What does Christmas mean to you?
As you read this, no matter who you are, you will have memories of Christmas. In
the lead-up to the big day, I wanted to paint two very different scenes of how it might
be. It can be a happy time for some, whilst it can be a very challenging time for
others.
What kind of words come to mind when you think of Christmas? Carols, presents,
bright lights, festive music, Christmas dinner, snow, being with family? Oh, so many
things.
The photo that goes with this blog is a shop window of the Entertainer toy shop. It is
owned by a Christian couple. Each year, they dedicate one of their windows in each
of their shops to the nativity scene. They could so easily cram it full of toys during
the busiest time of the year, making the most of their shop window. Not only that,
they don’t open on a Sunday, instead observing a day of rest. To me, their window
displays capture the true meaning of Christmas.
Christmas will manifest itself in many different ways this year. Let’s consider how it
might be. In life, we like to portray that we are just like the family next door in the
street. But for some, behind closed doors, it is not.
This Christmas, it is a fact that thousands of children across the UK risk waking up to
nothing. With more than half of parents and carers saying they can’t afford presents
for someone this Christmas.
It’s hard to believe in the modern world we live in that this is the reality. But poverty
is a real problem, and much of it is hidden.
Financial hardship is one thing, but something else that is a real issue in modern-day
Britain is loneliness. Whilst you might think this relates mainly to older people,
statistically, 50% of people admitted to being lonely sometimes. It can be hard when
it feels like everyone else is enjoying the time of the year, and you’re on the outside.
Maybe you’re thinking, well, this is all a bit depressing. Well, yes, it is but it is worth
thinking about as we head into the Christmas season. There is always someone out
there who is having a harder time than you.
So, what about you? What are your memories of Christmas? We all have them. I
used to think we were hard up as a family, but when you take into consideration what
we have just thought about, we were really blessed. Here are some of my
memories.
I have to be honest, our Christmas decorations growing up were a bit sad. The
same every year, just older.
As a child, I remember waking up early to open my presents, which were neatly
placed at the end of my bed. Like most children, we would wake up at rude o’clock
when we were young, which got later each year as we got older and preferred to
sleep in.
Church was a big part of our family growing up. There were lots of services, and on
occasion, we would go on Christmas morning and take our presents to show people
on stage.
Christmas lunch was always the main event and would take a huge effort to get
everyone around the table with a hot plate of food with all the trimmings. We always
ate too much. There were crackers with hats to wear and music, normally Cliff
Richard in our house. It was a relief when the washing up was all done and we
could settle down to the Queens speech. A real tradition.
I remember going to my aunt and uncle’s house each year. They had a real tree,
which they decked with many chocolates. After we had our Christmas lunch, they
would cut all the chocolates off of the tree and give them to us. We would go home
with a stash of chocolate that was much bigger than we would normally have. There
were 4 children, and we would make up plays to act out for the adults. I remember
my sister having her first Snowball drink. Happy times.
We might watch a film or a Christmas Special – Only Fools & Horses or Gavin &
Stacey. Then, as if we hadn’t eaten enough, there might be cheese and crackers
and Port for the adults.
By the end of the day, we would go to bed full of food, and perhaps more
importantly, emotionally full, having spent the day with family. We all have that
sense of belonging inside of us that needs to be nurtured.
As we head into the festive season, let’s remember the real meaning of Christmas.
Christmas is the celebration of Jesus Christ’s birth—the incarnation of God with us.
Beyond gifts and traditions, its core meaning is worshipping the Saviour who came to
bring hope, peace, and salvation.
I wonder if you have ever heard the phrase “reading the white.” When you look at a
page of writing, normally you look at the words. Reading the white means you read
what you can’t see.
As you enjoy this special time of the year once again, may I encourage you to read
the white and look out for those who might have less than you? Those who might be
struggling financially and those who are on their own.
Reaching out to others is what God did for us when he sent Jesus into the world.
And that, my friends, is the real meaning of Christmas.
Why waiting messes with us (in all the right ways)
Here’s the thing we all know but hate admitting: waiting does something to us. Psychologists talk about how waiting pulls us out of autopilot and drops us right into vulnerability.
You can’t control the pace.
You can’t fast-forward the process.
You can’t hack your way through the bit that feels uncomfortable.
Waiting exposes desire. It surfaces fear. It shows you what story you’re telling yourself.
It’s raw, and a little wild, because suddenly you're no longer steering the ship — you’re sitting with the uncomfortable truth that you never really were.
And our brains? They’re not huge fans. Waiting elevates anxiety because it interrupts predictability. The mind goes scanning for danger, scanning for certainty, scanning for some way to feel okay again. Which is why waiting — real waiting — is not passive at all. It’s active inner work disguised as stillness.
Why waiting in the dark feels even heavier
Now take all of that… and switch off the lights.
Darkness amplifies waiting.
It messes with our sense of direction.
When you can’t see the horizon, you lose your bearings. The simplest step feels bigger, riskier, because vision is one of our main anchors.
It wakes up our survival instincts.
Your brain starts whispering ancient scripts: darkness = danger. Not because you’re weak or dramatic — but because your ancestors spent thousands of years trying not to get eaten.
And it slows down our sense of time.
Without visual cues, time stretches. Minutes feel like hours. Your body starts asking, “Are we safe? Is this okay? Are we there yet?” Waiting in the dark isn’t just waiting — it’s waiting without your usual coping mechanisms.
Which makes Isaiah’s words hit differently.
“The people walking in darkness…” — a bit of context
Isaiah 9 wasn’t written for people admiring fairy lights and sipping mulled wine. It was spoken into a world where hope felt thin. The northern tribes of Israel had been invaded. Families displaced. Land lost. The future felt foggy at best, terrifying at worst.
Darkness wasn’t metaphorical.
It was political, emotional, spiritual, communal.
People were waiting — not for a minor upgrade to their life — but for rescue, restoration, renewal.
So when Isaiah proclaims, “The people walking in darkness have seen a great light,” he’s naming something brave:
That waiting is not wasted.
That darkness isn’t the end.
That a story can hold tension and still be good.
This is why that ancient line keeps echoing across centuries. It carries the ache of people who waited longer than they wanted — and the strange, stubborn hope that something better was still on its way.
A moment on the beach last week
Which brings me to what we did at Ocean Church last week.
We stood in a circle on the beach at Hamworthy, the tide breathing in and out behind us, the cold quietly settling in. We passed around fairy lights, letting them glow against the dark.
And then we named the things we’re waiting for — the things we’re carrying into the night, the things we hope might one day break open with light. and we asked Jesus to shed light on them.
It wasn’t flashy. It wasn’t scripted.
It was just a bunch of humans refusing to pretend the darkness isn’t real… while choosing to believe it won’t have the final word.
There was something beautiful about that — holding light together, even when we’re not sure what the next step looks like.
And here’s where Christmas sneaks in
Christmas, at its core, is a story about waiting.
A people waiting.
A world waiting.
A God not rushing but arriving slowly, quietly, vulnerably.
