Special Events / News

This letter is written for all those who would normally not consider coming to our Easter Day services on 20^th April.

Clergy are quick to focus on Easter Day being centred on the resurrection of Jesus – I will return to that at the end of this. What I want to think about is what we see all around us at this time of year: new life bursting through after the slumber of winter. As I walk Lola through the woods in early March, the bluebell leaves have appeared seemingly out of nowhere and I look forward to soon seeing the carpet of blue. My garden is full not only of daffodils and snowdrops, but this year violets in abundance: tiny and so beautiful.

And then there is another truth: good and bad things happen in life. We have choice, not usually about them happening, but how we respond. As a parish priest I have often been amazed that in the most difficult and distressing of situations, people find a way of continuing to live and find hope in the midst of pain: though, I know, too, sometimes people feel just defeated by events in their lives – and that is a reason why sometimes we simply need each other to walk together without judgement.

The narratives faith or any belief system proclaims will only be worth listening to or following, if they resonate with truth.

Which takes me to Good Friday and Easter. Good Friday states the truth that sometimes terrible things happen – in this case a man who reached out in love to all, especially the marginalised and defeated, himself is led to the most ignominious and painful of deaths on a cross – where he knows both despair (“My God, my God, why have you forsaken me”) and hope, (“into your hands I commend my Spirit”). The central stained glass in Slindon’s beautiful east window, is Jesus on the cross, with his mother and others looking on in grief.

The disciples scatter – they have all failed by running away at this most critical time. Peter – the confident one “I will never leave you, though everyone else might” – denying Jesus three times to a servant. And then – a great mystery at the centre of the Christian narrative – those broken men experience Jesus risen, which propels them into a Gospel of hope and a life spreading the truth for which many of them, including Peter and Paul, were to give their lives.

It is a narrative which is true to our experience of life.

Of course, as a priest I can approach this from the other end saying why I believe the crucifixion and resurrection actually happened. (And if you would like that conversation just ask and we can discuss together).

And so, the church should be a place where we walk together, taking seriously and supporting those who hurt, being people together of hope and seeing the new life which the Christian faith sees in Jesus. A true story for living.

And, of course, enjoy the bluebells!

Peter

Following the successful History Society talk by Andrew Foster in St Mary’s entitled Slindon, the Archbishops of Canterbury and Chichester 686 – 1542, we are making the presentation available to those who were unable to attend. The presentation includes new research carried out by Andrew in conjunction with Lambeth Palace and other archives. The screen below is linked to a free streaming service where you can play the video and sound recording on your computer device. Click on the triangle/arrow to start and double click on the screen if you want it to fill your computer screen.

If you enjoy the presentation, please do visit St Mary’s over the coming weeks to view the exhibition displays. If you would like to make a small contribution to the production costs, you can do so by using the “Donate” buttons on this website.

Lent, which begins on Wednesday 5^th March, is to be honest the one season in the church’s year that I have never really liked. Self-discipline, reflecting on the cost of love, on Jesus’ journey to the cross on Good Friday, our dour and sad thoughts – so, rather you than me.

And yet, I also know giving myself time to be honest with God and myself, stripping away, if only a little, the layers of protection I put in place to avoid looking at truth, is the way to a new and perhaps better life. There is, of course, the risk that a more honest appraisal of whom I am just leads to a sense of failure and regret. Existential atheism says ultimately we are alone in this and that’s a hard place to be honest about yourself – which is why I admire those who even try.

But the Lenten journey in Christianity is not a story of aloneness – we examine ourselves but in the light of God’s infinite love and forgiveness shown in human form in the person of Jesus. So, a Christian exploration of who we are is in the context of being valued and loved – and Lent can help us do that based on honesty rather than a fantasy of the people we are.

But that is not a cop out either. When I explore the limits of my love, my self-centredness and my failures and I see the infinite love of God made real in how Jesus lives, it is a bit like comparing murky grey with infinite light. One of the more uncomfortable sayings of Jesus is that in God’s kingdom all will be revealed which, unless you happen to be a saint, is quite a salutary thought!

That, of course, is the purpose of giving things up for Lent, or, even better, doing something positive for others. It is not to make us feel pleased with ourselves – that is the opposite of what Lent is about: but to help us acknowledge we need God’s love and forgiveness in our lives.

For the light, which uncovers all things hidden, is also a light of love. Lent is not, therefore an end in itself: but takes us to the great hope of Easter Day. If we take Lent seriously and have the courage to strip off a little of our defences, the story of Good Friday leading to Easter will mean we find not failure, but new life and hope.

I haven’t quoted RS Thomas for some time: but he has a beautiful poem which, as so often in my view, gets to the heart of the matter.

