Holy Week Reflections

Awe and Glory: A Reflection for Holy Week (Wednesday 1st April 2026)

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Given at Christ Church, Bulkington

Reading—Mark 9. 2-8

A vast, open landscape photographed at dusk or just after sunset. The foreground shows a recently harvested field, its dry golden-brown stubble occupying the lower third of the image, with a grass-edged farm track running diagonally from the lower right toward the horizon. At the centre of the horizon stands a single solitary tree, silhouetted in dark brown-black against a spectacular sky. The sky is the dominant feature: deep, rich cobalt blue at the top gradually softens through lighter blue into a luminous pale glow near the horizon, which itself blazes with bands of warm amber and orange where the sun has recently set. The effect is one of vast space, stillness, and solitude — the lone tree the only vertical element in an otherwise horizontal, almost minimalist composition.
Awe in the everyday. ‘I Touched Infinity’, Potterne Hill, 27 July 2024, © Gerry Lynch.

A perfect sunset, a chord by Fauré, the giggle of a baby, the stars on a dark night – all of those can give us the most extraordinary sensation, for which we use the word awe. We become aware that we have encountered something that is more glorious than the language we have to describe it – much greater in scale and complexity, much greater in beauty and moral grandeur. We sense that we are part of something far bigger than ourselves. Wonder mixes with fear. We are lifted up out of the drudgery of our routine lives. Yet we also realise how small we are; if we are lucky, our ego deflates a bit.

Awe is more than just a feeling. It seems to remind us of facts of life that we often forget. The universe is indeed vast; each one of us is small and lives for the briefest of spans; yet we are distantly related to all life on Earth; the complex elements that make up our bodies were forged in the furnaces of long-dead stars. Everything does indeed connect.

Much of contemporary life seems as if it were designed to minimise the number of times we experience that sense of awe, and from thinking too deeply about it when it does happen. The constant buzzes and beeps, the 24-hour TV schedule, and the infinite scrolling websites aim to keep us chained to our screens so we never notice what is beyond.

To notice the truth of our lives, we need to escape their humdrum.

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True Power: A Reflection for Holy Week (Tuesday 31st March 2026)

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Given at Christ Church, Worton

Reading—John 19. 4-16

Two men stand facing each other in a stone interior. The figure on the left is seen almost entirely from behind: a heavyset man in a richly draped golden toga trimmed with red, his right arm extended with palm upturned in a gesture of dismissive question. His head is turned in profile, revealing a clean-shaven, well-fed face. He stands in full sunlight, which pools on the tiled floor around him. The figure on the right stands in shadow against a bare reddish-brown wall: a lean, dark-haired man with an unkempt beard, wearing a plain dark robe, his arms apparently bound behind him. He meets the other man's gaze directly. The contrast between the two figures — one luminous and dominant, one shadowed and still — is stark.
Nikolai Ge, What is Truth? (1890). Hangs in the Tretyakov Gallery, Moscow.

Do they ever get under your skin, the men and women who hold power in our world? Those who casually snigger and sneer and tell obvious lies as they make decisions that will condemn many thousands to their deaths, or devastate the livelihoods of many millions.

Such powers in the land have always existed, although we didn’t always see their faces and hear their voices every day.

Pontius Pilate was such a power in the land. As Roman governor of Judaea, he only had to click his fingers and some of the finest troops the world had ever seen would be sent into action to do his bidding. Over non-citizens, such as Jesus and the apostles, he had the power of life and death.  He wasn’t powerful because of any notable personal qualities of his, not as far as we can tell, but because of the Empire he represented.

You didn’t set yourself against the Romans lightly. They were extremely competent and effective, but also ruthless and unafraid of brutality. Their power rested on a reputation that left no doubt they would inflict terror on their enemies, and inflict it capably. That’s why the Jewish leaders started plotting against Jesus in the first place – they were worried that such a charismatic preacher and teacher would attract the wrong sort of attention from the Romans and provoke a bloody reprisal, especially a figure who was developing a name for acts of mysterious power.

Yet Jesus had no ambition for power, rejected violence, and committed no crime. That clearly unsettles Pilate. Clearly he isn’t afraid of a bit of brutality, but such manifest injustice seems a bit much for him. Still, a man of the world has to do what he has to do.

