Reflection

Reflection: Public and Private Faith (17th Jun, 2026, Year A)

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Readings

2 Kings 2.1, 6–14: Now when the Lord was about to take Elijah up to heaven by a whirlwind, Elijah and Elisha were on their way from Gilgal. Then Elijah said to him, ‘Stay here; for the Lord has sent me to the Jordan.’ But he said, ‘As the Lord lives, and as you yourself live, I will not leave you.’ So the two of them went on. Fifty men of the company of prophets also went, and stood at some distance from them, as they both were standing by the Jordan. Then Elijah took his mantle and rolled it up, and struck the water; the water was parted to the one side and to the other, until the two of them crossed on dry ground. When they had crossed, Elijah said to Elisha, ‘Tell me what I may do for you, before I am taken from you.’ Elisha said, ‘Please let me inherit a double share of your spirit.’ He responded, ‘You have asked a hard thing; yet, if you see me as I am being taken from you, it will be granted you; if not, it will not.’ As they continued walking and talking, a chariot of fire and horses of fire separated the two of them, and Elijah ascended in a whirlwind into heaven. Elisha kept watching and crying out, ‘Father, father! The chariots of Israel and its horsemen!’ But when he could no longer see him, he grasped his own clothes and tore them in two pieces. He picked up the mantle of Elijah that had fallen from him, and went back and stood on the bank of the Jordan. He took the mantle of Elijah that had fallen from him, and struck the water, saying, ‘Where is the Lord, the God of Elijah?’ When he had struck the water, the water was parted to the one side and to the other, and Elisha went over.

Matthew 6.1–6, 16–18: ‘Beware of practising your piety before others in order to be seen by them; for then you have no reward from your Father in heaven.‘So whenever you give alms, do not sound a trumpet before you, as the hypocrites do in the synagogues and in the streets, so that they may be praised by others. Truly I tell you, they have received their reward. But when you give alms, do not let your left hand know what your right hand is doing, so that your alms may be done in secret; and your Father who sees in secret will reward you.‘And whenever you pray, do not be like the hypocrites; for they love to stand and pray in the synagogues and at the street corners, so that they may be seen by others. Truly I tell you, they have received their reward. But whenever you pray, go into your room and shut the door and pray to your Father who is in secret; and your Father who sees in secret will reward you. ‘And whenever you fast, do not look dismal, like the hypocrites, for they disfigure their faces so as to show others that they are fasting. Truly I tell you, they have received their reward. But when you fast, put oil on your head and wash your face, so that your fasting may be seen not by others but by your Father who is in secret; and your Father who sees in secret will reward you.

Reflection

The story from 2 Kings is one of the most memorable in the Old Testament. Elijah, the great prophet, is coming to the end of his earthly ministry. Elisha refuses to leave his side. He follows him faithfully from place to place, and when Elijah is finally taken from him in a whirlwind, Elisha picks up the prophet’s fallen cloak and continues the work that God has given him to do.

It is a dramatic scene. There are prophets watching. The Jordan is divided. The mantle changes hands. It would be difficult to imagine anything more visible or spectacular.

Then we turn to the words of Jesus in Matthew’s Gospel, and at first they seem to pull us in a very different direction. Jesus says: when you give alms, do not sound a trumpet before you. When you pray, do not stand on street corners to be seen by others. When you fast, do not make a show of your suffering. Instead, go into your room and pray in secret. Wash your face. Let your devotion be known to your Father in heaven rather than displayed for human applause.

Jesus is not saying that faith should always be private. After all, he himself taught publicly, healed publicly, and called people to follow him openly. Rather, he is asking a deeper question: for whose benefit are we doing these things? Are we seeking God’s glory, or our own? Are we trying to draw closer to God, or simply hoping to be noticed by other people?

Elijah and Elisha offer an answer to that question. Although Elijah’s departure is spectacular, neither he nor Elisha seeks attention for its own sake. Elisha’s request is not for status or recognition but for “a double share” of Elijah’s spirit – not double honour, but the spiritual resources needed to serve faithfully. When he picks up Elijah’s cloak and strikes the waters of the Jordan, it is not a performance. It is an act of trust, a continuation of God’s work.