Peter

Slindon, the Archbishops of Canterbury and Chichester 686 – 1542

Special Exhibition and Talk by local historian, Andrew Foster

This event is in conjunction with Chichester Cathedral’s 950^th Anniversary year and is taking place at St Mary’s Slindon on Wednesday 12^th March at 7.00pm. 

Slindon has always been famous for its close links with Canterbury, ever since several parishes including Slindon, were granted to the then Archbishop of Canterbury in 686. For nearly 900 years until the Manor was handed back to Henry VIII at the time of the Reformation, many Archbishops came to stay at their residence in Slindon.  Who came to stay and what do we know about them?   

Local historian Andrew Foster has been researching this very subject and will be revealing the famous and infamous characters who enjoyed the view across the deer park to the sea.  Andrew will be giving a talk and introducing the exhibition, drawing on art and manuscripts from Chichester Cathedral and Lambeth Palace.  The talk and exhibition arranged by Slindon History Society is taking place in conjunction with Chichester Cathedral’s 950^th anniversary year in 2025.

Rev Peter Dyson, Rector at St Mary’s, commented: “How exciting to think that characters we know from history – Thomas Becket, Stephen Langton (of Magna Carta fame) and Thomas Cranmer for instance – may once have walked the aisles of the church where we still worship today.”

Here is an image of Lambert Barnard’s painting (1530’s) in Chichester Cathedral which we use in the exhibition.  Caedwalla, Anglo-Saxon King of Wessex, gave St Wilfrid, a missionary from Northumbria, the land for the ‘diocese’ based then at Selsey in around 685. One year later St. Wilfrid granted several parishes based on Pagham, including Slindon, to the Archbishop of Canterbury, Theodore (668-690), which was the start of an important chapter in Slindon’s fascinating history.  The exhibition will remain in place until 25^th May 2025.

Price: £6 (incl. a glass of wine) to be paid at the door. No need to book.   Wheelchair access available. 

For more information please contact Moira Richards, moira.wordpower@btinternet.com on 01243 814735, or Andrew Foster, andrew@awfoster.com  on 01243 553987.

Here is the equivalent of the million-pound jackpot question on Who wants to be a millionaire?  What is the significance of the numbers 1243, 1366 and 1406 to our benefice?

The answer can be found by looking at the board in each of our churches when the first known parish priest started their ministry: for Slindon it was 1243, during the reign of Henry III; Eartham 1366 – shortly after the Black Death; and Madehurst 1406, nine years before the Battle of Agincourt. And, of course, these are just the first known priests – almost certainly the lines in each case go back earlier: we know, for instance, that the bells at St Mary Magdalene, Madehurst, go back to the C12th.

The strength of the Church of England has always been its parish churches. Until recently, every community has had one and we in these three villages still have active churches, however small the resident numbers are. There has been a lot of comment on and criticism of the church at national and diocesan level – very understandably: but the lifeblood is laity and parish priests working hand in hand in their local communities. Archbishops and bishops are important (and please see the Rambling Rector for our local links to many archbishops!): but they have no role without the parish churches. We have a diocese and cathedral based in Chichester – but the diocese actually consists of 361 parishes and 478 local churches stretching all the way to the Kent borders!

Local parish churches try to go about their calling which has remained unchanged for about 750 years and counting: that is to worship God and to take and share Jesus’ vision of care, love, forgiveness, compassion and hope into our villages. It intrigues me that there is so much evidence that when local churches close or die for lack of support, people feel something very important has been lost – both in relation to community and all those values the church stands for and tries to live out. I feel very encouraged that in all our three villages there are so many not only who support our churches, but are so committed to their life and work.

So, this editorial seeks to ask all who live here to think about coming on a Sunday to help us further: it has been known to change lives – but if nothing else can give a space away form the incessant demands of life and modern technology.

I often ask people at christenings, “How would you define a Christian?” People often say being a good person. And, of course, that definitely should apply: but trying to live good lives is true of all faiths and indeed for people of no faith! Rather, for me, the answer is simply a “Christian” sees in Jesus someone who deep down does and teaches things that are important and life-giving. The church explores that in different ways – for instance with high philosophy such as the glorious opening to the Christmas midnight Gospel, “In the beginning was the Word”; or in terms of Jesus and bringing people together this time in the words of St Paul “God was in Jesus reconciling the world to Himself”. And Jesus’ constant refrain of our need to learn to forgive, as we are forgiven.

But for those who want just to tip a toe into the water, I would point to Abelard – the monk who fell in love with Heloise. Abelard in his writing said Jesus is the great “exemplar”, meaning he shows you a right way to live – see, for instance, the Sermon on the Mount. But to get that, it is necessary to read about his life and teaching – which is a part of every church service.