It’s the reminder that light doesn’t always burst in. Sometimes it flickers first.
Sometimes it grows slowly.
Sometimes it looks like a baby, not a solution.
Waiting doesn’t mean nothing’s happening.
Waiting doesn’t mean you’re behind.
Waiting doesn’t mean the dark wins.
It just means the story is still unfolding.
So if you find yourself waiting — especially in some kind of darkness — maybe hold that thought from Isaiah in your pocket:
Light is coming. It always has. It always does.
And until then… we wait.
Together.
On letter writing…
When did the last handwritten letter drop through your letterbox? Or, perhaps more to the point, when did you last put pen to paper and actually write a letter, address an envelope, affix a stamp and post it in a postbox?
The number of letters delivered by Royal Mail has dropped by more than two thirds in the last twenty years (Changes in Royal Mail). People are sending fewer letters. In Denmark, the postal service has actually stopped delivering letters altogether. (Danish postal service).
Is this just because of the rise of first emails, and then messaging and now social media? Is the written letter just outdated and unnecessary? Moribund even?
But there is something distinctly different between a personal, written letter and a message on WhatsApp. A written letter is a tangible, tactile, physical reminder of a certain moment in time. It speaks of who you and the writer were at that time and of your relationship. It is a snapshot capturing a moment in time, preserving it.
In the Summer I went up in my loft and got down a box full of letters. Mainly they were in exciting airmail envelopes with exotic looking stamps but less exciting addresses. They chart my relationship and communications with Roz (then a long-distance girlfriend, now my wife), especially from the time she was living in Peru. Before Zoom or Skype or the like, we were able to talk on the phone sometimes, but it was letters that kept us connected. Looking back on them now, I can remember the anticipation at receiving a new one and feeling close - despite the distance. Letters can be deeply personal.
I also find the incredible popularity of ‘Letters Live’ interesting. Performers and celebrities read real letters from real people from a range of cultures and countries and times in history. Some are hilarious, belly laughingly funny, while others are heartwrenching. I dare you to watch a few performances on YouTube, just be warned that it is a possible rabbit hole it may take some time to emerge from.
Adrian Edmondsen says “As an atheist, I find Letters Live the closest I’ve come to a religious experience. There’s something deeply personal and confessional about sharing a letter with people for one time, and one time only.”
If you think about it, there is a ‘Letters Live’ (or The Jolly Postman for an alternative reference) element to reading the Bible. Several books in the New Testament are actually letters written by one person to another, or a group of people. As such, the Bible contains verses like:
See what large letters I use as I write to you with my own hand! (Galatians 6:11)
Dear friends, this is now my second letter to you. I have written both of them as reminders to stimulate you to wholesome thinking. (2 Peter 3:1)
I wonder at the excitement and anticipation that would have been felt by the believers at receiving a new letter. The reading and re-reading. If we imagined ourselves in that position would that help us when reading parts of the Bible
As Miranda Sawyer says “Letters – more careful, more permanent – last longer. They have significance. They require composition, editing, thought, some crossing out and starting again. (Mark Twain once wrote to a friend: “I apologise for such a long letter, I didn’t have time to write a short one.”)”
Christmas is coming, an opportunity to write a letter! Is there someone you want to reconnect with or communicate with on a deeper level?
Now, where are the stamps?
Grabbing the bag- An all age approach to community cash
At our recent Ocean Church Vision Day, we tried something a little different.
Instead of sticking the adults in one room to talk budgets while the kids did crafts somewhere else, we brought everyone together —children, teens, and adults — and asked one simple question:
“If Ocean Church had a pot of money to spend, what should we spend it on?”
It was messy, colourful, loud, and surprisingly insightful.
Led brilliantly by Chris Downey (shout-out to the king of purple paper and felt-tips), we scattered big sheets around the room and invited every age to scribble ideas. Equipment, adventures, helping others, nature projects, staff time — everything went in the mix. The aim wasn’t to create a budget; we wanted to see what our community instinctively values.
And honestly? The patterns were clearer than I expected. Heres a few of my thoughts
1. Adventures are central to who we are.
Across every board the same things appeared:
surf camp, hikes, pilgrimages, breakfasts, beach gatherings, Parkrun, trips.
The message was simple:
People want shared outdoor experiences.
Movement, nature, and connection sit right at the heart of Ocean Church.
2. Equipment is a priority because it makes everything possible.
A huge amount of energy went toward practical kit:
Shelters, PA system, Watersports gear, Power packs, A van/camper, Kitchen equipment, Gardening and litter-picking tools, Outdoor sports gear
Some of these things are essentials and some are extras, but together they make our gatherings smoother, safer, and more enjoyable. Equipment is part of what helps a mobile, outdoor church actually function.
3. People and leadership matter.
A surprising number of groups wrote about the need for:
Admin support, Marketing, Training, Future staff, Youth work, Leadership development, Support for the minister
This tells us the community sees the need for capacity behind the scenes, not just activity out front.
People understand that a growing movement needs more shoulders carrying the load.
4. Generosity is a natural instinct.
Even without being prompted, almost every board mentioned:
Supporting the poor, Helping those in need, Giving to other churches, Conservation and nature care, Local community support
Our people want Ocean Church to look outward, not just inward. How do we do generosity with other people? What or who is God calling us to give to?
5. Creation care keeps showing up.
There were lots of nature-focused ideas:
Seeds and planting, Gardening tools, Land for community use, Conservation, Ecology talks, Community growing spaces, Litter-picking
We don’t just meet outdoors — we care about the places we gather.
There’s a shared desire for responsibility, stewardship, and learning.
We wrote a blog a while back about Dorsets nature recovery strategy. Perhaps tha might be something for us to pray about?
6. We don’t need a big building, but we could use a base.
No one asked for a traditional church building.
But plenty of people mentioned:
A field, A campervan, A beach hut, A simple shelter, A hub to store equipment
This isn’t a call for infrastructure-heavy church life.
It’s a desire for a practical “basecamp” — a modest hub to support everything else we do.
7. Hospitality matters, even in small ways.
Among the bigger ideas were simple things:
Food
Gas
Seasonal supplies
Snacks
Consumables
These small touches hold community together.
Warm food after cold water, shared drinks, simple comforts — these things genuinely matter.
So what does all this tell us?
When you put it all together, I think some clarity around a direction emerges:
Keep prioritising outdoor adventures.
Strengthen our equipment base.
Build leadership and admin capacity.
Stay generous.
Embed creation care.
Explore a simple basecamp for the future.
Keep hospitality warm and simple.
This wasn’t a budgeting exercise — it was a values conversation.
And it showed us who we already are and who we’re becoming.
The magic in the mundane
Most of life seems to be made up of mundane, humdrum, everyday moments. Washing up, commuting to work, cooking tea, separating the recycling.
But if I am just waiting for the spectacular, firework moments I can disdain all the rest of it. This is the trouble with fiction, be it books, TV series or films. All of the exciting stuff is condensed, squeezing out the mundane. I guess going to the loo doesn’t make for good TV though.
