Give Up Illusions… And Sweeties: Sermon Preached on 18th February 2026 (Ash Wednesday)

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Preached at Christ Church, Bulkington (Benefice Service)

2 Peter 1.16–21 ; John 8. 1-11

A close-up of a person's forehead marked with a dark ash cross, a traditional symbol applied during Ash Wednesday, the first day of Lent in the Christian calendar. The cross is clearly defined against the person's pale skin, with brown hair visible at the top and edges of the frame.

I don’t know about you, but I have a pile of books that I still haven’t read sitting on the little table next to my armchair in the living room. And I also, on the little table on the other side of the armchair, have another pile of books that I still haven’t read.

I suspect I’m not the only person here like that.

Still and all, when I was doing my weekly radio review column for the Church Times on Monday, I heard a doctor in Scotland being interviewed about his new book, which is about the mental health crisis, and how the way we categorise poor mental health might lead us to underestimate the resilience of the mind. It came out literally just last week and I wanted to be one of the first people to own a copy, so off I popped to Mr Amazon.

Will I have time to read it? Of course not! I just wanted it!

When do you know you have enough? Much of our lives are built on an unspoken illusion: that if we just had a little more, we would finally feel secure. No matter how much we have, most people always just seem to want just a little bit more. And the little bit more is always justifiable in its own terms: just a little bit more financial security for my retirement, just a slightly bigger car so I can help ferry the grandkids around, and that long haul flight would be so much easier in Premium Economy. One of my parishioners told me yesterday that I wasn’t well paid. When I think back to my memories of my maternal grandmother, who died when I was seven—I’m rich beyond her wildest dreams.

We’re all fantastically rich compared to most people who have ever lived. Even kings and emperors for most of human existence lived with a burden of disease and early death of loved ones that is hard to imagine from our standpoint.

That’s why I think it does us so much good to give a few things up for Lent. When I think back to the Ash Wednesdays of my primary school days, Lent was all about what you gave up. I don’t think any of my childhood attempts to give up sweets and crisps lasted more than about 48 hours. Yet although even these little child’s gestures were beyond my capacity, they started being considered as insufficiently sophisticated as we got older.

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Heaven in Lidl Car Park: Sermon Preached on 15th February 2026 (Sunday Before Lent)

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A Lidl supermarket sign is illuminated against a stunning twilight sky. The sign features the retailer's iconic yellow circular logo with the distinctive blue diamond and red "Lidl" text centered on it. The sign is mounted on black support posts atop a dark-colored building structure, creating a stark silhouette against the colorful backdrop. The sky displays a vibrant gradient of colors transitioning from deep purple at the top, through shades of pink and mauve in the middle, to warm orange and peachy tones near the horizon. The building's roofline is visible in the foreground, rendered as a dark shape against the luminous evening sky. The bright, backlit sign contrasts dramatically with the darkened storefront below, suggesting this photograph was taken during either dawn or dusk, capturing the store's entrance during the twilight hour. The image conveys a serene, atmospheric quality typical of golden hour photography.

Preached at Holy Cross, Seend and St Peter’s, Poulshot

2 Peter 1.16–21 ; Matthew 17.1–9

“And he was transfigured before them, and his face shone like the sun.”

Did I ever tell you about the time I saw Lidl in Devizes transfigured? We don’t expect to see transfiguration when we’re running out to buy a packet of biscuits and a cheap bottle of wine… but it happens.

A Lidl supermarket sign is illuminated against a stunning twilight sky. The sign features the retailer's iconic yellow circular logo with the distinctive blue diamond and red "Lidl" text centered on it. The sign is mounted on black support posts atop a dark-colored building structure, creating a stark silhouette against the colorful backdrop. The sky displays a vibrant gradient of colors transitioning from deep purple at the top, through shades of pink and mauve in the middle, to warm orange and peachy tones near the horizon. The building's roofline is visible in the foreground, rendered as a dark shape against the luminous evening sky. The bright, backlit sign contrasts dramatically with the darkened storefront below, suggesting this photograph was taken during either dawn or dusk, capturing the store's entrance during the twilight hour. The image conveys a serene, atmospheric quality typical of golden hour photography.
“Branded Twilight”, © Derek Finch, 16 May 2025, used under Creative Commons Licence 4.0.