All this takes me back to those first priests and their successors on the lists in our three churches: they will all have been human and encompassed the saintly and not so saintly or, more probably, a mix of both.  But I like to think those simple priests tried to share that loving life that Jesus offers.

Peter

It might be thought a cop out to make most of my editorial a poem: but the one that follows is made for January. It is (nearly) the last verses of a poem that is 35 Pages long, from W H Auden’s “A Christmas Oratorio.” It is a poem full of deep insights about the Christmas story and why it resonates throughout the ages. The last bit has the added advantage of being comprehensible!

The last stanzas turn to what follows……

Well, so that is that. Now we must dismantle the tree,
Putting the decorations back into their cardboard boxes —
Some have got broken — and carrying them up to the attic.
The holly and the mistletoe must be taken down and burnt,
And the children got ready for school. There are enough
Left-overs to do, warmed-up, for the rest of the week —
Not that we have much appetite, having drunk such a lot,
Stayed up so late, attempted — quite unsuccessfully —
To love all of our relatives, and in general
Grossly overestimated our powers. Once again
As in previous years we have seen the actual Vision and failed
To do more than entertain it as an agreeable
Possibility, once again we have sent Him away,
Begging though to remain His disobedient servant,
The promising child who cannot keep His word for long.
The Christmas Feast is already a fading memory,
And already the mind begins to be vaguely aware
Of an unpleasant whiff of apprehension at the thought
Of Lent and Good Friday which cannot, after all, now
Be very far off. But, for the time being, here we all are,
Back in the moderate Aristotelian city
Of darning and the Eight-Fifteen, where Euclid’s geometry
And Newton’s mechanics would account for our experience,
And the kitchen table exists because I scrub it.
It seems to have shrunk during the holidays. The streets
Are much narrower than we remembered; we had forgotten
The office was as depressing as this. To those who have seen
The Child, however dimly, however incredulously,
The Time Being is, in a sense, the most trying time of all.
For the innocent children who whispered so excitedly
Outside the locked door where they knew the presents to be
Grew up when it opened.

Remembering the stable where for once in our lives
Everything became a You and nothing was an It.

That last line “Everything became a You and nothing was an It” is a brilliant summary at least to me of the Christmas story – because it is a story that takes you from the generality, humankind, politics, all the theories – to a particular moment and particular baby, whose meaning was and is love, God’s love; and if we really visit that stable, things we think of, perhaps for safety, in the third person (he/she/it/them/they), become a You – and a me. Not someone’s else job to love, but yours and mine. No wonder the Christian faith is said to be challenging – but also life-giving.

Peter

I am writing this just before a poetry evening to be held in Madehurst church. Advent will shortly be upon us and I will top and tail this with poetry. RS Thomas ends his poem “Kneeling” with the simplest of lines:

“The meaning is in the waiting”.                       

I don’t like waiting. Our society seems not to like it either: we want things now. Perhaps that is why Advent is out of fashion. A pity because Thomas’ simple line contains much truth. December speeds up like an express train with so much to do and prepare. In the blink of an eye we miss its meaning because we are just too busy, the diary too full, the “to do” list going over the page. And yet if we will wait and give space to ponder the potential significance of the birth of the Christ child – love coming into the world as a helpless babe – we might learn much, not only about God’s nature and our calling to reflect that vulnerable love, but also to have hope in a world that seems full of hard things.

St John in his great Prologue to his gospel, takes both the truth of hardship and that of hope seriously and in one sentence: “the light shines in the darkness, and the darkness has not overcome it.” It seems to me both people of faith and those without can reflect on that truth, even if on different levels. This Christian narrative of Jesus’ birth can be for all people and in all times – which is perhaps why, over 2000 years since the event, it holds a powerful resonance. We see hardship and vulnerability in our world and sometimes in our own lives. We can, I think sadly, see much darkness at this time. And yet we can also be people of hope – to see also the redeeming power of love’s vulnerability and operation.

And, for those of faith, this helpless babe born in a smelly stable to a family who could find no room in the inn is uniquely revealing of the nature of the God who, as St John tells us elsewhere, is the God of love. The light at the end of the tunnel – which gets darker along the way on Good Friday – is, of course, Easter morning.

All these things need reflection and however urgent the “to do” list is, wherever each of us is on our spiritual journey, take time this Advent to wait, to reflect on what this story tells us – about life and about God. There are four discussion groups planned on the four Mondays beginning 25^th November, (details in the Rambling Rector), looking at how we can grow in faith and in that hope of god’s love for us, even when we seem to be in darkness.

And I end with a well-known poem about Christmas, not only (for once) easy to understand, but also a poem that gives me hope. It is BC:AD by UA Fanthorpe:

And this comes with my best wishes and hope for a peaceful and happy Christmas to you all.