Perhaps that is the challenge and encouragement for us today. The Christian life is not about cultivating an image of holiness. It is not about appearing prayerful, generous or devout. Instead, it is about quiet faithfulness: the prayers whispered when no one else hears; the acts of kindness that nobody notices; the sacrifices made without recognition; the steady obedience that picks up the cloak of discipleship day after day.

Most of the time, the kingdom of God advances not through whirlwinds and spectacles, but through ordinary people who love God sincerely and seek to serve him faithfully.

And yet, whether our calling places us in moments of public visibility or hidden service, the same question remains: who are we doing it for?

May we seek not the praise of others, but the reward of knowing God more deeply. And may we, like Elisha, take up the calling entrusted to us with humility, courage and trust, knowing that the God who was with Elijah remains with his people still.

Amen.

A reflection following elections in the UK on the 7th May

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Following last week’s local elections in England, along with elections in the Welsh Senedd and the Scottish Parliament, there is a particular sadness in recognising how divided we have become.

The results of last week’s elections across the United Kingdom revealed not simply changing political loyalties, but a deeper mood within the nation: frustration, weariness, anger, distrust and, in many places, a profound sense that people no longer feel heard. The elections saw significant losses for both Labour and Conservative candidates, alongside major gains for smaller parties including Reform UK and the Greens. Commentators have spoken of the increasing fragmentation of British politics and the collapse of old certainties.

Of course, Christians will hold differing political convictions. Faithful discipleship does not require uniformity of political opinion, nor should the Church ever become the mouthpiece of a single party or ideology. Yet moments like these do force us to ask difficult questions about the kind of society we are becoming.

Public life increasingly feels shaped by suspicion and hostility. Debate hardens into contempt. Opponents become enemies. Social media rewards outrage over understanding. Fear becomes easier to stir than hope. Many people now carry a lingering sense of unease about the future of the country, the stability of communities and the possibility of genuine common life together.

Into such a climate, the words of Jesus in John 17 that the Church of England will reflect upon this coming Sunday (17th of May) speak with remarkable clarity and urgency.

On the night before his crucifixion, Jesus prays for his disciples. And at the heart of that prayer is a plea for unity:

“That they may all be one.”

This is not a call for bland agreement or the erasure of difference. Christian unity has never meant uniformity. The disciples themselves were strikingly different people: impulsive and cautious, political and apolitical, faithful and fearful. Yet Christ calls them together into something deeper than preference or ideology. He calls them into communion rooted in him.

That matters enormously.

Because the unity Jesus prays for is not simply about the internal life of the Church. It is part of the Church’s witness to the world. Jesus continues:

“So that the world may believe.”

In other words, the credibility of Christian witness is tied, in part, to whether we are capable of loving one another across our differences.

That is challenging enough within the Church itself. But it also speaks into the wider culture in which we live. Christians are called to resist the temptation to mirror the divisions around us. We are not called to deepen hostility, baptise tribalism or retreat into ideological camps where we only speak to those who already agree with us.

Instead, Christians are called to be people of reconciliation.

That does not mean avoiding difficult conversations or pretending disagreements do not matter. It does not mean abandoning conviction. But it does mean recognising the humanity of those with whom we differ. It means listening carefully. Speaking truthfully and graciously. Refusing to delight in outrage. Refusing to reduce people to caricatures.

And perhaps most importantly, it means remembering that our deepest identity is not ultimately found in political tribes, national anxieties or cultural battles, but in Christ himself.

That is particularly important in moments of social uncertainty. When people feel anxious or unheard, division can become very seductive. It offers simple explanations, easy scapegoats and the comforting illusion that all problems are caused by “them.” History repeatedly shows how dangerous that can become.

The Church must offer something better.

Not naïve optimism. Not political withdrawal. But a different way of being human together.

The unity Jesus prays for is costly. It is shaped by forgiveness, humility, patience and sacrifice. It is the kind of unity only possible through grace. And it stands in sharp contrast to a culture increasingly tempted towards anger and fragmentation.

In the coming weeks, there will no doubt be endless analysis of electoral swings, party strategy and leadership crises. Much of that matters. Politics matters because people matter. Decisions made in councils and parliaments shape real lives and real communities.

But beneath the headlines lies a deeper spiritual question: what kind of people are we becoming?