We all know what it is to drive down a familiar road, somewhere that’s a bit run-of-the-mill and isn’t exactly known for being pretty, and find that your eyes are suddenly open to a beauty that you hadn’t noticed before. Often it might be the way the Sun lights a long-familiar scene, especially in the golden hours around sunrise and sunset; or it might be the sudden appearance of a red kite or a lost pair of deer; or it might be the trees in autumn, and at this time of year it is often, of course, the flowers.

Well, Lidl looks very different in twilight, especially on one of those rare evenings when the clouds are lit crimson from below. When the conditions are like that, sometimes you find that for a minute or two, the strip lights in the store shine through the window with just the perfect cast to complement the clouds. I remember one night in particular, about three or four years ago, when I was doing my shopping just a little bit later in the year than this, and this wonderful sight was accompanied by a hint of springtime blossom on the breeze, and a blackbird was singing for the last time in the day before it went to sleep—and just for a brief moment, you could sense Heaven breaking into the car park of Lidl in Devizes.

In just the right circumstances, even the most banal of things can experience a transfiguration, reminding us that the whole of creation is supercharged with awe and wonder.

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Once Pentecostalism Rose in Latin America. Now the Churchless are Growing.

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There are three great stories in the demographics of the Christian world over the last two generations. One was widely heralded and remains much discussed, the other two are much less so.

One, is of course, the secularisation of the West. The second, a big part of my academic work, is the explosion in Christian numbers in Africa: from around 60 million at independence to something like 700 million today. The third is the move of millions of Latin Americans from Catholicism to Protestantism, usually Charismatic and Pentecostal forms of Protestantism, since around 1970.[1] Evidence is starting to build that, starting in the 2010s, there has been a change in direction. Catholicism has continued to lose both nominal and active adherents, but those leaving were less inclined to move toward Evangelicalism than out of organised religion altogether.

David Martin’s Tongues of Fire (1990) was the one of the first serious academic works on the subject in the UK, and has a place of pride on my bookshelf; in the USA, David Stoll’s Is Latin America Turning Protestant? of the same year possibly had more impact.[2]

A group of Brazilian Pentecostal worshippers participates in a baptism ceremony at the River Jordan. In the shallow, murky brown water, several people dressed in white clothing gather around a man in a light blue shirt who appears to be leading the service. On the riverbank, observers dressed in casual attire hold smartphones and cameras to record the event. The scene captures a moment of religious celebration, with participants smiling and engaged. Vegetation lines the water's edge in the background. The photograph, taken on November 16, 2022, by photographer Gerry Lynch, documents this spiritual pilgrimage to one of Christianity's most sacred sites. The joyful expressions and communal participation reflect the significance of baptism within Pentecostal faith traditions.
Brazilian Pentecostals being baptised in the River Jordan. © Gerry Lynch, 16 November 2022.

The gathering turn to Protestantism emerged during a tumultuous period in Latin American Catholic life, with the rise of Liberation Theology among what had been a reactionary clerisy in the 1960s and then its shattering from above under the pontificate of John Paul II. While Liberation Theology claimed to speak for the poor, it was during its ascendancy that the continent’s impoverished legions, long underserved by priests, started looking elsewhere for spiritual sustenance. “The Catholics opted for the poor and the poor opted for Pentecostalism” runs the old canard.

But departures to Pentecostalism accelerated further in the decades since Latin American Catholicism’s renewed tack to the Right: and it was a modest tack – the shift should not be overstated; there was no return to the reaction of the first part of the 20th Century.

How great is the scale of the departure from Catholicism in Latin America? Catholic identification dropped from approximately 90% in the 1960s to 70% in 2010, and further to 57% by 2020.

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Snowdrops Signal a Pregnant Cosmos: Sermon Preached on 8th February 2026 (Second Sunday Before Lent)

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A cluster of white snowdrop flowers with green-tipped petals, surrounded by lush green leaves, growing in a grassy area. In the background, there is a blurred stone building with a dark doorway and a weathered gravestone, under a cloudy sky.

