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Sermon: Endings and Beginnings (17th May, 2026, Year A)

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Acts 1.6–14 – So when they had come together, they asked him, ‘Lord, is this the time when you will restore the kingdom to Israel?’ He replied, ‘It is not for you to know the times or periods that the Father has set by his own authority. But you will receive power when the Holy Spirit has come upon you; and you will be my witnesses in Jerusalem, in all Judea and Samaria, and to the ends of the earth.’ When he had said this, as they were watching, he was lifted up, and a cloud took him out of their sight. While he was going and they were gazing up towards heaven, suddenly two men in white robes stood by them. They said, ‘Men of Galilee, why do you stand looking up towards heaven? This Jesus, who has been taken up from you into heaven, will come in the same way as you saw him go into heaven.’ Then they returned to Jerusalem from the mount called Olivet, which is near Jerusalem, a sabbath day’s journey away. When they had entered the city, they went to the room upstairs where they were staying, Peter, and John, and James, and Andrew, Philip and Thomas, Bartholomew and Matthew, James son of Alphaeus, and Simon the Zealot, and Judas son of James. All these were constantly devoting themselves to prayer, together with certain women, including Mary the mother of Jesus, as well as his brothers.

John 17.1–11 – After Jesus had spoken these words, he looked up to heaven and said, ‘Father, the hour has come; glorify your Son so that the Son may glorify you, since you have given him authority over all people, to give eternal life to all whom you have given him. And this is eternal life, that they may know you, the only true God, and Jesus Christ whom you have sent. I glorified you on earth by finishing the work that you gave me to do. So now, Father, glorify me in your own presence with the glory that I had in your presence before the world existed. ‘I have made your name known to those whom you gave me from the world. They were yours, and you gave them to me, and they have kept your word. Now they know that everything you have given me is from you; for the words that you gave to me I have given to them, and they have received them and know in truth that I came from you; and they have believed that you sent me. I am asking on their behalf; I am not asking on behalf of the world, but on behalf of those whom you gave me, because they are yours. All mine are yours, and yours are mine; and I have been glorified in them. And now I am no longer in the world, but they are in the world, and I am coming to you. Holy Father, protect them in your name that you have given me, so that they may be one, as we are one.

Sermon

In the days between Ascension and Pentecost, we find ourselves in an unusual place. The risen Christ has now ascended to the Father. Pentecost, when the Holy Spirit descends to us, has not yet arrived. The disciples are waiting. Praying. Wondering what comes next.

Perhaps you know what waiting and not knowing what comes next feels like. Indeed, I think many of us know what it feels like to live in between things. Between endings and beginnings. Between uncertainty and clarity. Between prayer and fulfilment. Between what God has done and what God might be about to do.

The disciples in our reading from Acts are standing in precisely that place. Jesus has ascended from their sight. The angels tell them not to stand looking into heaven forever, and so they return to Jerusalem. And what do they do there? They pray. Not strategically. Not triumphantly. Not with some perfect understanding of what’s gone on. They simply gather together faithfully and devote themselves to prayer.

It is our gospel reading from John that helps us understand how they are able to do that. Because in John 17 we overhear something extraordinary: Jesus praying for his disciples.

This chapter of John’s gospel is sometimes called the High Priestly Prayer. It comes just before Jesus goes out into the garden at Gethsemane, before his arrest and crucifixion. In other words, these are among the last words Jesus speaks before the cross. And remarkably, he spends those moments praying not for himself alone, but for those whom the Father has given him.

“I am asking on their behalf.” There is something deeply moving about Jesus’ words. The disciples are confused. Before long they will fail Jesus, scatter, deny him, abandon him. They do not fully understand who he is or what lies ahead. And yet Jesus prays for them lovingly and faithfully. Not once do we hear irritation in his voice. Not once does he speak as though the disciples are a disappointment. Instead, he entrusts them to the Father’s care.

“Holy Father, protect them in your name that you have given me, so that they may be one, as we are one.” That prayer really matters because the disciples are about to face a world that will test them. The protection Jesus speaks about is not protection from difficulty or suffering. After all, many of those disciples will go on to endure persecution and martyrdom. Rather, Jesus prays that they will be kept faithful. Kept united. Kept within the life of God.

And perhaps that is important for us to hear too. We sometimes imagine that faithfulness becomes easier once we have enough certainty, enough confidence, enough answers. But the disciples do not have those things yet. At this point, they are still waiting. Still uncertain. Still praying together in an upstairs room. And yet Jesus already calls them his own.

That is one of the great comforts of this passage: the security of Christ’s Church does not ultimately rest upon the strength of the disciples; it does nor rest upon our strength; it rests upon the faithfulness of Christ. The Church exists because Christ holds it, prays for it, and entrusts it to the Father.

