The turning of a new year always feels like a holy pause to me—a deep breath between what has been and what might yet be. The calendar flips, but more than that, our hearts quietly whisper their hopes: maybe this year can be different… maybe this year can be better.

As people of faith, especially within my United Methodist tradition, we step into a new year anchored in grace and propelled by love. We believe God is not finished with us, with the church, or with the world. We trust that the Spirit is still moving—often ahead of us—calling us toward compassion, justice, peace, and radical inclusion.

What the world desperately needs right now isn’t uniformity or unison. It’s harmony. Uniformity says we all have to look the same, think the same, vote the same, worship the same. Unison says we all have to sing the exact same note. But harmony? Harmony invites us to sing our notes—different, textured, sometimes unexpected—while still committing to the same song. The song of love. The song of grace. The song of justice and hope. Harmony is messy and beautiful, and it requires listening as much as it requires courage. And maybe that’s exactly what God has always wanted.

I hope this is the year Christians—and the Church—find the courage to stop clinging to tradition simply because “we’ve always done it that way.” Tradition can be a gift, but it is a terrible master. Jesus himself was never afraid to challenge religious systems that had stopped bearing good fruit. When a practice no longer leads to love, no longer heals, no longer liberates, no longer reflects the heart of God—it’s not faithfulness to hold on tighter. It’s faithfulness to ask hard questions and to seek a better way.

And yes, that means it’s okay—holy, even—to doubt. To question. To wrestle. Jacob literally wrestled with God and limped away changed, blessed, and renamed. Faith has never been about having all the answers. It’s about refusing to let go of God, even when the night is long and the questions feel heavier than the answers. A faith that cannot be questioned is a faith that cannot grow.

Jesus showed us a powerful model of deconstruction and reconstruction long before those words entered our vocabulary. He named the flaws of the religious institution—not to destroy it, but to redeem it. “You have heard it said… but I say to you.” Again and again, Jesus peeled back layers of fear, exclusion, and legalism and offered something better: deeper love, wider grace, embodied compassion, and a kingdom where the last are first and the outsider belongs.

So maybe this is our prayer for the new year:

May this be the year of a better way.

A better way of being the Church.

A better way of loving our neighbors.

A better way of listening to voices we’ve ignored.

A better way of seeking justice without losing compassion.

A better way of holding faith and doubt together without fear.

The world doesn’t need a louder church—it needs a more loving one. A more honest one. A more courageous one. And I believe, with everything in me, that God is still calling us forward—not backward—into a future shaped by hope.

Here’s to a new year.

Here’s to harmony.

Here’s to holy wrestling.

And here’s to following Jesus into a better way.