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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

September and early October are the months of Harvest Festival and Thanksgiving. It is hard for us in our modern world to realise its importance. We live in beautiful countryside with farms nearby, but still we go whenever we feel like it to the village shop, a farm shop or the nearest supermarket. When what we want is not on offer, we are grumpy. I always wonder at how many varieties of coffee are now available in a large supermarket – when millions in our world cannot put basic food on their table!

In contrast, prior to the C20th, how good or bad your local harvest turned out, was crucial – and if a harvest failed throughout the land, famine was a reality. It is worth remembering the potato famine in Ireland was in the mid-C19th, (just 50 years before my father was born); and famine is still sadly a reality in parts of the world today. And then we moan when our particular variety of coffee bean is not in stock or has gone up in price.

When the Harvest was good and successfully gathered in, the whole community would heave a collective sigh of relief – and it would be a genuine thanksgiving: a time of thanking God followed by a first class party with the whole village involved, just as the whole village would have been involved in bringing in the Harvest. Looking back leads to the danger of romanticising all that, (whilst at the same time forgetting the acute distress of the years when the crops failed).  But genuine thanksgiving and thankfulness are one of the keys to having a healthy mind and spirit.

Those who have to endure my Assemblies at our lovely Primary School know I don’t like “MMs” – which stands in my vocabulary for “Moaning Minnies”. Behind the humour, though, is a very serious spiritual point. This is not just about having a good (or bad) day, about feeling good – it is about an attitude to life. Why is it that I meet people who have had a lot of grief and distress in their lives and yet are thankful and caring of others; whilst others I meet – sometimes for whom, on the outside at least, things seemingly having gone swimmingly well – are full of moans and focussed only on themselves?

Thankfulness is something to be cultivated and nurtured – like a precious garden plant or crop. My faith reminds me everyday that God loves me and walks with me: lately, I have been reading about the lovely Roman Catholic understanding of Guardian Angels. Jesus on the night before the worst day possible, took bread “and gave thanks”.

Faith is sometimes made very complex, but at its heart it is very simple – God’s love shown and lived by Jesus, through death into resurrection, walking with me and sustaining me. Every morning on opening St Mary’s church I say a simple and beautiful Collect from the Morning Prayer Service: “Thank you for bringing me safely to the beginning of this day, keep me from falling into sin or running into danger, order me in all my doings and guide me to do always what is right in your sight, through Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen.”

And whilst on the subject of giving thanks, thank you to all who are working so hard to make our Harvest Festival community thanksgivings an enjoyment for all we have.

Peter

The older I get, the more I find there is to learn from the book of Genesis which is, of course, the first Book in the Old Testament. The pre-history stories – the creation, the fall, Noah and his ark, the tower of Babel and so on, continue to inspire because they can speak to every generation.

Some people of faith – Christian and Jewish – take them literally; and that is fine. Some do not; and I am in this second category. I believe them to be true on a much more profound level. I love rereading Othello  or Macbeth, not only because the writing is sublime, but because they point to timeless truth: in the case of those two plays, the truth of what happens if you let jealousy or ambition take over your life.

And so, the famous opening chapters of Genesis dealing with Creation sets out our relationship to God, to one another, to the animal kingdom and to the earth itself. If we learnt to live by that story a little better, our world would not be facing many of the challenges it currently does.

I want, though, to focus on the next bit which is known as The Fall (Genesis Chapter 3) – sin leading to disaster. It is both a brilliant and forensic analysis as to how bad things happen and their consequences. It can also help us, therefore, in trying to live a good and loving life.

It begins with God saying to Adam and Eve you can eat of anything in the garden except from the one tree. What then happens is the one tree that most interests them is the forbidden one!! And the wrong starts with listening to the other side, the dark side giving justification for wrong-doing. And this is followed by contemplation of the wrong fruit: “seeing it was pleasant to the eye, and a tree to be desired.” The eating/wrong-doing that then takes place leads to shame, (“the eyes of both were opened and they saw they were naked”), followed by blaming one another and falling out.

I like to think that anyone of Christian faith, other faith or of no faith who reflected deeply on that story would take away profound truth. So much of war or falling out in families is due to wanting something you should not have – evil people manipulating the dark side of life, turning people sometimes to hatred of others. Wrong-doing so often starts with justification and once you are thinking about it, you are half-way there to the actual deed! The result: division and blame.

The most practical things I take from this particular story is that, in our world, there is good and bad: but we have choice and, once we start giving way to the bad, there is likely to be trouble. Once Othello allows Iago to poison his mind, his relationship with Desdemona is going to fail – and please note Shakespeare gives a living image to that particular form of darkness “the green eyed monster”; once Macbeth and Lady Macbeth give way to “vaulting ambition”, the result is murder, a country divided and their eventual deaths. Their hopes for power and all that goes with it, ends with possibly the most despairing lines in all Shakespeare:

Tomorrow, and tomorrow, and tomorrow,
Creeps in this petty pace from day to day,
To the last syllable of recorded time;
And all our yesterdays have lighted fools
The way to dusty death. Out, out, brief candle!
Life’s but a walking shadow, a poor player,
That struts and frets his hour upon the stage,
And then is heard no more. It is a tale
Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury,
Signifying nothing.