How can I find the extraordinary in the ordinary? If it is true that “in him we live and move and have our being.” (Acts 17: 28) then all of life can be significant. Not spectacular necessarily, but significant.
The essential thing ‘in heaven and earth’ is that there should be a long obedience in the same direction; there thereby results, and has always resulted in the long run, something which has made life worth living.
Fredrich Nietzsche. I recommend reading that through several times.
“How you do anything is how you do everything.” says Joshua Luke Smith in his poem Sunflowers in Babylon. Am I faithful in the small things of life? The seemingly unimportant moments that are forgotten in an instant but constitute a long obedience in the same direction. He champions significant over spectacular.
It’s like a truth that I know but don’t want to acknowledge. A big desire for me is to be a good, faithful father. This, though, includes sleepless nights, clearing up sick, correcting and forgiving, asking forgiveness, setting boundaries
We see this principle in action in all parts of life: the concert musician endlessly practicising scales; the world-record holding marathon runner training and stretching early mornings; the craftsman sanding the wood again and again until it is just right.
This is the complete antithesis of the quick fix, the instant result or the overnight success. It is tortoise-not-hare slow and steady. Deep.
It is formational, hard work and disciplined. Repetitive, focused and … dare I say, boring at times? I hesitate to write this, is it true? The answer must be yes. Continuing in the same direction, following the mundane, will, at times, be boring. It is about incremental progress that can only be seen after a long time.
A long obedience in the same direction. It’s only when you look back that you see how far you’ve come and see the magic in the mundane.
In her book ‘Regrets of the Dying’, Georgina Scull interviewed people who knew they didn’t have long left to live. She says this about those everyday, mundane moments:
In the end, those are the things that seem to mean the most. It’s the day trips to the seaside, the first days at school, the chats over the back fence when we need a laugh or a helping hand. Because these are the stuff of life. And if we value one-off Insta-moments more than moments like this, more than the everyday, we risk not valuing the things that actually matter. And the everyday can be wonderful, if we let it.
What would it take to value, notice and enjoy those small, humdrum moments? The wonderful everyday; the extraordinary ordinary; the magic in the mundane?
Habits
A balloon bursting. A dog barking. Even a sudden intake of breath from a family member in the next room. These all have the potential to make me jump, making me aware of a spike in my heart-rate and a shot of adrenaline being sent around my body. Rationally I know that any of those experiences are not causes for genuine alarm but my natural reaction is to flinch and find my body on edge. This is not to say that oversensitive reactions don’t sometimes have their place – on numerous occasions I have found myself catching a mug or plate that has slipped out of my grasp before I consciously realised what I was doing.
Reflecting on this made me think about some of the other things I do automatically or without thinking. Looking at the BBC Sport website first thing in the morning; checking for ‘wallet, keys, phone’ before leaving the house; putting milk in at the only possible correct time when making a cup of tea. Most of us would see ourselves as creatures of habit in significant areas of our lives.
Habits on their own are neutral: some are helpful whilst others less so. Identifying the behaviours we exhibit which have a negative effect on ourselves or others can be tough. They are also difficult to change – a brief appraisal of the success of any New Year’s resolutions we have kept by February would be a good testament of this. The language of ‘habits’ is one we use at Ocean Church, where we seek to foster positive habits in our families and as a community.
The Bible doesn’t reference the notion of habits much explicitly. However, in the letter to the Romans, Paul says, “Do not be conformed to this world, but be transformed by the renewing of your minds, so that you may discern what is the will of God.” (Romans 12:2) It is translated slightly differently in The Message as follows: “Don’t become so well-adjusted to your culture that you fit into it without even thinking. Instead, fix your attention on God. You’ll be changed from the inside out.”
Both translations seem to be making the point that a life of faith is not about naively fitting into the society around us. Instead, we need to be willing and ready to change our minds, not on whims, but as a result of focusing on the divine and God’s desires. We need to be humble enough to accept that our current opinions and points of view may change. What might transform our thinking?
My best guess in this season of exploring ‘Wild Minds’ is that it depends on how we are wired. For some it will be reading more widely or listening to talks or podcasts from people of faith outside our usual circles that may provoke and shape us. For others, it will be time spent in each other’s company, listening to challenges, sharing our struggles and paying attention to the collective wisdom. More may find experiences out in nature speak to our souls as we ask God to mould us.
My reaction to balloons and other sudden loud noises is unlikely to change. What I do have more control over is the way that I behave at work, around my family and the way that I think about and treat other people. Habit formation is time-consuming and involves perseverance. With the knowledge that scripture encourages us to be willing to change our minds following time in God’s presence, we can take heart that this transformation is possible.
Inopportune opportunities
As someone wise once said opportunity knocks at the least opportune time.
This is especially true when it comes to parenting. It is invariably late at night when my daughter will want to have a heart to heart about a big issue. Rachel Jankovic says “Our opportunities to bless our children are often most present when we least feel like it.”
When we are busy or tired or burdened. Or just not feeling it.
If we take Jesus as our example though it is quite a challenge. He took opportunities whenever they arrived. He was seemingly always interruptible. This actually seemed to be quite annoying for his companions and followers at times.
An extreme example of this occurs in the gospel of Mark chapter five. Jairus- a Synagogue leader, a big cheese- asks Jesus to come and heal his daughter who is dying. I think it would be safe to assume this counts as a priority. It sounds pretty important. So Jesus agrees and goes to see the daughter. On the way people are crowding all around and someone in the crowd touches Jesus. Nothing more. But Jesus stops and is desperate to find out who had touched him. His followers cannot understand it: “How can you ask, ‘who touched me?’, look at the crowds!” But Jesus stops and investigates. To such an extent that people come to tell Jairus not to bother with Jesus: his daughter has died.
If the story ended there it would seem like a tale of wrong priorities and a lack of urgency. Tragedy.
But it doesn’t. Jesus still goes to Jairus’ house and actually raises his daughter back to life. Stunning. And then it turns out that the person who had touched Jesus from amongst the crowd was a woman who had been suffering with a crippling illness for twelve years. Simply touching Jesus had healed her. Breath-takingly beautiful.
What do I do with this?
How can I be alive to the opportunities today will throw my way? Framing them as opportunities, not interruptions, has to be a good start. It all depends on my outlook and my focus. If I’m too goal-orientated and self-absorbed opportunities all too often feel like obstacles to sidestep or clamber over.
What interruptions opportunities is God putting into my path today?
Dealing with disappointment
I wonder if you can remember what you were doing back in March 2020, as lockdown was enforced in the UK? At the time, we were living as a family in Winchester. My daughter Sophie was 20. She had a dream to go to Australia. It actually became more than a dream. She gave in her notice at work, trained up her replacement and finished work on the Friday. She had bought her ticket and was due to fly out to Australia the following Monday. How excited was she! Sophie has always been someone with big dreams who makes things happen. The year before she flew to Bali. She had an amazing time, but as her parents, it was a bit scary knowing she was on the other side of the world and there was nothing we could do if she got into difficulty.
