to communication is attention to people — the stranger searching online for service times, the passerby noticing the overly complicated noticeboard (even the most ardent churchgoer struggles to remember which Sunday of the month it is!), the bereaved family seeking contact details, and the teenager curious about faith. When we get it right, the message is simple: you are welcome, we are here, God is with us.
I started thinking about all of this because I was struck by the new website for Limerick Cathedral — a major project, well executed, and rightly celebrated. Such a resource is wonderful for those who can invest the time and money to create it. Yet it also made me think of the many parishes that cannot. For many places of worship, a complete professional redevelopment project is simply beyond reach. It is unreasonable to expect every congregation to undertake such a scale of design, funding, and upkeep. And nor should they have to. What matters most is clarity, not bells and whistles, but an honest and hospitable digital doorway.
I thought of St Carlo Acutis, recently canonised, who used his gifts in technology to make faith accessible online. He was not extraordinary because of coding skills alone, but because he saw the internet as a tool for evangelisation — a way to bring Christ closer to people in their everyday lives. In what ways can we use the skills we have, however ordinary, to open the Church’s doors more widely? Like St Carlo, I believe that if a parish website or noticeboard can help even one person feel that the Church is alive, then it is worth the effort.
This is why I have come to see communications work as part of my vocation. I enjoy building and managing websites, writing content, and keeping information up to date. But more than that, I see it as service: helping organisations to tell their story faithfully without being weighed down by technical headaches or impossible price tags. My goal is always the same: to create something straightforward and affordable, which still ‘gets’ what the Church is about.
This month’s issue of the Gazette places a special spotlight on young people. It feels fitting that we listen to them in the same spirit of attention and respect. If we want our message to reach younger generations, we must speak in ways they can hear — and sometimes that means updating not only our language but the very platforms through which we speak.
So let us practise the discipline of attention in this season: to creation, to the vulnerable, to one another — and to our words, our stories, our presence. May our communications not be an afterthought, but a doorway through which people can encounter the living God.
For when we pay attention to how we communicate, we echo the one who is always paying attention to us.