Preached at St Mary’s, Potterne

Romans 8.18–25; Matthew 6.25–34

“Consider the lilies of the field… they neither toil nor spin, yet… even Solomon in all his glory was not clothed like one of these.”

Salisbury Cathedral rises majestically against a brilliant blue sky scattered with a few wispy white clouds on this sunny February day. The pale limestone of the Early English Gothic masterpiece glows in the clear light, its intricate west front alive with pointed arches, traceried windows, statues, and ornate gables. Three towers anchor the structure, crowned by the cathedral’s world-famous central spire that tapers dramatically into the heavens. In the foreground a broad, vivid green lawn stretches toward the building, crossed by long, sharp shadows from bare winter trees. A handful of tiny figures stroll along the paths, giving scale to the immense architecture. The whole scene radiates serene, timeless grandeur in the crisp winter sunshine.
Salisbury Cathedral, 4 February 2026, by Gerry Lynch (public domain)

February can be an underrated month – although the weather hasn’t been too kind to us this year with the grey and the rain. But when we get a sunny, calm, day, like we had on Wednesday, it becomes clear that winter’s lease is running out. There is heat in the Sun—when it gets a chance. The days are getting rapidly longer: in these parts, daylight lengthens by over an hour and a half during February.

Most of all, it is the flowers that make this time of year. First the snowdrops, then the crocuses, then the primroses and the daffodils and all the rest of them pop up, long before the first buds appear on the trees. They cheer us up not only because they tell us that winter will soon be over, but also because they are so pretty.

Of course, these early flowers are important for practical reasons. Their nectar feeds honeybees and other insects that wake from hibernation early. Mice and voles feed on snowdrops; slugs and snails feed on the early flowers too, as they do on almost anything, and they in their turn feed creatures further up the food chain. But the beauty of the first flowers is a gift in and of itself.

Why should the concept of ‘beauty’ mean anything to us at all? What gives us a sense that some things are beautiful and others aren’t? It isn’t a matter of survival of the fittest in the game of evolution. I mean, daffodils are beautiful but I don’t recommend you try to eat them, not unless you want a trip to A&E. Lions and tigers and cheetahs are beautiful but, if you’re in nature, you don’t want to contemplate their beauty for all that long.

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What if God was One of Us?: Sermon Preached on 1st February 2026 (Candlemas)

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A medieval fresco (c. 1300–1400, early Italian Renaissance style, possibly Giotto-inspired) illustrates the Presentation of Jesus in the Temple (Candlemas, Luke 2:22–40). The scene is set in a grand temple with decorative blue-and-gold borders, geometric patterns, arched architecture, and a central ornate canopy over an altar .At the centre, the Virgin Mary, veiled in dark blue, extends her arms as she presents the infant Jesus. Elderly Simeon, with a golden halo and long beard, cradles the nude baby close, his expression reverent; the child reaches out gently. Golden halos surround the holy figures. To the sides stand Joseph (possibly holding doves) and other attendants in colorful robes on the left, and the prophetess Anna with additional onlookers on the right, all observing the sacred moment in quiet devotion. The composition conveys prophecy fulfilment, divine recognition, and holiness within an architectural frame of columns and patterned walls.

Preached at St Mary’s, Potterne; Christ Church, Worton; Holy Cross, Seend; and Christ Church, Bulkington

Hebrews 2. 14-18; Luke 2. 22-40

“Because he himself was tested by what he suffered, he is able to help those who are being tested.”

A 15th-century Northern Renaissance panel illustrates the Presentation of Jesus in the Temple (Candlemas, Luke 2:22–40). The scene is set in a Gothic temple interior with tall red marble columns, golden capitals, pointed arches, and small decorative windows featuring religious figures.From left to right: Joseph, wearing a green turban and maroon robe, holds a white dove and looks toward the center. Beside him, the veiled prophetess Anna gazes devoutly. At the heart, the Virgin Mary, in a rich red robe with gold trim and blue mantle, presents the nude infant Jesus, who sits on a draped ledge holding a small basket of two turtledoves; golden rays form His halo. Elderly Simeon, bearded and in an elaborate gray robe with gold and yellow accents, receives the child reverently, his own halo glowing. A tall candle or staff nearby symbolizes Christ as the light of the world.The composition creates a luminous, sacred atmosphere of prophecy and divine recognition.
Jacques Daret, The Presentation in the Temple (c. 1434-35), hangs in the Petit Palais, Paris.