The other great practical truth I take from this Genesis passage which wise men and women have passed on throughout the generations, is that wrong-doing starts with letting your mind think about that which is best left alone – a seed is sown. The place to stop wrong-doing is to avoid even thinking about it: “I wish I had that,” “that person looks very beautiful or handsome” and, and, and……The apple when they looked at it was pleasant to the eye!!

So, for me, these ancient stories are not only true in that deepest of senses; but have so much to teach about good and loving living. Time perhaps to dust down those early chapters of Genesis and think what their wisdom has to teach us in our day.

Peter

I read recently a book called A Field guide to the English Clergy by Revd Fergus Butler-Gallie. It was not the most highbrow book in the library; but was very entertaining as there have been some pretty unusual and eccentric clergy over the years.

Take for example the Revd Robert Hawker (1803 – 1875) who appeared to have a dual calling both as a priest and a mermaid: he fashioned a wig out of seaweed, wrapped an oilskin around his legs and then, every evening, rowed a boat out into Bude harbour where he sat on a rock and sang. Having somehow successfully completed his training as a curate in Bude, he became vicar of Morwenstow where he was often seen wearing a bright purple coat, a blue fisherman’s jersey and red trousers. He lived with a collection of ten cats who would follow him to church, until, one Sunday, one of his feline housemates was publicly excommunicated for “mousing” on a Sunday. If you visit Morwenstow today you can still visit “Hawker’s Hut” – the smallest property owned by the National Trust and built by this reverend gentleman.

Or take Revd Thomas Patten, Vicar of Seasalter: he was famous for preaching incredibly long sermons which would only end when a member of the congregation offered to buy him drinks at the local pub, at which point he would immediately end the sermon, speak a rushed blessing, leave the pulpit and head for the bar. He also made a deal with the local smuggling fraternity: he warned them of the whereabouts of excise officers, in return for which he had a well-stocked cellar with fine wines and brandy.

Evidence for both, though, is that they were loved by their parishioners, despite their oddities, because they tried in God’s name to show God’s love to their communities – and surely that is a calling we could all commit ourselves too, whatever our spiritual journey.  And these eccentricities also point to a rich way of life – our modern world seems keen to squeeze out such unusual behaviour, yet something is surely lost.

In my last parish in Jersey, I did a lot of churchyard research and have just finished a book on those buried there. It involved, in the first place, going out at night with a torch and holding it at a 90 degree angle to the grave – that enabled often the picking out of old names on a memorial which could not be read in daylight. I later discovered that these nocturnal meanderings had caused much amusement

One of the great privileges of being a Rector is that it does give time for being a mermaid or deciphering graves in the dark – in a busy world where many jobs do not allow what might be thought such a luxury – and literature is littered with Anglican clergy writing journals and diaries, books on natural science and local history. But perhaps not such a luxury: the church stands for the love of God revealed by Jesus Christ and whether it be recording the beauty of nature and the changing seasons, or recording stories of people now long gone, or even just deciphering old graves and bringing lost names to light – long may that eccentric tradition continue.

Peter

The month of May saw two connected events: one local and one worldwide. The first was the Young Person’s Art Show in St Mary’s church. The second was Pentecost Sunday, (otherwise known as Whitsun).

Pentecost – remembering the coming of the Holy Spirit to the first disciples – is associated with many Christian ideas, above all else God and God’s love working in our own lives and inspiring us. And creativity is behind artwork and behind art is inspiration – which is why the church, when it is working well, has always been a patron of the arts. (When it is not working well, it supresses art and creativity – a very good book and film on that theme is The Name of the Rose by Umberto Eco).

The best-known poem I know about God’s creativity and Pentecost is by my old favourite – RS Thomas. It is difficult, but I think it is reflecting on the way suddenly, when we feel dry and withered, something starts humming and off we go. I also like it (and indeed the poet himself) because he often refers to “the machine” referring to modern technology in negative terms – I too think so much modern technology can be stifling and yet he writes three lines from the bottom as he does – reminding me I too might on occasion be guilty of supressing creativity!

Suddenly

Suddenly after long silence

he has become voluble.

He addresses me from a myriad

directions with the fluency

of water, the articulateness

of green leaves; and in the genes,

too, the components

of my existence. The rock,

so long speechless, is the library

of his poetry. He sings to me

in the chain-saw, writes

with the surgeon’s hand

on the skin’s parchment messages

of healing. The weather

is his mind’s turbine

driving the earth’s bulk round

and around on its remedial

journey. I have no need

to despair; as at

some second Pentecost

of a Gentile, I listen to the things

round me: weeds, stones, instruments,

the machine itself, all

speaking to me in the vernacular

of the purposes of One who is.

All of which takes me back to our Art Show. As I write, it is not yet set up: but I have seen at least some of the artwork at our Primary school – and there is much evidence of creativity. May God’s Spirit of love work in all our lives, may we be addressed from a “myriad of directions” and find that inspiration in the beauty, the people, the goodness and the love which is all around us.

Peter

Stonepillow is a Chichester based charity which empowers homeless people to transform their lives.  Their website is here.

Donations of any kind can be left at The Forge, Reynold’s Lane, or at Carolyn Cole’s house in Sunnybox Lane: just put items in the green bin on her doorstep at the Nook.  Thank you to everyone for making donations.

To contact Carolyn, Stonepillow Co-ordinator, phone 814608 or email bustle2700@gmail.com