By Revd Mark Ackford

As some of you will know I have recently been under the weather with a dose of Covid, thankfully I am now on the mend, my period of self-isolation has ended, and dog walking duties have resumed much to Bailey’s approval.

On one of my walks a day or so ago I came across this painted rock lying beside the footpath, which with it’s yellow sun, blue sky, white clouds and green countryside cheered me greatly as I coughed and spluttered my away around the village trying to shift the cold which Covid seemed to have given me as a lingering gesture as it worked its way out the system.

Maybe the person (a child I am assuming) who had painted it had placed it there for just the reason to cheer up those who passed it by, or maybe it was placed there to mark the passing by of themselves and as a reminder for us who spied it out of the beauty of God’s creation and our duty to care for it. Whatever the reason it brought a smile to my face and a sense of hope for the future.

Rocks and pebbles come in many different shapes and sizes. Growing up in Somerset with easy access to the county’s rivers and beaches I noticed that the pebbles found on the beach formed gradually over time as the water washed the sand over them like sandpaper over hundreds of years had given them a smooth, rounded appearance. However, the pebbles that I found on the riverbed of the river Axe flowing through the village of Cheddar where I grew up were not as smooth as the beach pebbles, no sand there and the current was much gentler than the pounding from the waters of the Bristol Channel.

I don’t know about you but sometimes I think that I feel like one of those pebbles, with the water washing over me, turning me over and over, moving me from place to place, being washed by a current which I have no control over, being bashed against other rocks and pebbles, not knowing where I may end up. Sometimes it can be gentle like in the riverbed and other times it can feel like a gale, a storm at sea.

But as a Christian, my life has been placed into God’s hands. You could say, my pebble has been placed in an ocean where the current is controlled by God, the creator of the world. It is constantly being bathed by waves of the Holy Spirit as God continues to smooth my appearance so that I can become more like him.

As I move through life my pebble will still encounter other pebbles and bits of my pebble will be removed in that process as God removes things from my life preparing me for what is ahead. But as I make that contact the same is happening to the pebbles I meet as I figuratively rub up against them. Pebbles are often used to landscape, build and to decorate and I think there are similarities to this in my life as I bump into others on my journey through life with Christ. May those bumps result in a change to the scenery of the earth and to the lives of other people (landscape), may they be used to shape his Kingdom (build) and make the earth a more beautiful place (decorate).

Where is your pebble in the ocean of life and what it is being used for? Is it just floundering around in the ocean of the world being washed by circumstance with no purpose or is it in the ocean of God, being washed and smoothed by the creator of the world, being shaped by his Holy Spirit to look more like Him, with a purpose and hope to go landscape, build and decorate?

I know where I want my pebble to be, and I hope and pray that you do to.

Peace-with-Creation-2025

End-of-Summer-concert-2025

Lane-End-BBQ-2025

By Judy Taylor
I am reading a book called “Letters from Nazareth” by Richard Carter who is a priest at St. Martins – in-the-Fields. ‘Written in the form of spiritual letters, it reflects on themes of being at home with ourselves, with each other, with the times we are living through and with God.

In one of his letters Richard recalls and reflects upon a lecture he attended which was given by Timothy Radcliffe, a Roman Catholic priest and author of several books. At this lecture Timothy talked with great honesty about the major surgery he went through and how for many weeks after, he lay helpless linked up to tubes and pipes, and how he felt like a lump of flesh unable to do anything for himself. His senses of touch, taste, smell, sight and hearing all seemed taken away from him and he said he found it impossible to pray. He tried the Lord’s Prayer but could get no further than the first two sentences. The only prayer he could make at that point was the prayer of Samuel in the Temple, “Here I am”. Timothy talked about those simple words being enough “Here I am”. “ In the total unknown ,unable to control, to understand, to do anything. “In this nothingness I am totally yours because you are all I have. It’s a prayer that strips us right down to just us and God.” HERE I AM “ “ God is here, not promising miraculous intervention or even protection but affirming unconditional presence .HERE I AM Here is God and God is here and you are God’s.