I wonder how many of you know that 1990s hit song by Joan Osborne about God? You hear it on the radio quite often still, or playing in the supermarket when you do your shopping. It goes like this:

♫“What if God was one of us? Just a slob like one of us?”♪♫

I’m not sure the word slob is appropriate, but one thing that makes Christianity unique among religions is that Christians believe that God really was one of us. Maybe not a slob, but one who did all the normal human things, including going to the loo and blowing His nose, and sometimes being afraid, and being tempted to do things that were wrong.

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Yes, It Could Be Christmas Every Day: Sermon Preached on 4th January 2026 (Second Sunday of Christmas)

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This panoramic view captures the serene beauty of Bethlehem's old city at twilight. The sky transitions into a deep, soft purple-blue dusk, casting a calm and ethereal glow over the historic landscape as evening settles in.In the foreground and across the scene, clusters of ancient limestone buildings and rooftops spread densely, their warm, weathered stone tones standing out against the cooling light. Scattered lights begin to sparkle from windows and streets below, adding gentle points of warmth.Rising prominently are several towers that punctuate the skyline: the distinctive bell tower of the Church of the Nativity, with its classic design and cross, stands out alongside slender minarets—such as the elegant one from the nearby Mosque of Omar—featuring intricate details and illuminated outlines against the twilight sky.The overall composition conveys a peaceful, timeless atmosphere, blending architectural forms of stone, domes, and vertical spires in a harmonious urban tapestry.

Preached at Christ Church, Worton and St Mary’s, Potterne

Readings – Ephesians 1. 3-14; John 1. 10-18

“The law was indeed given through Moses; grace and truth came through Jesus Christ.”

Has anyone brought you a present today? A bottle of wine, or a box of chocolates, perhaps? Some left-over mince pies? Or has anyone already today been given the gift of… eleven pipers piping?

Vibrant 1970s scene from Top of the Pops: Glam rock band Wizzard performs "I Wish It Could Be Christmas Everyday" against a fairy-tale castle backdrop with turrets and snowy atmosphere.Band members in colorful, theatrical costumes. Foreground: Musician with wild afro, blue jacket, yellow accents, red bow tie, dramatic makeup, playing saxophone or gesturing.Center: Roy Wood with long white beard and hair, hat, multi-colored military uniform in red, white, gold, epaulettes, like Santa-toy-soldier, singing or playing guitar.Background: Others in flamboyant attire with shiny fabrics, tassels, stripes; playing drums (two red kits), bass, saxophones. Drummer in red military jacket with white trim; elaborate headgear like tall hats, turbans.Image full of saturated colors, glitter, joyful chaos, capturing 1970s glam rock spirit and holiday fun.
Christmas isn’t over. It’s only just begun!

You see, today is the eleventh day of Christmas. Christmas isn’t over—not yet, anyway. That’s the point of that old song about the twelve days of Christmas. Tomorrow night is Twelfth Night, when the Christmas decorations traditionally come down. But for now we are definitely in the season of Christmas, and all our readings and hymns today reflect that.

Then on Tuesday the Epiphany comes—when the infant Christ was worshipped by the Wise Men, who were not Jews, therefore demonstrating that He has come to establish His Kingdom over the whole human race, and not just one group of people. That was the start of Christ’s earthly mission, begun when was still in the cot. Is that the end of Christmas? Well, what if I told you that it didn’t need to be? What if I told you it could be Christmas every day?

Now, I know what you’re thinking:

♪♫ Well, I wish it could be Christmas everyday ♫♪
♪♪ When the kids start singing and the band begins to play ♫♫

What a blessed relief it has been to go into supermarkets over the last couple of days without that blasting in your ears. It will be a whole ten months until we get assaulted by Slade and Mariah Carey every time we go to buy a packet of frozen peas – or nine-and-a-half at least. That sort of Christmas everyday would be pretty grim – eternal mince pies, mulled wine, and bigger meals at higher prices than you actually want, all accompanied by forced cheerfulness.

