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A personal reflection on the confirmation of Bishop Sarah Mullally as Archbishop of Canterbury.
As I stood in St Paul’s Cathedral for this special service as a woman, a priest in the Church of England, a leader in the Diocese of Peterborough, a wife, a mum, a daughter, a friend, an advocate, and above all, someone who loves Jesus; a whole orchestra of emotions played at once.
Joy. Relief. Gratitude. But alongside them, the ache of knowing how far we still have to go.
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On Wednesday 28th January 2026 the election of the Right Reverend and Right Honourable Dame Sarah Mullally as 106th Lord Archbishop of Canterbury, Primate of All England and Metropolitan, was formally confirmed. The legal court was duly convened, and the Commissaries of His Majesty The King confirmed that the proper process had been followed. I watched with great pride as The Right Reverend Debbie Sellin, our bishop, played a significant role in this historic moment.
Somewhere inside me, my fourteen-year-old self, the girl who once swore she would never follow a calling into a church that “didn’t do women”, quietly broke. I cried. Not polite tears. Proper ones.
Tears of relief and joy. Tears of strength and vulnerability.
Women still journey through ministry carrying misogyny, sometimes quiet, sometimes painfully loud. Objection still arises, not always rooted in theology, but often in fear. This occasion does not erase that reality. It does, however, mark a step. A real one. A visible one. A costly one. Costly steps have a way of widening the path for others who are still listening for God’s voice and wondering whether there is space for them too.
As Archbishop Steven Cottrell reminded us as part of The Charge, we are asked to be nothing more, and nothing less, than ourselves. It is that unique mix of gifts, skills, wounds, experiences, courage and calling that God uses. Never in our own strength. Always in God’s.
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One of my favourite promises in scripture echoed through my heart all morning:
'Now to him who is able to do immeasurably more than all we ask or imagine, according to his power that is at work within us.' (Ephesians 3:20)
Within the service, that promise heard by my younger self came again into being. It also stirred a question I could not ignore; how many others are still holding back, still waiting for permission, still wondering whether what they sense is really from God, or whether the Church will have room for them if it is?
The service carried a holy electricity. History felt close and alive. A verbal objection and protest was raised, then swiftly ruled beyond scope and not heard. The moment moved on, resolute and prayerful. Applause followed, rapturous, sustained and unmistakable. It rolled through the cathedral, not performative, but resolute, drowning out any lingering doubt. This was the sound of the Church affirming the call it had discerned.
The music held us next. The Christ’s Hospital School Choir sounded almost other-worldly, an angelic pause where the gospel seemed to float and linger (although that could have been the sound system even St. Paul’s has sound gremlins). Voices from across the Anglican Communion followed, young and old, from different cultures and backgrounds, offering a glimpse of the Church in all its breadth and beauty.
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The enormity of Archbishop Sarah’s role is not lost on any of us. She will misstep at times. She will also do brilliant things. She will lead this Church that I love, even when that love is tested. I commit to pray for her as she begins this ministry under the weight of expectation and the grace of God, and I invite others to do the same. For anyone reading this who feels that familiar stirring, the quiet nudge you keep setting aside, hear this gently. If you are waiting for a sign, for reassurance, for evidence that God still calls and equips all sorts of people, this may be it. Not because the Church has arrived and has it all sorted, but because God has not stopped calling.
This moment is not just about a new Archbishop. It is about hope. It is about confidence in God’s calling. It is about the kingdom of Jesus continuing to grow, often in ways we could never have imagined, until suddenly we realise we are standing inside the answer.
Where tears fall. Let hope rise.
Becky Dyball
Bishop’s Missioner, Diocese of Peterborough
Photographs with permission of Graham Lacdao / St Paul’s Cathedral and Becky Dyball