Timothy goes on to talk about even as he recovered, for a long time he could still do nothing for himself but the nurses and doctors did their marvellous best.” My fragile sense of self was nourished by their gaze and touch, their eyes and their hands.” He came to see that his illness which had always felt like his enemy was becoming his teacher. The “Here I am” of God’s eternal presence and the recognition of his own naked self-became like an offering on the alter reciprocated by the total self-offering of Christ for him. I hope that not many of us have had or will have such a devastating experience regarding an illness. However, I have, and I’m sure many others will have experienced at times in our lives the sense of helplessness, grief and ‘is anybody there, God’ hearing me?’ If any of you were fortunate enough to hear Rev. Mark’s address last Sunday you will recall how he so honestly identified with these feelings and as we all struggle because we want answers, often there isn’t one. We cannot understand what purpose is being served here. Many years ago in my previous church of St. Mary & St. George a young mother, not a church goer but known to us through her mother, had terminal cancer and would leave behind four young children, the youngest of whom was six years old. I remember saying to our Priest Father Chris “what can God want in all of this, why, it seems so pointless” Father Chris who was just as upset as I was but in his great Yorkshire way said “I don’t know Judy love, we just have to trust and pray”. Then something extraordinary happened, a woman who we had never seen before came to the church and said she was part of a 24 hour prayer group from another church and she had this very strong sense that she must come to our church to pass on an urgent message which was that a young woman we knew of was very ill and God wanted her to know how much she was loved and that a place was prepared for her. I went to see this young mother and explained about this stranger coming to us and the message she brought. I remember her smiling and thanking me for telling her.

One night I dreamed I was walking along the beach with the Lord.
Many scenes from my life flashed across the sky.
In each scene I noticed footprints in the sand.
Sometimes there were two sets of footprints,
other times there were one set of footprints.

This bothered me because I noticed
that during the low periods of my life,
when I was suffering from
anguish, sorrow or defeat,
I could see only one set of footprints.
So I said to the Lord,
“You promised me Lord,
that if I followed you,
you would walk with me always.
But I have noticed that during
the most trying periods of my life
there have only been one
set of footprints in the sand.
Why, when I needed you most,
you have not been there for me?”

The Lord replied

“The times when you have
seen only one set of footprints,
is when I carried you.”

Mary Stevenson

This well-known poem which hopefully has helped people at times when they are struggling does not say that God will make things better now or in the future, but what it does say is that He is with us in the times when we need him the most even though he feels absent to us.

“Here I am” is enough, God loves us just as we are and we can draw closer to him by just being with
him, letting him “delight in us”

Psalm 18:19 states, “He brought me out into a broad place; he rescued me, because he delighted in
me.” This verse, and others like it, highlight God’s love and pleasure in His people, not just for their
actions, but for who they are as His children. God’s delight in us is a constant, rooted in His character
and love. In essence, the idea of God delighting in us is a powerful and comforting truth that
encourages us to live in the knowledge of His love and acceptance.

May that wonderful light of love shine into our hearts now and always and help us to remember that no matter what, the darkness can never overcome it.

You may or not be like me, but I find the world confounding at the moment. I can’t fathom out why 80 year olds are arrested for holding up bits of cardboard with some words that are deemed to be illegal, even when not in the order that they are apparently not allowed to be used. I admire these people. I get angry and upset, not always with situations like these but because I’m not angry enough to do something about it. Being arrested would cause anxiety for family and mess up our rotas!

It’s not always easy to put these thoughts on to paper especially in a cosy Church Blog in a beautiful peaceful rural setting. We don’t always stray into politics as if Jesus never turned tables or got angry at the hypocrisy all around him. I can’t fathom out why our politicians don’t have values and principles that they stick with like signposts, rather than being like wind vanes that change all the time.

One of the ways I process this stuff is through music. So I’m working on a song at the moment.

I don’t just wanna be a church goer/I’d rather be a love sower/I don’t just wanna sing some happy songs/I’d rather right some unjust wrongs/I don’t just wanna be a pew filler/I’d rather be a joy thriller/I don’t just wanna have my private space/I’d rather share a living faith.

Because it matters what we do, It matters to me and should matter to you. That we live by what we say, Everyday.