That matters in every age, but perhaps especially now. We live in a time when the Church often feels fragile. We worry about numbers of the faithful and of our resources. We sometimes feel uncertain about the future. Society itself is increasingly fragmented and anxious. And into that reality comes the prayer of Jesus: “Holy Father, protect them… so that they may be one.”

Notice that unity sits at the heart of Christ’s prayer. Not uniformity. Not everyone becoming identical. The disciples themselves were certainly not identical people. But they were called into a shared life rooted in God.

Christian unity is not about always agreeing with one another or avoiding conflict. It is about sharing together in the life and love of God himself. The unity of the Church is meant to reflect something of the unity between the Father and the Son.

And that means unity is not a superficial thing. Crucially, it means that unity is God’s gift to us before it becomes our holy work. Every act of patience. Every moment of forgiveness. Every refusal to caricature or dismiss another person. Every decision to remain together when it would be easier not to; all of these become part of the answer to Christ’s prayer. Because unity is not something we manufacture by ourselves. It is something we are continually drawn back into by God’s grace.

And perhaps that is why the disciples, after the Ascension, devote themselves to prayer. Prayer keeps them together. Prayer teaches them dependence upon one another. Prayer creates space for the coming of the Spirit. Before the Church can become active, it first must become prayerful.

That is striking because we often prefer activity to waiting. We want plans, movement, visible progress. Yet these days between Ascension and Pentecost remind us that the Church is not sustained simply by energy or efficiency. The Church lives by remaining close to Christ. And that closeness is sustained through prayer.

Not polished prayer. Not impressive prayer. Just faithful prayer. The kind of prayer that says: “Lord, we do not fully know what comes next. But we are still here. Still listening. Still waiting upon you.”

And perhaps that is where these readings meet us today.

Some of us may be carrying uncertainty. Some may feel caught between stages of life. Some may be waiting for guidance, strength, healing, or hope. The good news of this Sunday is that Christ prays for his people even in the waiting.

Before the disciples preach, before Pentecost comes, before the Church bursts into life, Jesus already holds them in love. And he holds us too. The ascended Christ has not abandoned his Church. He intercedes for it still.

And so, like those first disciples, we continue together: praying, waiting, trusting, and learning again that our life rests safely in the hands of God.

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.

Sermon: I Will Not Leave You Orphaned (10th May, 2026, Year A)

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Readings

Acts 17.22–31 – Then Paul stood in front of the Areopagus and said, ‘Athenians, I see how extremely religious you are in every way. For as I went through the city and looked carefully at the objects of your worship, I found among them an altar with the inscription, “To an unknown god.” What therefore you worship as unknown, this I proclaim to you. The God who made the world and everything in it, he who is Lord of heaven and earth, does not live in shrines made by human hands, nor is he served by human hands, as though he needed anything, since he himself gives to all mortals life and breath and all things. From one ancestor he made all nations to inhabit the whole earth, and he allotted the times of their existence and the boundaries of the places where they would live, so that they would search for God and perhaps grope for him and find him—though indeed he is not far from each one of us. For “In him we live and move and have our being”; as even some of your own poets have said, “For we too are his offspring.” Since we are God’s offspring, we ought not to think that the deity is like gold, or silver, or stone, an image formed by the art and imagination of mortals. While God has overlooked the times of human ignorance, now he commands all people everywhere to repent, because he has fixed a day on which he will have the world judged in righteousness by a man whom he has appointed, and of this he has given assurance to all by raising him from the dead.’

John 14.15–21 – ‘If you love me, you will keep my commandments. And I will ask the Father, and he will give you another Advocate, to be with you for ever. This is the Spirit of truth, whom the world cannot receive, because it neither sees him nor knows him. You know him, because he abides with you, and he will be in you. ‘I will not leave you orphaned; I am coming to you. In a little while the world will no longer see me, but you will see me; because I live, you also will live. On that day you will know that I am in my Father, and you in me, and I in you. They who have my commandments and keep them are those who love me; and those who love me will be loved by my Father, and I will love them and reveal myself to them.’

Sermon

There are moments in life when absence is felt very sharply. A loved one leaves the room. A familiar voice falls silent. A season of life comes to an end. And even when we know that change is necessary, there is still a sense of uncertainty: What happens now? Who will guide us? How will we manage without them?

That is very much the atmosphere surrounding today’s gospel reading from Gospel of John. Jesus is preparing his disciples for his departure. These chapters of John’s gospel are intimate and tender. The disciples know that something is changing, even if they do not yet fully understand what. Jesus has spoken of betrayal, denial, suffering and death. Their world is beginning to wobble beneath their feet.