That weekend, there were lots of rumours about changes to travel regulations. I am not sure we took them too seriously. Sadly, Sophie found out that Australia was closing their borders, and no one would be allowed in. Her trip was effectively cancelled at the last moment. How cruel. Not only that, but she had finished her job and would spend the next few months at home with her family rather than having an amazing adventure in Australia. What a massive disappointment!
So that is our daughter Sophie. What about you? If I say the word “disappointment,” what feelings and emotions does it bring up in you?
Dealing with disappointment is one of those tough but universal parts of being human. Whether it's a missed opportunity, an unmet expectation, or someone letting you down, it can hit hard.
Here are just a few things that might help you to process your disappointment:
Acknowledge It Honestly - Don’t minimise it or try to instantly move on. Name the feeling: “I’m disappointed because…”
Allow Yourself to Feel It - Disappointment hurts because it means you cared. Let yourself feel frustrated or sad for a bit. Bottling it up or forcing positivity too soon can make it worse in the long run.
Talk to Someone - Vent, reflect, or just feel heard. Sharing disappointment can shrink its power and remind you that you're not alone in the experience. We’ve all heard the phrase “a problem shared is a problem halved.”
Ask someone to pray with you – Your heavenly father knows you better than anyone else on the outside and maybe more importantly on the inside. Talking through your disappointments and then giving them to God can really help lighten the load.
Keep Moving - Eventually, when the time is right, take action. Even a small step — a new plan, a different goal, or re-engaging with something that grounds you — starts to shift the weight of disappointment.
We know that time is a healer. Raw emotion will eventually ease. Perhaps the best antidote to disappointment is hope.
Hope is the belief or expectation that something good can happen in the future, especially in the face of difficulty or uncertainty. It’s both a feeling and a mindset—a way of emotionally and mentally orienting ourselves toward possibilities, rather than being paralysed by fear and despair.
My daughter Sophie hasn’t made it to Australia yet, but in time, I believe she will, and it will be the right time for her.
I leave you with my favourite verse in all the Bible:
For I know the plans I have for you, declares the Lord, plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you a hope and a future. Jeremiah 29 v 11
Hold onto that rainbow, your future is just around the corner.
Woolly Pterodactyl’s and belonging
So, I’m walking down my road and notice someone has changed the knitted animal on top of the post box.
You read that right. There’s someone out there who crochets cartoons, animals, plants, tiny scenes — and wraps them around local postboxes. They change all the time.
Just recently, it’s a pterodactyl perched on top of my nearest one.
It makes me wonder who they are — this Banksy of woolen joy — and what it takes to quietly care about a place like this. Because that’s the thing, isn’t it? Church folk talk frequestly about belonging to a community, but most of the time we’re just passing through it. We walk the same streets, grab our coffee, drive to work, wave at the neighbour whose name we can’t quite remember… and we call that community.
But belonging isn’t something you stumble into. It’s something you practice. It’s noticing the post-box topper and deciding it matters. It’s learning who lives behind the hedges. It’s being curious enough to care about.
If I’m honest, I’m in a season where I’m questioning how grounded I actually am in my local community. I spend so much time thinking about how to help people find belonging — through things like Ocean Church and my work at the YMCA— but sometimes I catch myself wondering if I’ve stopped doing that myself. There are seasons where I’ve been physically here but not really here. Busy doing things for the community without really being with it. Always planning the next thing, thinking about what’s over there, not what’s right here.
And then there are moments when I start to inhabit this place again. When Ocean Church gathers by the river and someone spots a familiar face and waves them over. When a few of us head out on a walk we’ve done a hundred times before, and yet it still feels new. When my boys race off in the park to find school friends, and I find myself chatting with parents I’ve slowly built a friendship with. Those are the moments that remind me this isn’t just where I live — it’s where I belong.
There’s this ancient letter in the Bible that ive been chewing on lately. It’s from the prophet Jeremiah to a bunch of displaced people who didn’t want to be where they were. They were longing to get back home — back to the good old days — but Jeremiah gives them this outrageous instruction:
“This is what the Lord Almighty, the God of Israel, says to all those I carried into exile from Jerusalem to Babylon: ‘Build houses and settle down; plant gardens and eat what they produce.
Marry and have sons and daughters; find wives for your sons and give your daughters in marriage, so that they too may have sons and daughters. Increase in number there; do not decrease.
Also, seek the peace and prosperity of the city to which I have carried you into exile. Pray to the Lord for it, because if it prospers, you too will prosper.’”
(Jeremiah 29:4–7)
It’s not a message about escaping or surviving. It’s a message about rooting. Build something. Plant something. Love someone. Become part of the ecosystem of that place. Seek its peace, its wholeness — because your wellbeing and the wellbeing of your place are tied together.
Maybe that’s the invitation for me right now. Maybe that’s the invitation for Ocean Church too — to not just be in this community, but to belong to it. A temptation for us is to imagine BCP as a stage for our adventures or a useful place to find peace.
I sometimes wonder if the Church — not just ours, but the whole idea of church — has become too portable. We can livestream a service, drive across towns, float between groups, pick and choose experiences. None of that is bad. But the danger is we become spiritual tourists, collecting moments instead of making homes. Jeremiah’s words call us back to something slower, more rooted, more inconvenient. They remind us that God doesn’t just show up when we gather; God shows up when we stay. When we plant gardens, cook meals, know our neighbours, and knit awesome pterodactyls for postboxes.
So I’m asking myself — and maybe you too — what would it look like to truly inhabit your place? To walk your streets like a pilgrim instead of a passer-by? To know the stories of the land and the people who live on it? To see your neighbourhood not as background noise but as the actual ground where faith gets practiced?
Belonging, I’m learning, doesn’t happen when you finally find the right place. It happens when you decide to stay long enough to fall in love with the one you’re already in.
Dorset’s Local Nature Recovery Strategy
In early October 2025 BCP Council officially endorsed the Local Nature Recovery Strategy (LNRS) I think it's an ambitious and exciting plan co‑produced with Dorset Council and more than 70 organisations. If you have some time, I'd recommend reading through It.
It translates the national 30by30 aim – protecting 30 % of land and rivers for nature by 2030 – into local priorities and maps. Twelve themed priorities (grasslands, rivers, urban greening, etc.) and a list of 54 priority species provide direction.
The shared vision is for nature in Dorset to be thriving, resilient and connected … accessible to and celebrated by all. Unlike many previous policies, this strategy is legally mandated under the 2021 Environment Act and covers the entire county rather than isolated projects.
Past conservation efforts often protected individual sites while the wider landscape continued to degrade. The Local nature recovery strategy acknowledges that “every time we check on the state of nature it has further declined” and calls for an evolution from conservation to recovery. It introduces high‑opportunity nature areas covering roughly 49 % of Dorset. These zones were identified by landowners volunteering land and by modelling where new habitats would connect existing ones. They guide where to plant hedgerows, restore wetlands or rewild farmland. The strategy also pairs maps with activities so planners, farmers and community groups know what to do where, and emphasises collaboration through the Nature Recovery Dorset network.