I don’t just wanna be a Bible nerd/I’d rather be a living word/I don’t just wanna be a Jesus freak/I’d rather serve throughout the week/I don’t just wanna be a passer by/I’d rather ask and question why/I don’t just wanna come to drum and jam/I’d rather come just as I am.

Because it matters what we do, It matters to me and should matter to you. That we live by what we say, Everyday.

I don’t just wanna be a mickey taker/I’d rather be a peace maker/I don’t just wanna be a hanger on/I’d rather play on my cajon/I don’t just wanna strive for my own needs/I’d rather be a friend indeed/I don’t just wanna be a Sunday bod/I’d rather be a friend of God.

Because it matters what we do, It matters to me and should matter to you. That we live by what we say, Everyday.

And I go to songs that have inspired me. This song called ‘Make a Difference, is written by Martin John Nicholls, from a Album ‘Beyond Belief’ written in 2004 which I first heard when I saw him at the Greenbelt Festival. I can’t believe it’s 21 years ago. The words still resonate today.

‘I don’t wanna buy Jesus on a corporate CD/I’m not looking for a lifestyle based on some kinda holy MTV/ I don’t want a new experience to take me deeper into myself/I want faith that’s gonna make me some good to someone else.

It’s gotta make a difference from the cradle to the grave/to the diamonds in the dirt that we dig up along the way/It’s gotta make a difference to our short attention span/If a cross can be a crown and if God can be a man.

I don’t wanna to come to worship for a Sunday morning shine/Just like a pill you take for holiness, washed down with bread and wine/I can’t kneel before an altar built on riches and success/I want love to touch my heart, nothing more and nothing less.

It’s gotta make a difference in a world of our mistakes/to the lies that we can’t swallow/ the garbage we won’t take/It’s gotta make a difference if we start to understand/It completely changes everything if God can be a man.

Every man and woman equal/ let compassion draw the line/From Baghdad into the White House/ Israel to Palestine/It’s gotta make a difference from the bottom to the top/let the hope begun in Jesus be the passion we can’t stop.

For the outcast and the broken/ to the hungry and the poor/For the zealot and the terrorist who are beating on our door/Beyond the streets of Babylon we need a prayer to pray/To go beyond religion and let love have her way.

To go beyond religion and let love have her way.’

Keep the faith, but never ever to ourselves.

Love Philip x

By Revd Lucy Austin

Yesterday was July 15th, which means it was St. Swithun’s Day – and if you’re anything like most Brits, you probably spent at least a moment peering suspiciously at the sky. Was it raining? Was it sunny? And does this mean we’re in for 40 days of ….. what ……?

According to folklore that’s been passed down through generations, the weather on St. Swithun’s Day determines what we’ll endure for the next 40 days. The rhyme goes:

St Swithun’s day if thou dost rain
For forty days it will remain
St Swithun’s day if thou be fair
For forty days ’twill rain nae mare

Now, before you start planning your next six weeks based on yesterday’s weather, let’s meet the man behind the myth – The Bishop Who Wanted to Get Wet

St. Swithun was a 9th-century Anglo-Saxon bishop who died in 862 as the Bishop of Winchester. He was clearly a man who enjoyed the great British weather. So much so that he specifically requested to be buried outside Winchester Cathedral “where the rain could fall and comfort him” and where “steps of passersby might fall on his grave.”

For over a century, St. Swithun’s wishes were respected. But in 971, the cathedral was expanding, and someone decided his outdoor grave was inconveniently placed. On July 15th, they moved his remains inside the cathedral – directly against his wishes.

And that’s when things got interesting.

Legend has it that a terrible storm immediately erupted. The rain was so heavy that the priests couldn’t do their work and had to down tools. The downpour continued for 40 days straight – presumably St. Swithun’s way of saying, “I told you I wanted to stay outside!”

It’s rather like the ultimate British passive-aggressive response, isn’t it? Instead of a strongly worded letter, he sent 40 days of rain.

Before you dismiss this as medieval nonsense, there’s actually some meteorological method to the madness. Around mid-July, the jet stream typically settles into a pattern that holds fairly steady until the end of August. When it sits north of Britain, we get continental high pressure (translation: decent weather). When it sits across or south of us, we get Arctic air and Atlantic weather systems (translation: pack your brolly).