As Christians, we are called to answer that question not simply with words, but with lives shaped by Christ’s prayer “that they may all be one.”

In an anxious and divided age, that calling may be more important than ever.

Reflection: Abide In My Love (7th May, 2026, Year A)

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Readings

Acts 15.7–21 – After there had been much debate, Peter stood up and said to them, ‘My brothers, you know that in the early days God made a choice among you, that I should be the one through whom the Gentiles would hear the message of the good news and become believers. And God, who knows the human heart, testified to them by giving them the Holy Spirit, just as he did to us; and in cleansing their hearts by faith he has made no distinction between them and us. Now therefore why are you putting God to the test by placing on the neck of the disciples a yoke that neither our ancestors nor we have been able to bear? On the contrary, we believe that we will be saved through the grace of the Lord Jesus, just as they will.’ The whole assembly kept silence, and listened to Barnabas and Paul as they told of all the signs and wonders that God had done through them among the Gentiles. After they finished speaking, James replied, ‘My brothers, listen to me. Simeon has related how God first looked favourably on the Gentiles, to take from among them a people for his name. This agrees with the words of the prophets, as it is written, “After this I will return, and I will rebuild the dwelling of David, which has fallen; from its ruins I will rebuild it, and I will set it up, so that all other peoples may seek the Lord— even all the Gentiles over whom my name has been called. Thus says the Lord, who has been making these things known from long ago.” Therefore I have reached the decision that we should not trouble those Gentiles who are turning to God, but we should write to them to abstain only from things polluted by idols and from fornication and from whatever has been strangled and from blood. For in every city, for generations past, Moses has had those who proclaim him, for he has been read aloud every sabbath in the synagogues.’

John 15.9–11 – As the Father has loved me, so I have loved you; abide in my love. If you keep my commandments, you will abide in my love, just as I have kept my Father’s commandments and abide in his love. I have said these things to you so that my joy may be in you, and that your joy may be complete.

Reflection

In both of today’s readings, there is a question quietly sitting beneath the surface: who belongs? In Acts, the early Church is wrestling with whether Gentile believers must first become culturally Jewish before they can fully belong to the people of God. It is not simply an abstract theological debate. It is about identity, tradition, and fear. The Church is growing quickly, and growth often brings uncertainty with it. People begin asking: how do we hold on to what matters? What are the boundaries? What is essential?

Into that discussion, Peter stands and reminds the assembly of something important: God has already acted. God has given the Holy Spirit to Gentile believers just as he did to Jewish believers. God “made no distinction between them.” Before the Church had settled its arguments, before committees and councils had reached their conclusions, God had already poured out grace. That is often the way with God. We spend time drawing lines, while God is already opening doors. And then James speaks with wisdom and gentleness. The decision of the council is not to burden these new believers with unnecessary weight. They are not to be crushed beneath expectations they cannot carry. Instead, the Church seeks a way forward that protects fellowship, honours one another, and keeps the heart of the gospel clear.

And then we hear Jesus in John’s gospel saying: “As the Father has loved me, so I have loved you; abide in my love.” At first glance, these readings may seem quite different — one about church disagreement, the other about love and joy. But they belong together more closely than we might think. Because the question in Acts is ultimately this: will the Church remain rooted in the love of Christ, or will it become rooted in fear?

Jesus does not say, “Remain in anxiety.” He does not say, “Remain in suspicion.” He says, “Abide in my love.” The Church is healthiest when it remembers that it is first a community shaped by the love it has received from Christ. Not a community held together by uniformity or control, but by grace.

And notice something else in the gospel: Jesus says these things so that “my joy may be in you, and that your joy may be complete.” Joy is not always the word people associate with church meetings and disagreements. Yet here, even in Acts, we glimpse what joyful faithfulness looks like. It looks like people listening carefully to one another. It looks like making space for those whom God is calling. It looks like refusing to place obstacles where God has offered welcome. That remains a challenge for the Church in every generation. There are always temptations to confuse our preferences with the gospel itself. There are always moments when we risk making faith feel like a burden rather than good news. But today’s readings call us back to what is central: the grace of God given freely in Jesus Christ.