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Christmas Is Really for the Kids: Sermon Preached on Thursday 25th December 2025

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This panoramic view captures the serene beauty of Bethlehem's old city at twilight. The sky transitions into a deep, soft purple-blue dusk, casting a calm and ethereal glow over the historic landscape as evening settles in.In the foreground and across the scene, clusters of ancient limestone buildings and rooftops spread densely, their warm, weathered stone tones standing out against the cooling light. Scattered lights begin to sparkle from windows and streets below, adding gentle points of warmth.Rising prominently are several towers that punctuate the skyline: the distinctive bell tower of the Church of the Nativity, with its classic design and cross, stands out alongside slender minarets—such as the elegant one from the nearby Mosque of Omar—featuring intricate details and illuminated outlines against the twilight sky.The overall composition conveys a peaceful, timeless atmosphere, blending architectural forms of stone, domes, and vertical spires in a harmonious urban tapestry.

Preached at St Peter’s, Poulshot and St Mary’s, Potterne

Readings – Isaiah 52:7-10; Luke 2.1-14

“Then an angel of the Lord stood before them… and they were terrified.”

Paul Gauguin's 1896 oil painting Te Tamari no Atua (The Child/Son of God) reimagines the Christian Nativity in a Tahitian setting. In the foreground, a serene Tahitian woman—representing Mary—lies exhausted on a low bed, her body mostly bare except for a deep blue pareo (sarong) decorated with golden patterns, draped loosely over her lower body. She rests on her back with arms outstretched, a glowing yellow halo encircling her head, eyes closed, and face tilted upward in peaceful repose. Beside the bed sits a dark-skinned female figure in a white garment, possibly an attendant or angel, gazing down while cradling a small, swaddled infant (the Christ child). In the background, within a dimly lit interior supported by a large red wooden post, another Tahitian woman in blue stands near a cow and other animals, evoking the stable. The scene is filled with rich, stylized colors—deep greens, vibrant blues, warm yellows, and earthy reds—blending Polynesian motifs, patterned fabrics, and symbolic elements like the halo and animals. The title is inscribed at the bottom. This exoticized fusion of Christian iconography and Tahitian culture creates a dreamlike, spiritual atmosphere.
Te tamari no atua (Polynesian for ‘The Son of God’) or ‘The Birth’, Paul Gaugin, 1896. Hangs in the Pinakothek, Munich.

Christmas is really for the kids. The animals and the baby in swaddling clothes in the stable, and the angels with their cotton wool wings singing sweetly in the night, and the shepherds with their robes, and lots of dressing up. And Santa flying through the Bethlehem sky and the reindeer singing along with the angels as they passed.

(Actually, I made that last bit up – we all know that Santa, whose real name is St Nicholas, didn’t start his work delivering presents to children until about three hundred years after the first Christmas, because it was only then that there were enough children who believed that Jesus Christ was God.)

But that’s really what Christmas is about, isn’t it? A cute story with lots of pretty elements, and Cadbury’s selection boxes, and lots of turkey, and kids getting toys from Santa and having fun. Or maybe it’s something more profound than that?

Of course Christmas is for kids. The presents from Santa and nativity plays and selection boxes are for kids, and the real story of Christmas is very definitely for kids. But it’s also for adults too. For if Christmas is just for kids, then once we get past the age of 12 or so we can stop taking it seriously, and once Boxing Day comes, we can put it away and not think about it for another year, like the tinsel and the baubles for the tree that spend all year being stored in the attic.

But if Christmas is true – if the baby Jesus really was God-made-human, then this is the most important event in history, and the most important story of our lives. And it’s a story that is a lot more gritty than we tend to remember it from school nativity plays—less Disney, more like Happy Valley or perhaps an ancient equivalent of The Wire.  