All of this is both inspiration and challenge to me. I am a citizen of Dorset and enjoy nature on a weekly basis. I paddleboard in the harbour, walk through wareham forest and have been shaped emotionally through the wide variety of nature in this place. But how active am I in the conservation and recovery of the nature I enjoy? For people of faith, this is more than a policy document; it’s a call to recover a right relationship with creation. Dorset’s local nature recovery vision of a thriving, connected landscape echoes the biblical concept of shalom, a state of wholeness for people and land. Theologians from St Francis to N. T. Wright remind us that the earth is not a resource to be exploited but a gift to be stewarded. When councils map high‑opportunity areas and citizens count butterflies, they participate in a sacramental act – recognising the sacredness of their local place. The LNRS invites us to live that truth – to join farmers, foresters, teenagers and landowners who are much further ahead and more active than we might be in making Poole’s harbour, heath and hedges part of a larger story of restoration.
Encouragement
Earlier in the year, I was fortunate enough to go to London to support John Good as he ran his first marathon. Mim, and the boys and my wife, Jenny, were all on the sidelines looking out for John so we could cheer him on as he ran by. If you’ve never been, I can highly recommend it; it’s a great day out. The atmosphere is charged with positivity as people cheer the runners on. We began positioning ourselves on Tower Bridge. We literally watched hundreds, if not thousands, of people, all different shapes, and sizes, run by before we saw the majestic figure of John as he came towards us with a great big smile on his face. He just about had time to give Mim a hug as he stopped for a moment before he was on his way again and disappeared into the distance. My brother, who has run several marathons, will tell you I can project my voice loudly, so I was just able to shout, “Come on, John, you can do it,” as he ran by. During the race, we found several places to wait, watch John run towards us and cheer him on. John finally finished his race. Wow, what an achievement. I wonder what his memories are of that day and the support he received, not just by us but by strangers all along the course shouting, “Come on, you can do it.”
I mentioned my brother. He is called Duncan. He is two years younger than me and was born prematurely. It meant he wasn’t as strong as his peers and was a slow developer. I can’t tell you how proud I am of him, despite his struggles in his early years; he has worked hard to find his place in life and has developed into a strong runner. Then, 5 years ago, out of the blue, he had a heart attack. He was fit and healthy, so it was a shock at the time. The worst part for him was that he couldn’t run anymore. He really missed it, not just the exercise but the social interaction at Park Run. The good news is that he was able to get back to running last year, and in a couple of weeks, he will be participating in his first half-marathon in Bournemouth. I will be there on the sidelines, cheering him on and shouting, “Come on, Duncan, you can do it.”
So why all this talk about running and shouting?
There is something about the human condition that naturally makes us respond to encouragement and positive words. In fact, one of the five love languages is speaking words of affirmation (If you’ve not read the book, it is well worth getting a copy).
Imagine John and my brother turning up to run, and there being no support on the side of the road. They would be running in silence.
Encouragement is like fuel for the soul. It provides the necessary motivation to keep going, especially when facing difficulties or uncertainty. A kind word or gesture can reignite someone’s self-esteem and self-confidence, reminding them of their worth and potential.
The benefits of encouragement extend far beyond boosting morale. Individuals who receive regular encouragement experience improved mental well-being and increased resilience. Encouragement fosters a sense of belonging and connection, reminding us that we’re not alone in our struggles.
In the book of Thessalonians, chapter 5, verse 11, it says, “Therefore encourage one another and build one another up, just as you are doing.” This passage highlights the significance of uplifting and encouraging others, emphasising the positive impact it can have on both individuals and communities.
In closing, I would like to suggest we make a conscious effort to be like those people on the side of the road at the marathon who shout, “Come on, you can do it.” More specifically, why not think of someone you can support and encourage? Send them a WhatsApp message, drop them an email, or maybe even pick up the phone to see how they are doing. As a church, if we all encouraged just one person each, it would make a big difference. “Come on you can do it.”
The Left, The Right, and the Salt Marsh
This is a photo I took last week on the bridge at the far end of Hamworthy Park, near where we sometimes meet for Ocean Church.
The whole bridge now has these England flags adorning it. As I walked over, what struck me wasn’t just the flag itself or the sheer quantity of them, but the conversation now feels very close to home. The first voice painted the flag. The second voice wrote across it: “Don’t normalise racism.”
Apart from the fact that the bridge looked far better without any of this artwork, what you see here is two perspectives unwilling — or maybe unable — to sit in the same room. One insists England needs firmer borders, stricter rules on who comes in and how they’re treated. The other insists we’ve become hostile, unwelcoming — or worse.
I understand the tension here. My concern is that we don’t seem to have spaces where people can disagree peaceably. When uncertainty hangs in the air, people feel their way of life — however they define it — is under threat. And when fear takes over, we drift into silos. Certainty gets outsourced to more extreme voices.
It all makes me think of the salt marsh.
You’ll find salt marshes all along our Dorset coast — places like Poole Harbour, where mudflats and creeks stretch out into the tide. At low water you’ll see curlews probing the mud with their long beaks, oystercatchers darting about, and flocks of Brent geese gathering in winter. In the shallow creeks, young sea bass and flounder hide from bigger predators, using the marsh as a nursery. Plants like samphire and sea lavender cling to the edges, holding the mud in place and quietly feeding the whole system. What looks like wasteland is actually teeming with life — and all of it depends on the tension between land and sea, fresh and salt, stability and change.
And it strikes me: the marsh doesn’t survive by one side winning. If the sea takes over, everything drowns. If the land walls itself off, everything dries up. The flourishing comes from holding the tension, making space for both realities to meet and shape each other. Life is born in the in-between.
That’s what Paul is getting at in one of his letters in the New Testament, the part of the Bible that tells the story of the early church. He was writing to a group of people in a city called Ephesus, in what is now Turkey. Back then, there were two main groups trying to follow Jesus: Jewish people, who carried centuries of tradition, law, and culture, and Gentiles, which basically meant everybody else. These groups didn’t just have differences; they had walls between them — suspicion, prejudice, hostility. Each thought the other was missing something essential.
Paul’s radical claim was that Jesus broke down those walls. He didn’t do it by pretending the differences didn’t exist. He didn’t say, “Forget your history, flatten it all out.” Instead, he insisted that the cross — the death and resurrection of Jesus — had created a new kind of community. Not Jews who had to become Gentiles. Not Gentiles who had to become Jews. Something entirely new. He calls it “one new humanity.”
The idea is this: the peace Jesus brings isn’t about one side winning, dominating, or painting over the other. It’s about creating a space where differences don’t have to lead to division. Where there can be humility, mutual respect, and shared life. A bit like the salt marsh — it only flourishes when the land and sea keep their dance going, when neither is allowed to swallow up the other.
And maybe that’s the challenge for us right now. The temptation is to let flags, slogans, or online shouting matches become the whole story — one side painting over the other until all you see is conflict. But if the marsh teaches us anything, it’s that life is born in the tension, not in its erasure. Humility creates room. Space for difference doesn’t mean weakness — it’s actually what holds an ecosystem, or a community, together.