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Keep ‘Er Lit in the Face of Armageddon: A Reflection for Holy Week (Monday 30th March 2026)

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Given at St Mary’s, Potterne

Reading—Matthew 25. 1-13   

A watercolour depicting ten female figures against a dark nocturnal landscape. On the left, five women stand composed and luminous in pale robes, holding lit oil lamps on chains; the central figure extends her arm firmly, pointing to the right in a gesture of dismissal. On the right, five women in darker clothing react with distress — one kneels with arms outstretched in supplication, another throws her hands upward in anguish, a third slumps toward the ground. Their lamps hang unlit. In the middle distance, a city with illuminated domes and spires is visible against the dark sky, suggesting the wedding feast now out of reach. Above, a floating angelic figure blows a long trumpet, heralding judgement. The overall palette is cool grey and silver, with the warm glow of the lit lamps providing the only warmth in the composition.
William Blake, The Wise and Foolish Virgins (ca. 1800). Owned by the Metropolitan Museum, New York; not currently on public display.

The story of the human race has been one where we gradually, but continually, amass more knowledge, more advanced technology – and more power. Even before writing was invented, we were already unique because of the wheel, the domestication of fire, the domestication of other species, and perhaps most of all speech. These things also made us uniquely deadly to other life forms. Our kingdom is very much of this world.

In recent generations, we’ve also potentially become lethal to ourselves. We’ve lived with the risk of nuclear war for 81 years now, and the wars unfolding in different parts of the world at the moment are frightening and violent events. Experiments in Genetic Modification of humans and other life forms are rapidly increasing in ambition and potential to do good, but also in risk of disaster. But it is Artificial Intelligence that is currently most in the public eye as a potential risk to our survival. One after another, some of the world’s top computer scientists – in many cases people instrumental to making Artificial Intelligence a reality – have either quit the field warning that it could lead to our extinction, or called for development to be slowed dramatically to allow adequate safety checks before AIs are made more powerful.

The logic of human relationships, however, is such that the two great empires of our time, China and the USA, must race as fast as they can to develop more powerful forms of Artificial Intelligence. This technology could be as transformative of human existence as the wheel, or fire, or speech, perhaps even more so. If one country blinks, it risks ceding the future to the other. Such are the constraints that govern how human kingdoms relate to one another.

The kingdom of God is different. It lives in its citizens often because of what they are and how they approach life as much as what they do, still less what they achieve. It doesn’t have a capital city or any fixed territory to defend.

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Reflection on ‘Betrayal’ for Holy Week; Wednesday 5th April 2023

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Given at Christ Church, Bulkington

Matthew 26: 20-25, 36, 47-50

Betrayal provokes emotions in us that are perhaps more disturbing than those that result from any other human experience. In that light, it is perhaps understandable how Judas has, in countries with a Christian cultural background, become a synonym for a particular type of wickedness. To call someone a Judas is one of the worst things one can say about them.

It is one thing to be attacked or undermined by an enemy, a rival, or even a random stranger — but when a trusted friend turns against us, the direct impact of whatever wrong they have done to us is often eclipsed by the feelings left by an abuse of trust, friendship, and love.

Being betrayed can, understandably, leave people very bitter. For all that such bitterness might be understandable, it is also dangerous. Bitterness is an emotional and spiritual acid; it risks corroding our humanity if we allow it to fester.

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Reflection on ‘Fame’ for Holy Week: Tuesday 4th April 2023

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Given at Christ Church, Worton

Matthew 21. 12-16

“Fame! — I wanna live forever.”

Seven young adults in a posed photograph, some sitting, some standing, on a promo graphic for the 1980s TV show 'Fame'. Another young character is in a box top right.
Soon, anyone old enough to remember the original Fame will pretty much have lived forever

So ran the theme tune of a popular TV drama of my youth, about a group of teenagers at a specialist high school in New York for those aiming at a career in the performing arts. The young characters wanted to be famous for their talents – as did the young actors who played them. But we live in a time when people don’t become famous necessarily for their talents or achievements, but often become famous just for being famous. The celebrity lifestyle is one that some people actively chase, indeed that some are willing to degrade themselves to achieve, drawn like a moth to the flame of being a household name.