And perhaps that is the invitation for us today. To ask ourselves not simply whether we are busy with church life, but whether we are abiding in Christ’s love. Whether our words, our decisions, and our relationships are rooted in that love. Whether people encounter, through us, something of the joy of the gospel. Because when the Church remains close to Christ, it becomes a place where others can breathe a little more freely. A place where grace is visible. A place where people discover that God’s welcome may be wider than they had dared hope. And that, in the end, is good news indeed.

Amen.

Reflection: Fruitful Relationship (6th May, 2026, Year A)

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Readings

Acts 15.1–6 – Then certain individuals came down from Judea and were teaching the brothers, ‘Unless you are circumcised according to the custom of Moses, you cannot be saved.’ And after Paul and Barnabas had no small dissension and debate with them, Paul and Barnabas and some of the others were appointed to go up to Jerusalem to discuss this question with the apostles and the elders. So they were sent on their way by the church, and as they passed through both Phoenicia and Samaria, they reported the conversion of the Gentiles, and brought great joy to all the believers.When they came to Jerusalem, they were welcomed by the church and the apostles and the elders, and they reported all that God had done with them. But some believers who belonged to the sect of the Pharisees stood up and said, ‘It is necessary for them to be circumcised and ordered to keep the law of Moses.’ The apostles and the elders met together to consider this matter.

John 15.1–8 – ‘I am the true vine, and my Father is the vine-grower. He removes every branch in me that bears no fruit. Every branch that bears fruit he prunes to make it bear more fruit. You have already been cleansed by the word that I have spoken to you. Abide in me as I abide in you. Just as the branch cannot bear fruit by itself unless it abides in the vine, neither can you unless you abide in me. I am the vine, you are the branches. Those who abide in me and I in them bear much fruit, because apart from me you can do nothing. Whoever does not abide in me is thrown away like a branch and withers; such branches are gathered, thrown into the fire, and burned. If you abide in me, and my words abide in you, ask for whatever you wish, and it will be done for you. My Father is glorified by this, that you bear much fruit and become my disciples.

Reflection

In our Gospel reading, Jesus offers us one of his most vivid images: “I am the true vine, and my Father is the vine-grower… Abide in me as I abide in you.” It is an image of life, connection, and dependence. Branches do not strive to produce fruit by effort alone; they bear fruit because they remain connected to the vine.

It is a gentle but profound reorientation. The Christian life is not first about activity, achievement, or even correctness; it is about relationship. To abide is to remain, to dwell, to stay close. Fruitfulness flows from that closeness.

And then we turn to Acts, where that simplicity seems to be under pressure.

In Acts 15, we find the early Church in disagreement. Some are insisting that new Gentile believers must be circumcised and follow the law of Moses. In other words, they are asking: what must someone do in order to truly belong? What are the necessary markers of faithfulness?

It is not a trivial question. It goes to the heart of identity, tradition, and faithfulness to God. And yet, when we hold this alongside the words of Jesus in John 15, we begin to see the tension more clearly.

Because Jesus does not say, “Produce fruit so that you may be part of the vine.” He says, “Abide in me… and you will bear much fruit.” The ordering of that phrase matters.

In Acts, the Church is discerning how to remain faithful to God while welcoming others into that life. And the danger, one that has never quite left the Church, is that we can slip into thinking that belonging is secured by external markers, by rules fulfilled, by the right credentials in place.

But the image of the vine challenges that instinct. It reminds us that life with God begins not with our effort, but with God’s invitation. It begins with being grafted into Christ, held there by grace. From that place, fruit grows, sometimes slowly, sometimes unexpectedly, but always as a result of that living connection.

There is also something quietly reassuring here. Branches do not anxiously measure their fruit against one another. They do not strain to manufacture life. Their task, if we can call it that, is simply to remain connected.

And perhaps that speaks into our own lives of faith. In a world, and sometimes even in a Church, that can feel full of expectations, demands, and comparisons, Jesus offers something both simpler and deeper: abide in me. Stay close in prayer. Remain in my love. Receive the life I give. And then, trust that fruit will come.

As the early Church in Acts gathers to discern, they are, in their own way, seeking how best to remain faithful to that life; to ensure that what they ask of others does not obscure the grace at the heart of the Gospel.

That remains our task too.