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Only Human: Sermon Preached on 24th December 2025 (Midnight Mass)

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This panoramic view captures the serene beauty of Bethlehem's old city at twilight. The sky transitions into a deep, soft purple-blue dusk, casting a calm and ethereal glow over the historic landscape as evening settles in.In the foreground and across the scene, clusters of ancient limestone buildings and rooftops spread densely, their warm, weathered stone tones standing out against the cooling light. Scattered lights begin to sparkle from windows and streets below, adding gentle points of warmth.Rising prominently are several towers that punctuate the skyline: the distinctive bell tower of the Church of the Nativity, with its classic design and cross, stands out alongside slender minarets—such as the elegant one from the nearby Mosque of Omar—featuring intricate details and illuminated outlines against the twilight sky.The overall composition conveys a peaceful, timeless atmosphere, blending architectural forms of stone, domes, and vertical spires in a harmonious urban tapestry.

Preached at Holy Cross, Seend

Readings – Isaiah 9. 2, 6-7; John 1. 1-14

“the Word became flesh and lived among us”      

On a rainy night, outside the rundown Dave's City Motel, a weary middle-aged man with a beard stands under glowing neon signs. Wearing a fur-lined parka and baseball cap, he holds an old payphone receiver to his ear with one hand and a folded newspaper in the other. Heavy rain streaks across the entire scene. Right beside him, a young Black girl in a hooded sweatshirt reading "Elizabeth High School" sits confidently astride a faded pink coin-operated mechanical pony (marked "Out of Order"). She grips a small plastic bag and looks straight ahead with quiet determination. The motel window blazes with eclectic neon beer signs including "Good News," "Starr," a large green "BEVER" with starburst, and cigarette advertisements. A "No Vacancy" sign glows nearby, while wet newspapers and a sprouting weed near the curb add to the moody, nostalgic, slightly gritty atmosphere.
Jose y Maria, Everett Patterson, 2014.

“I’m only human.” It’s a phrase we usually offer by way of an apology—as if being human was something inadequate or second rate. Humans aren’t perfect. What torments us is that somehow we think we’re supposed be perfect, so when we can’t manage to be the perfect people we think we should be, we think we’ve failed.

We’re supposed to be good at our jobs, to run a perfect home, to be a cheerful friend and companion while also being capable of giving frank and realistic advice if needed, a wonderful spouse or partner, an absolutely perfect parent, to give regularly to charity, to feel deeply for a range of worthy causes and always say the right things about them, to never hit the credit card too heavily, never drink more than 14 units of alcohol per week, never smoke, and have a clean driving licence and a Body Mass Index below 25 – or, if we’re Black or Asian, a Body Mass Index below 23.

Of course we don’t manage to achieve all that. We’re only human. Although there are always Instagram influencers and people in the lifestyle magazines who claim to manage it all, and tell us we all could too if only we tried hard enough. Maybe they’re not human—better than human?—superhuman?

We’re so negative about the idea of being human – but being human was good enough for God. That’s what that strange mystical passage from St John’s Gospel that I read a moment ago is saying. I freely admit that it is strange stuff, and I don’t see that as a problem. After all, if God is real, then any human attempt to describe God must strain the limits of human language. The passage writes of two beings, the Word, and God who created the universe. The Word, it says, was God, every bit as much as the creator of the universe—somehow these two beings while being distinct, were one. The Word was with God before time began. And then the Word became flesh—God became human. That is the unique and distinctive point of the Christian faith

Now, we have much in common with Jews, something I think we all know, and we also have quite a lot in common with Muslims, something that is quite difficult to say with being latched on to as a Culture War point by one side or another. But it is a simple statement of fact. Like Muslims and Jews, we believe that there is a God, one God, who created the universe. This is very different from what atheists believe about the universe, or Buddhists, or Hindus. And like Muslims and Jews we believe that God will judge us at the end of our lives for what we have done on this Earth: which is a pretty scary prospect; we’d better hope that God judges us with more mercy than the lifestyle magazines and the folks on social media.

But one belief that separates Christians dramatically from Jews and Muslims is that we believe God actually became human. He did so in the person of Jesus Christ. If Jesus Christ was truly God, then God got the cold and blew His nose, went to the toilet, told jokes, ate breakfast, and was so fond of eating and drinking with the wrong company that his enemies called him a glutton and a drunkard. If this festival we celebrate tonight is true, then God got so exhausted by the crowds who mobbed Him like a modern celebrity that He fled to the hills for peace, and God was perceived as such a threat by powerful men that they had Him executed. That’s very different from what Jews believe, and very different from what Muslims believe.

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