That’s why Paul’s vision of a “new humanity” still speaks today. The Jesus way isn’t about pretending we’re all the same, or forcing everyone into one box. It’s about building a shared space where hostility doesn’t get the last word. Where we can belong together without having to agree on everything. Where peace is more than just the absence of fighting — it’s the presence of justice, welcome, and mutual respect.
And here’s the hopeful part: I’ve already seen people choosing that way. A friend of mine recently wrote on Facebook:
“Hi friends/neighbours. I’m noticing some division between us relating to opinions around ‘our country’.
I’m someone who names themselves as a welcomer of people seeking asylum. I know that there are friends nearby who have a different opinion.
So, my friends/neighbours… Would you like to meet up for a coffee and a 1-1 walk up and down our beautiful estate? We can listen to one another and try to understand each other’s point of view, (without trying to persuade or make each other believe something different).
I’m hoping that by this teeny action, we could maybe build a more united community that has room for difference without hatred here on fabulous ********. DM me if you want to meet for a walk and talk. xxxxx”
That’s the salt marsh in real life. Not erasing difference. Not shouting louder. Just holding the tension with humility, and letting new life grow in the space between.
How might you live in the marsh this week?
Worship in the woods
Last Saturday, around 40 friends and families gathered at Adventure Pirate. We represented four or five churches from along the south coast. We had invited our friends Sam and Sara from Engage Worship to come and spend the day demonstrating, teaching, and facilitating ways in which we might deepen how we worship God outdoors.
The day was split into two workshops. The first gave us a broad understanding of worship and introduced a variety of tools we could use to connect with God. We used cardboard signs to retell the creation story, then reshaped those same words into prayer stations built with sticks, leaves, and stones we found in the woods. We sang simple choruses in the round, voices weaving together in the trees. We played games, explored movement, and let the natural world become both backdrop and participant in our worship.
What stuck with me most was the breakdown of worship into three movements:
Broadcasting — any way we publicly speak or sing about God.
Serving — any way we live out or demonstrate our love for him.
Bowing — any way we submit to God in our words or actions.
This stretched my view of worship beyond (but including) singing. It touches nearly every part of life. When we were handed clay and asked to shape something we could use in worship, the table saw laptops, guitars, footballs, and homes and lots more emerging. Everyday objects, but reimagined as sacred things we could give to God.
Later, after a game, we had a powerful conversation about gathered and scattered worship. There’s strength when we come together, but also a challenge: how do we resource one another so worship continues in our homes and families? One person admitted, “It’s a lot harder to worship at home with the family than it is to do it all together.” I think others shared that thought.
In the afternoon, we turned to the difference between worship indoors and outdoors. A big theme emerged: indoor worship often feels controllable; outdoor worship, much less so. And yet, isn’t that the point? That worship in the wild brings us face to face with unpredictability — weather, noise, children, distractions — and somehow God meets us there.
For our Ocean Church community, I came away inspired. With a little courage, what might be possible for us in deepening our worship? Maybe it looks like more singing songs we have written toether, maybe it’s giving space for silence, maybe it’s paying closer attention to the natural world around us. Or maybe it’s something we haven’t even thought of yet. I wondered what your thoughts are?
Big church day out
I have just come back from Big Church Festival in West Sussex. I didn’t see anyone from Ocean Church, so I am assuming I was the only one there from our community. I thought it would be good to give you an insight into what happens at this amazing event.
Imagine if you can 35,000 Christians all in one place. It does your spirit good just to be surrounded by so many like-minded people. The event started back in 2009, and I was there at that first gathering; it was inspiring, but it was much smaller. This year saw the most amount of people camping, and the event sold out for the first time.
For 2025, it was moved from the May Bank Holiday to the August Bank Holiday. We were told about a major shift in the demographic of people attending. Of the 35,000 people present 50% of them were under 30. In the past, it had been dominated by older people. This says something about Gen Z and the uprising of hunger in young people, searching for something more in life. Each year, there is an altar call, and each year, lots of people give their lives to Jesus. This year, they had one each evening, and literally hundreds of people gave their lives to Jesus each night. Something felt different this year. Many of the International artists playing said they felt revival was coming to Britain. How many of us have been praying for revival for years and years? And now suddenly it feels like we are on the cusp. It was evident that the format was the same, but the atmosphere was different.
I can only convey that worshipping with thousands of other Christians, with the focus being purely on Jesus, was a glimpse of what heaven will be like.
Do you know there wasn’t one policeman on site? I didn’t see any arguments or aggression. Just harmony and people getting along beautifully. At the campsite site people often broke out in singing worship songs; it felt perfectly natural even though we don’t see it every day.
As with many large events, there are multiple stages. This year, the worship tent seemed more popular than the main stage. There was a hunger in people to draw near to God. We may have felt it for years, but to actually see it in reality made the hairs on the back of your neck go up. People queueing up and packing in like sardines to worship Jesus. It’s what this country needs.
This might sound a bit random, but trust me, there is a point to this. I remember sitting next to my driving instructor when he told me I had passed my driving test. What he said was, “today you passed your test, but today is also the day when you start to learn to drive.” My point is this year was a great event, but it is so much more than the experience itself. It is about being inspired, being open to change, being ready to be radical, and being ready for revival when it comes. So, get ready!
For many of us, life is a challenge. We are living with things that are difficult to deal with. They can get us down. Our joy tanks can run empty. Going to an event like this can give us hope. We remember to look up rather than look down. We realise we are not on our own. Our circumstances haven’t changed, but somehow with God’s help, we can keep going. He gives us hope for the future.
So, I don’t know what you are planning for next August bank holiday, but I can’t recommend enough the opportunity to go and experience Big Church Festival for yourself. Maybe a group of us can camp together and worship together. Bring it on!
Surf camp
This summer in Croyde was the inaugural Ocean Church Surf Camp. For five days, a group of just over 20 of us camped a short walk (although the definition of “short” was contested!) from the beach, where we ate, slept, did life and adventured together. It was a fantastic time – relationships were deepened, pasta well past its sell-by-date was shared and devoured, and water fights were just about reigned in before spiralling out of control. More than that – we experienced, we reflected and connected.
Camping is ‘intense’ the hilarious homophone reminds us. Greater effort is required than in normal, everyday activities. Trips to collect water, visit the bathroom or just to put something in the bin rapidly increase your step-count. It’s also much harder to hide your true self when camping in a group. Someone is bound to see exactly what you look like just after you have unfolded yourself from a sleeping bag first thing in the morning. Your parenting is visible to all and audible too, as canvas is not a good noise insulator! People see more of the “real you” meaning our genuine selves are more exposed. Importantly these are accepted by fellow campers.
As it was Ocean Church, our week was characterised by adventure. Some ventured off on their own costal walks or runs and later shared what they had seen or experienced. For most of us, a significant part of adventure was experienced in the water, where swimming, bodyboarding and surfing were the main activities. All ages made their way into the waves, for some repeatedly throughout the day: in the morning, afternoon and at sunset. Fun with friends was prioritised and community that isn’t found in other friendship groups was fostered and deepened. It felt like what church is meant to feel like.