To be a people who are deeply rooted in Christ, who take seriously the call to faithfulness, but who never lose sight of where life begins: not in what we achieve, but in whom we abide. Because it is there, in that living connection with Christ, that we find not only our identity, but our fruitfulness, and ultimately, our joy.

Reflection: The Dragon and The Lamb (23rd Apr, 2026, Year A)

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Readings

Revelation 12.7–12 – War broke out in heaven; Michael and his angels fought against the dragon. The dragon and his angels fought back, but they were defeated, and there was no longer any place for them in heaven. The great dragon was thrown down, that ancient serpent, who is called the Devil and Satan, the deceiver of the whole world—he was thrown down to the earth, and his angels were thrown down with him. Then I heard a loud voice in heaven, proclaiming, ‘Now have come the salvation and the power and the kingdom of our God and the authority of his Messiah, for the accuser of our comrades has been thrown down, who accuses them day and night before our God. But they have conquered him by the blood of the Lamb and by the word of their testimony, for they did not cling to life even in the face of death. Rejoice then, you heavens and those who dwell in them! But woe to the earth and the sea, for the devil has come down to you with great wrath,  because he knows that his time is short!’

John 15.18–21 – ‘If the world hates you, be aware that it hated me before it hated you. If you belonged to the world, the world would love you as its own. Because you do not belong to the world, but I have chosen you out of the world—therefore the world hates you. Remember the word that I said to you, “Servants are not greater than their master.” If they persecuted me, they will persecute you; if they kept my word, they will keep yours also. But they will do all these things to you on account of my name, because they do not know him who sent me.

Reflection

Today, as we mark St. George’s Day, we hold together two striking images from our readings: the cosmic battle of heaven in the book of Revelation, and Jesus’ sober words to his disciples in the Gospel of John.

In the book of Revelation, we hear of war in heaven. St Michael and his angels fight against the dragon, that ancient symbol of evil, accusation, and destruction. It is vivid, dramatic language, full of conflict and, ultimately, victory. And yet, at its heart, the passage tells us something deeply simple: that evil does not have the final word. The accuser is cast down. Salvation and power belong to God. The victory is already won.

Tradition tells us that the familiar story of St. George slaying the dragon may well have its roots in a blending of George’s story with that of St. Michael. Whether or not that is historically precise, the image endures because it speaks to something we recognise: the longing for good to overcome evil, for courage to face what threatens life, for faith to stand firm.

But then we turn to the Gospel, and the tone shifts. Jesus does not speak of dramatic battles in the heavens, but of something quieter and perhaps more challenging. In the Gospel of John, he tells his disciples that they will be hated because they belong to him. There is no dragon to be slain with a sword, no visible enemy to defeat. Instead, there is the reality of rejection, misunderstanding, and the cost of faithfulness.

And so we begin to see that the victory described in Revelation does not always look like victory in the way we might expect. The triumph of God is not worked out through force or domination, but through steadfast witness; through those who remain faithful, even when it is difficult.

“By the blood of the Lamb and by the word of their testimony,” the voice in Revelation declares, “they have conquered.” Not by strength of arms, but by faith, by truth, by lives shaped by Christ.

That reframes how we might understand St. George’s witness. Whatever the historical details, George is remembered not primarily as a warrior, but as a martyr; one who remained faithful to Christ in the face of opposition, even unto death. The dragon he faced was not a creature of scales and fire, but the very real pressures of a world that resisted the claims of Christ.

And that brings this close to home for us.

Because most of us will not face dramatic, mythical battles. But we do know what it is to live faithfully in a world that does not always understand or welcome that faith. We know what it is to hold to truth when it would be easier to remain silent, to choose compassion when indifference would be simpler, to follow Christ when it sets us at odds with the prevailing culture.

The call of today is not to go out and slay dragons, but to recognise where the quiet, daily struggles of faith are being lived out; in our choices, our words, our relationships. In doing so we trust that, in those places, the victory of Christ is already at work.

As it turns out, the dragon is not defeated by spectacle, but by faithfulness. Not by power as the world understands it, but by lives shaped by the Lamb.

So on this St. George’s Day, we give thanks not just for stories of courage, but for the deeper truth they point towards: that in Christ, evil is overcome; that in Christ, we are given strength to endure; and that in Christ, even the smallest act of faithful witness shares in the victory of heaven.

Amen.