The Gospels present Jesus as something of a celebrity, followed by crowds everywhere; sometimes, as when he overturned the money-changers’ tables, he could even carry out what we might call today a ‘PR stunt’. Yet the crowds’ attention was often exhausting to Christ; in Galilee, after a day surrounded by throngs of people clamouring to be healed and to be entertained, he would retreat into the hills, or out into the lake on a boat. Sometimes, the crowds followed him even there. As we believe that Jesus Christ was God in human form, we see something here about the character of God that is perhaps a little surprising.

One of the hallmarks of the early 21st Century has been the way that technology has eroded the distinction between public and private life – for celebrities and public figures, certainly, and also for quite ordinary people.

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Reflection on ‘Judgement’ for Holy Week; Monday 3 April 2023

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A medieval church, St Mary's in Potterne, brilliantly lit in golden colour by bright evening sun.

Given at St Mary’s, Potterne

Matthew 25. 31-40

Do we want to live in a universe where Jimmy Saville got away with it?

A medieval church, St Mary's in Potterne, brilliantly lit in golden colour by bright evening sun. Some tombstones are in the churchyard, also brilliantly lit, and a few primroses are just visible
I walked over the fields on a gorgeous spring evening to this wonderful church and then gave a reflection on judgement, damnation, and one of the vilest characters ever to disgrace British public life… © Gerry Lynch, 3 April 2023.

I found myself asking this as I prepared the readings for tonight’s service. Many of us will know the famous parable of the sheep and the goats that our bible reading tonight came from. It was rather too long for this short service, so I left out the bit about what happens to the goats. I left out the bit that may be the most important for us to hear, because I didn’t want to frighten or upset anyone.

The idea of God as divine judge is frightening and upsetting. Maybe, however, that’s no bad thing. It’s a pity that Jimmy Saville wasn’t a bit more afraid of being judged by God.

The Church has in recent decades downplayed the idea of divine judgement. It wanted to be positive, to celebrate the best in humanity; it often said that judgement really wasn’t what Jesus Christ, Love incarnate, was about. People weren’t fooled. They knew this was a rewrite of what Christianity had always said. You can’t escape for too long that the Biblical record is pretty clear that Jesus did talk a lot about judgement. Worse yet, nobody seemed much interested in this rewrite, which is probably part of the story of why the churches slowly emptied. If we don’t need redeeming from our sins, then why do we need a saviour?

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For they were afraid. A reflection for Easter Day.

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For churchgoers, Easter Day is a time of joy and celebration, usually with a thronged church, an immaculately conducted service, the fruit of weeks of preparation, and the chance to catch up with friends we haven’t seen for a while. In my Church, we are even lucky enough to have a slice or two of Fr. William’s home-made simnel cake. After the austerity of Lent and trials of Holy Week, Jesus jumps out of the papier maché Easter egg and shouts, “surprise!” It didn’t all end on Good Friday – he is risen indeed. Alleluia!

The reality of that first Easter was very different. It was a time of fear, with Jesus’ followers in hiding, hoping the crowds only slowly departing from Jerusalem after the religious festival would help them stay below the radar. The capital was the stronghold of those Christ had spent his ministry criticising. His supporters’ hopes that he was the promised Messiah had been crucified along with Christ himself. Dare they presume that the whole episode was unimportant enough that they could keep their heads low for a while, before retreating back to the Galilee when the coast cleared? Or would the apparatus of the state stumble upon them, and decide that a few more needed to die for the sake of the whole people?

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Hitting rock bottom. A reflection for Easter Eve.

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In English, the Apostle’s Creed teaches that Jesus descended “to the dead” or “into hell” depending on which version we use. However, the Greek version states that “κατελθοντα εις τα κατωτατα”, “he went down to the lowest”. At least since the second Century, many Christians have believed that Christ descended literally into the underworld, and preached to the dead.

The ‘Harrowing of Hell’, as it is often called, is particularly important in the Eastern Orthodox tradition, where the great Easter sermon of St. John Chrysostom, dating from around the year 400, is preached every year at Easter Eve.

For Chrysostom, this is the moment where Christ literally enters Hell and takes it prisoner, binding the Devil and death in chains. “He descended into Hades and took Hades captive!” Easter Eve is where the eternal life-giving force of God meets the power that death and evil have in time, and destroys them. This is the great mystery of the Christian faith – by dying Christ destroyed our death. By embracing, of His own free will, the power of evil to wound and destroy, Christ annihilated that power.

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