For me, surfing connected me with nature and the divine. I’ve had two previous shorter attempts at surfing which I’ve blogged about before but this was the first time in around fifteen years. I genuinely loved it. Surfing made me want to keep that wetsuit on and stay in the sea. That’s not to say I was much good at it – it’s humbling to be wiped out repeatedly by the waves, especially when your own children are standing on a board for longer that you can manage! But, like many in our number, I improved and could notice the progress I was making.
Out in the water, trudging into the seemingly constant battering of crashing waves, creativity was sparked. Parallels between God and the ocean were felt – really felt – the divine was not just a mental construct. In the sea, you are not always in your comfort zone, especially when you find yourself deeper than you expected with a wave breaking over you and your board hitting you on the head. Faith is like that sometimes too, when the security is whipped out from under your feet and life hits you for six.
Looking for the next wave to catch can involve a lot of waiting. “They come in waves!” someone wittingly pointed out. Our lives of faith can also have periods of quiet where not much seems to be happening, teaching us patience and resilience. When the chance eventually comes and you dutifully turn your board to face the shore and begin paddling, this is no guarantee that you will ride to the beach triumphantly. More often than not, I was deposited back into the water. Our ideals of what following God look like may not match the reality and that may not be our fault.
Each evening at Surf Camp, we connected as a group. During the day, we tried to read the same Psalm which we discussed long after the sun had set. We also talked about how we sensed God in our exploits of the day. We listened to and learned from each other. We prayed that we would continue to see God in our lives not only when we had the time to relax and spent copious time in the sea. The reality is that the calm euphoria of riding a wave is unlikely to continually characterise our faith experience when back in the routines of everyday life. Much of it will seem like the slog of wading into choppy waters, rubbed by seams of wetsuits, sore from the effort of holding your board as walls of water crash into it. Perhaps the important thing is that encouraged by those around us, we continue to choose to turn to walk back into the ocean of faith and continue that adventure.
Pure Water
Martin Riese, the rock and roll star of water sommeliers says this:
Water is our most important resource on the planet.
Water is the ultimate sustainability superhero, flowing through our lives with unrivaled eco-friendliness! While other beverages might quench our thirst, water takes the crown for its minimal indirect water usage. Think about it: from the seeds planted in lush fields to the bustling factories churning out refreshing drinks, water is the unsung hero behind it all. It doesn't need fancy packaging or extensive processing—just a good ol' sip straight from the source. So, raise your glass (or reusable bottle!) to water, the OG sustainable sip that keeps our planet and bodies hydrated in style and dive into the world of water!
Most humans could only last about three days without water. In fact we are mostly water: we consist of between 60 and 70% water. Tragically, over one billion people lack access to safe drinking water, and over four billion people experience severe water scarcity for one month a year. (Water Supply & Sanitation | World Water Council)
If we don’t drink enough water, we quickly become dehydrated. The consequences of dehydration are massive. The first stage is thirst, so your body preserves water, the kidneys send less water to your bladder, you sweat less, your body temp rises, your blood actually becomes thicker and slow moving so the cardiovascular system has to work harder. Your heart rate increases. The ability to think clearly is disrupted. The blood flow to your brain and the actual brain volume is reduced. If it continues, toxins build up and your kidneys fail. Your blood vessels start to harden, you overheat and our organs start to fail. The impact is catastrophic.
In the Bible, David describes his need for the living God like his need for water.
You, God, are my God, earnestly I seek you;
I thirst for you, my whole being longs for you,
in a dry and parched land where there is no water. (Psalm 63:1)
David is writing this in the desert, literally in a dry and parched land. This expresses his need for God. Nothing else will satisfy. We have a spiritual thirst that affects us even more than dehydration and our need for water. We might call this thirst a longing or a yearning for more or for satisfaction. At Ocean Church we believe that we all have a soul and are all spiritual. We have a spiritual thirst.
But we satisfy this thirst in different ways. In the book of Jeremiah, God says this to his people:
“My people have committed two sins: They have forsaken me, the spring of living water, and have dug their own cisterns, broken cisterns that cannot hold water.
Jeremiah 2: 13
God’s chosen people - chosen to represent God and bless the whole world have forsaken Him as the spring- of living water- the mountain spring, pure and clean and they have instead dug their own broken cisterns to try and satisfy their thirst.
We do the same. We thirst, but then we look to other water sources- that are dirty and dangerous and don’t satisfy but instead make us ill. We dig our own broken cisterns.
Maybe your broken cistern is other people’s opinion of you, that is where you drink from. Or success, winning. Maybe it is a key relationship. Or food. Or comfort, or achievement or control. They’re often not bad things in and of themselves, but they’re not the ultimate thing. They’re not the ultimate source of living water.
Jesus talks about our thirst as well.
He meets a woman by a well in the heat of the day, and makes this crazy statement to her:
“Everyone who drinks this water will be thirsty again, but whoever drinks the water I give them will never thirst. Indeed, the water I give them will become in them a spring of water welling up to eternal life.”
(John 4:13-14)
Jesus offers pure, perfect, crystalline water that completely satisfies thirst, and more than that amazingly then flows within us and leads to eternal life.
Living water is ultimate satisfaction. Jesus says that He has something that our soul needs every bit as much as our bodies needs water. If we go to any other source, our thirst just gets worse. Broken cisterns do not satisfy.
If we put the bucket of our soul into any other cause, any other relationship, any other hope, rest or beauty instead of Jesus, we will die of thirst.
Jesus gives purpose, love, hope and beauty that permanently wells up inside us. It is a spring that never ends - welling up to eternal life, not a broken leaking cistern that dries up.
Another Psalm puts it like this:
As the deer pants for streams of water, so my soul pants for you, my God.
My soul thirsts for God, for the living God. When can I go and meet with God?
Psalm 42: 1-2
Who’s feeling thirsty?
When one and one can equal three
It’s a sunny Saturday morning and I have been busy in my garden. I then felt compelled to stop what I was doing and to go and sit at my computer. The only word I have at the moment is “talents”. So, let’s see what comes from pondering on this subject for a while.
Well, first of all, we all have them! So, as you read this, no one is exempt, including you. Talents are not earned, they are given. Given by our heavenly father who gives good gifts to his children. So, a big question is, do you know what yours are? Perhaps you could get a piece of paper and write them down. Hopefully, you can think of a number of talents that you have. Looking at your list, have a think about how you are using your talents. Are there some that are more prominent than others, and are there some that you don’t really use at the moment?
What I see in your list of talents is ingredients for a cake. On their own, they have limited use and might spend a lot of time in the cupboard. But when you put them together, you end up with something that many can enjoy. That is why we have birthday cakes to celebrate people.
Let’s dig a bit deeper into your talents. As you look at them, are you using them in your day-to-day life? Are there ways in which you could use them more at home with your family? At work, in your community? God gives us talents so we can use them. Why not ask God how you can use them more?