Of course, the legend isn’t foolproof. In 1924, after 13.5 hours of sunshine in London, 30 of the next 40 days were wet. But in 1913, a 15-hour rainstorm was followed by 30 dry days out of 40. Even medieval weather forecasting had its off days.

Remarkably, Jane Austen wrote about St. Swithun just two days before her death on July 15th, 1817. Her satirical poem about Winchester races tells of the saint leaping from his shrine to the roof, declaring his command over July and promising to “pursue with my rain” anyone who dared hold festivities without his permission.

It’s a delightfully dramatic image – St. Swithun as a sort of meteorological superhero, cape billowing in the wind (or should that be rain?), ready to dampen the frivolities from beyond the grave.

Jane is, actually, also buried in Winchester Cathedral.

So, what’s the takeaway from all this? Well, St. Swithun’s Day folklore is probably more legend than reliable weather prediction. But it does give us something quintessentially British: a reason to blame someone else for our weather, even if that someone has been dead for over a millennium.

Whether yesterday brought sunshine or showers, at least we know who to thank – or blame – for the next 40 days. And if you’re experiencing drought conditions, you might want to pop over to
Winchester Cathedral and have a quiet word with St. Swithun. He’s traditionally prayed to during dry spells, and given his track record, he might just be listening.

After all, this is Britain – we’ll always need someone to talk to about the weather.

Much love and many blessings
LucyA

St-Peter-and-St-Paul

By Judy Taylor

I recently read an article in the Church Times written by the sister of Kit her brother who had sadly died. There had, in this article been many tributes to him and many stories about him too. One, which I found both admirable and wonderful is that of when he was a choral scholar at Clare College Cambridge, he had to make a difficult telephone call to his choirmaster which was to apologise that he was not going to be able to make choir practise that day because he had been arrested. He had gone to the Lakenheath air base with others to protest about nuclear weapons being housed there. The choirmaster was not at all happy and said that when Kit returned he would get a ‘dressing down’ from the Dean of the college for his absence. This story reminded me of when in the 1980’s, I went to London to join an estimated 30,000 people who marched to Oxford Street as part of CND’s protest against cruise missiles which were mainly sited at Greenham Common. Our march ended up by everyone, at a given signal sitting down in the middle of Oxford Street. I also went to the Greenham Common Peace Camp just for the day to join the many brave and committed women who were camped there and contrary to the press reports of it being a refuse sight, well I only saw a well organised group who had individuals with the black bin bags regularly collecting rubbish several times that day. On neither occasion was I arrested, but I know that many were and because of their commitment they were sent to prison more than once.

There have been many people who have risked great personal danger by standing up for what they knew to be wrong. Dietrich Bonhoeffer a German theologian and opposer of Nazism returned to Germany in the knowledge that he would almost certainly be arrested as indeed he was and was imprisoned and eventually executed. St. Paul was beaten and arrested for preaching the Good News of Jesus and he too it is believed was put to death. So many more brave souls who risked everything in the name of righteousness and freedom. And then there are so many more who we know nothing of but in places of oppressive and cruel regimes have been arrested for their beliefs and suffered long periods of imprisonment. I pray that none of us will ever be in that position; but even in our own lives, do we really stand up for something, a comment which is racist, a point of view which denigrates others? How much easier it is to say nothing or even go along with what is being said.

In Salisbury cathedral, at the eastern end in the Trinity chapel is the beautiful Prisoner of Conscience window depicting those who have been imprisoned for their beliefs or for freedom or just for who they are. In the centre window another Prisoner of Conscience is that of Jesus being mocked by the soldiers and crucified and Mary, at Christ’s feet. The window is made up almost entirely of blue glass and on a visit there once, a guide told me that blue glass is the most expensive and precious one that can be used in stain glass windows. Next to the window is a large Amnesty International candle which is there as a focal point for prayers.

There is a lovely end to the article I began with – when the choirmaster who incidentally at that time was John Rutter, said that the Dean would give Kit a ‘dressing down’ for missing choir practise, Kit replied “well I wouldn’t worry too much about that because he is here with me”… and he was Rowan Williams, the future Archbishop of Canterbury!

071325-LVK-Shindig-A4-Poster