Peter

2025 is the year of celebration of the Christian faith across Sussex.

It marks the 950th anniversary of the formation of the Diocese of Chichester and Chichester Cathedral and 1700 years since the Nicene Creed first emerged. 

In this video, our Bishops and the Cathedral Dean introduce the celebrations that begin on Advent Sunday (December 1st), the start of the new Christian Year.

I am always moved by how many people come to the war memorial in Slindon on Remembrance Sunday, (10.50 10^th November), where we read out the names of all who died in the two World Wars from our three villages of Eartham, Madehurst and Slindon.  For some (good) reason, the numbers of people who mark Remembrance Sunday, having gone down towards the end of the C20th, have increased. Maybe that is something to do with the various centenaries we’ve had marking different events from the First World War or because people realise that serving veterans from WWII will soon no longer be with us.

I am moved and saddened by how many names there are from three small villages – almost all of them from lower ranks – men who one minute were ploughing in the tranquillity of a West Sussex farm, then facing the hell of a trench in Flanders. In the service that follows the wreath-laying, I always try to talk in more detail about one of the people whose names were read out – and I am grateful for the research done in all three of our villages.

There are many aspects to this Remembrance: from the sadness and grief for individuals and our communities behind the names, through to our commitment to work for peace, which should make us reflect on how we get on with our neighbours.  Jesus, in the opening words of the Sermon on the Mount – in the beauty of the Beatitudes – said: “Blessed are the peacemakers for they will be called children of God”. My experience, whether at home, at school in the playground, or as adults living in community, is there are people who make peace and those, who for whatever reason, do not. So, Remembrance perhaps is also a time to look at ourselves..

St Mary’s Slindon has something I have never seen in any parish church before. In the lady chapel, on the south wall is a list of all those from the village who fought in the First World War, (that is quite common); what is unique is they are listed in a certain order: first the Royal Navy, then army regulars (i.e. those in the professional army before the war broke out), then “volunteers” (those who joined before 1916), and finally “corralled”. The last group are those who were forced to join by conscription – as in corralling a sheep, meaning forcing it into a pen.

I really am not sure about such a judgement. I can see the argument that someone who volunteers to fight for their country might be seen in a different light from those conscripted – but the conscript might have fought equally bravely and are they not equal in death? And then what about conscientious objectors who were often vilified. There is a large body of writing about many of them, who were often brave (and often went to the front as stretcher-bearers). So, I am asked to reflect on judgement. Jesus, again in the Sermon on the Mount, says: “Judge not that you be not judged”. Hmm!

And finally in November St Mary’s has a more personal service of remembrance for those whom we have loved and known and who have died. It is at 6.00pm on 3^rd November – more details in the Rambling Rector – but it is a quiet, gentle and reflective service and all are welcome.

Peter

The Church of England in its wisdom sets lessons for every Sunday. Actually, it is not such a bad idea and it prevents vicars from just cherry-picking those bits of the bible they like. I have to say, though, sometimes the lessons chosen are very difficult and make me sigh.

But not at the moment!!

At the time of writing, one of the lessons selected for each Sunday is from the book of James. It is a too little-known gem. It only has five chapters and is tucked away near the end of the New Testament. It is the most practical of letters about how we can live good lives.

This week’s chosen section is all about the dangers of the tongue: it can do so much good – but also so much harm. James uses a thought-provoking analogy: that of a small rudder on a large ship. It can be used to turn into the safety of the open sea – or to head it for the rocks.

There are a lot of things that go into making a community flourish – and the same is true of communities that are divided. One is how we speak to one another and also how we speak about one another. How we use our tongue, what we say and how we say it, affects others around us. James changes the analogy: “it only takes a spark to set off a forest fire.” A lot is written about many of our modern communication systems and their tendency to encourage inflammatory words.

One of the things almost all religious beliefs encourage you to do at the end of the day is to reflect back on it. To be honest, I am not as disciplined about that as I should be. But when I do try it, it is instructive to think both how I have spoken to people and about them. Words of care, words of encouragement and words of forgiveness can make a real difference – they can build up individuals and communities. Conversely, harsh, judgemental, negative words can pull down and destroy people and communities.

So, a phrase we don’t hear often now, “watch your tongue” has perhaps much to commend it and, thanks to James’ letter, I am trying to focus on that.

One final thought about this letter: some Christians don’t like it because it says little about faith, but a lot about good works. In theology, though, the two are linked: it is understood that faith in a loving God who loves us and forgives us, gives the impetus to trying to be more loving ourselves. And I think most of us would understand it is love, rather than a series of legal restrictions, that can transform us.

Faith and good works cannot be taken separately. I shall leave the last word to James: “Faith and works, works and faith, fit together hand in glove.”

Peter