And into that uncertainty Jesus says: “I will not leave you orphaned.”

It is an extraordinarily gentle promise. Not: I will make everything easy. Not: You will never struggle. Not even: You will always understand what God is doing. But: I will not leave you alone. That promise sits at the heart of today’s gospel.

Jesus also speaks about love and commandments, but not in the sense of cold rule-keeping. “If you love me, you will keep my commandments,” he says. In John’s gospel, the commandment above all others is this: to love as Christ has loved. The obedience Jesus speaks about is not mechanical obedience. It is the natural shape of a relationship rooted in love.

We can probably recognise the difference instinctively. There is a world of difference between doing something merely because we are forced to and doing something because we love someone deeply. Love changes the character of obedience. It transforms duty into devotion.

And then Jesus speaks of “another Advocate,” the Spirit of truth. The word “Advocate” can also mean comforter, helper, companion, encourager. Jesus promises that the Holy Spirit will continue his presence among the disciples. Christ may no longer be physically beside them in the same way, but God will remain profoundly close to them.

That matters because the Christian life is not simply about trying harder to be good people. It is about God dwelling with us and within us. “I am in my Father,” Jesus says, “and you in me, and I in you.” This is not distant religion. It is relationship. Communion. Participation in the life of God.

And perhaps that is where today’s reading from Acts of the Apostles becomes especially illuminating. Paul stands in Athens surrounded by altars, philosophies and competing visions of truth. He notices even an altar “To an unknown god.” The Athenians are searching. Reaching out. Trying somehow to name what they cannot quite grasp.

Paul does not begin by condemning them for that longing. Instead, he begins with recognition. He sees their hunger for God. And then he declares that the God they are searching for is not distant after all. “He is not far from each one of us.”

That line could almost stand as a commentary on today’s gospel. The God revealed in Jesus Christ is not remote or hidden away in some inaccessible heaven. God is near. God is active. God is present through the Holy Spirit.

Sometimes we imagine faith means managing to climb our way up to God. But the gospel tells a different story. Again and again, God is the one who comes towards us first.

That is the pattern of Easter.

The risen Christ comes to frightened disciples behind locked doors. The risen Christ walks alongside confused travellers on the road to Emmaus. And now, before his ascension, Christ promises that his presence will continue through the Spirit. “I will not leave you orphaned.”

For the Church, that promise has always mattered enormously. Because there are many times when Christians have felt uncertain or overwhelmed. The early disciples certainly did. After the ascension, they could no longer rely on simply turning around and physically seeing Jesus beside them. They would have to learn what it meant to trust the Spirit’s guidance.

The Church in every age has had to learn the same lesson. And so do we.

There are times when God can seem obvious and close. And there are other times when faith feels quieter and harder. Times when prayer feels dry. Times when the future is unclear. Times when the Church itself feels fragile or anxious.

Yet the promise of Christ remains unchanged. Not abandoned. Not orphaned. Not alone. The Spirit of God continues to work; sometimes dramatically, but often gently and quietly.

In courage that arrives when we thought we had none left. In forgiveness that softens a hardened heart. In compassion shown to a neighbour. In worship, sacrament and prayer. In moments of unexpected peace. In the steady faithfulness of ordinary Christian life. Very often, the Spirit’s work is less like a lightning bolt and more like breath: unseen, but life-giving.

And perhaps that image of breath is helpful in Eastertide. Breath sustains us constantly, even when we barely notice it. Most of the time we are not consciously thinking about breathing at all. Yet every moment of life depends upon it.

So too with the presence of God. The Spirit quietly sustains the Church, generation after generation. Quietly sustains our faith. Quietly draws us back towards Christ again and again. And this matters not only for us individually, but for the world.

In Athens, Paul proclaims that all people ultimately live within the reality of God: “In him we live and move and have our being.” The gospel is not about escaping the world, but about discovering God already at work within it.

That means Christians are called to live as people attentive to God’s presence; in our communities, in our relationships, in our care for one another, and in our witness to Christ. Because if God is not far from each one of us, then no person is beyond the reach of his love.

And perhaps that is finally where today’s gospel leads us: not simply towards reassurance, but towards confidence. The disciples are anxious about losing Jesus. Yet Jesus is preparing them not for abandonment, but for mission. The Spirit will enable them to continue Christ’s work in the world. And the same is true for the Church today.

We do not follow a dead teacher preserved only in memory. We follow the risen Christ, who continues to dwell with his people through the Holy Spirit. The Church lives because Christ is alive.

And so, even amid uncertainty, the words of Jesus still speak with quiet power: “I will not leave you orphaned.”

Amen.

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.