I recently went on a course for creative writing and wellbeing. I can tell you that it has completely opened up my creative writing, and I am using it all of the time. Sometimes it is about making time for things. Maybe look at your list of talents and think about one that you would like to develop and invest in. From my own recent experience, I can tell you it can only be a good thing.
So, we’ve talked about you as an individual and maybe at home and at work, but I would like to finish by asking you how you are using your talents for God? On the basis that he gave them to you in the first place, he really wants to see you use them for Him.
When I was growing up, I used to get pocket money once a week on a Saturday. I’m not sure if there is even such a thing these days. But I would eagerly anticipate getting my coins and going to the sweet shop to buy some sweet peanuts or lemon bonbons.
Think of the talents that God has given you as pocket money. It can last for a very short amount of time if, like me, you go and spend it in one go.
The idea of the parable of the talents is that you invest what God has given you. As you use your talents, they can grow.
As a community, we are blessed with an array of talents. My heart is for us to come together and use them to bless others and to grow in our own faith journey. As we do this, we will see our talents grow.
Life as an alien
Following university, I spent eight months living in Ecuador, volunteering for a charity, where I spent most of my time teaching English. It was a fantastic experience: learning a new language, adapting to a new culture, sampling the seven varieties of bananas that could be easily bought in fruit market. But I stuck out. To be fair I stick out here – I have had more comments telling me that I’m tall by children in school that I care to remember. However, Ecuador’s average height is a good three inches less than the UK. I was noticed. The choices I made were observed. Whether I conformed to a new culture was seen.
In the New Testament in the Bible, the letter of 1 Peter was written to followers of Jesus scattered through a variety of parts of modern-day Turkey. The writer addresses the epistle to “exiles,” which would have evoked in the original readers reminders of the Jewish people’s history of living in captivity to the Babylonians. This group were not the prevailing force: they were outsiders, lacking power, a minority. But this was not all. This section from the second chapter stands out to me.
But you are a chosen people, a royal priesthood, a holy nation, God’s own people, in order that you may proclaim the excellence of him who called you out of darkness into his marvellous light. Once you were not a people, but now you are God’s people; once you had not received mercy, but now you have received mercy.
Beloved, I urge you as aliens and exiles to abstain from the desires of the flesh that wage war against the soul. Conduct yourselves honourably among the gentiles, so that, though they malign you as evildoers, they may see your honourable deeds and glorify God when he comes to judge. 1 Peter 2: 9-12
There is an emphasis on identity here for “God’s own people” and the adjectives of ‘chosen,’ ‘royal’ and ‘holy’ almost stress the importance of seeing ourselves as we are seen by God. This then is contrasted shortly after with the use of “aliens and exiles” where the focus is on how life is “honourably” lived out. I wonder what that would have looked like for those original recipients of the letter and how we can apply it now. It seems to imply that there should be something distinctive about the life of faith but the reality is, it can hard to get the balance right.
When I lived in Ecuador, there were guidelines about how to avoid causing offence in a more culturally conservative society. A life of faith, however, must be more than just being bland and inoffensive – it means working out how to express our identity as an alien, an outsider of sorts in the society we find ourselves in. The choices we make will be noticed by others who know our faith identities, so we need to be intentional about how we express “honourable deeds” in our lives.
It’s difficult to be prescriptive about what sort of conduct is expected from us. It may involve our words or deeds. Our settings and circumstances will likely have an impact on what these might be. However, the purpose of our actions, it seems from verse 12, is to point others towards God. It is this principle that can guide us in our choices. Sometimes we may want these actions to flow naturally out of our personalities. Other times we may want to make deliberate choices, proactively seeking ways to demonstrate the love of God in practical ways, reflecting the light we have been called into. It’s possible this will feel awkward at times. Being a foreigner can be – you feel self-conscious and question whether you are doing the right thing. That’s ok. This is bound up in the identity of the alien and exile but it remains our obligation to pass on the mercy that we have received in the way we live.
Make spirituality normal again
77 years ago, Britain did something crazy. It founded a health service that assumed everybody had the right to receive care.
On the 5th of July 1948, the National Health Service opened it’s doors, and it offered medical treatment for free at the point of use for the whole population. This wasn't a private charity, but it was the result of a Labour government who were determined to make a welfare state out of the rubble of war. Prime Minister Clement Attlee appointed South Wales miner-turned-politician Aneurin Bevan as the Minister of Health, and together they shepherded the National Health Service Act 1946 through Parliament and negotiated with reluctant doctors and dentists.
The NHS is now woven into British identity. Yet, it’s founding story is important in how we see ourselves. The system was created to care for bodies—i.e. stitches, operations, and vaccinations. The assumption behind the service was that physical illness is real and it demands a collective response. But it left behind a different kind of issue: mental health. Keeping the mind healthy by contrast, was largely left in the shadows. In 1948, people with mental illness were locked away in Victorian asylums and stigmatised with words like lunacy and mental deficiency. It would take decades for society to recognize that a real healthy person is mind and body.
There were various plans through the 50s and 60s to try and aid people with mental health, but shockingly, it wasn't until 1999 when the National Service Framework for Mental Health came into being. In the early 2000s, the National Institute for Health and Care Excellence (NICE) produced its first guidelines around schizophrenia, and since then more than 80 pieces of mental health guidance have been issued. And it wasn't till the 2019 NHS Long-Term Plan promised 24/7 crisis response services and a major expansion of mental health provision. That plan is underfunded and has much left to do. All the major shifts advancing mental health integration have happened within my lifetime. I can’t believe it was that recent!
There's a phrase which has only just come into being recently—policymakers have started talking about the parity of esteem. The idea that mental health should have equal status with physical health. Equal access to services, equal quality of care and equal resources allocated based on need, And even now, the journey is far from over.
The reason for that little tour through history is that it's clear that we humans resist integration. We draw neat lines around our bodies and medicalize them, and only recently have we expanded the circle to include the mind. But I think a big problem that still remains is that spirituality—the soul—is still left on the outside. Even though this is the place from which we make meaning, build hope, trust, and love. All essential things for human life- let alone flourishing.
A holistic approach to healthcare means we needs to support the whole person, including their physical, emotional, social, and spiritual well-being. Thomas Aquinas wrote that the soul and the body are not two separate substances but one composite being—that we are neither ghosts nor machines. The Eastern theologian Irenaeus famously said, "The glory of God is a human being fully alive." And more contemporary periphery theologians like N.T. Wright emphasize the embodied nature of faith—that we are what we love and how we love, not merely what we think. Dallas Willard spoke about the renovation of the heart as the ultimate project of discipleship. Each of these voices, and way more across history, tell us that human flourishing can't be restricted to the physical or even the psychological. We are ultimately mind, body, and soul.
So what would it look like to normalize spirituality in a culture that has only just acknowledged mental health?
We could expand our definition of care. If the NHS was born to prevent people dying because they were poor, perhaps the next radical step is to prevent people from withering because their souls are starved. We accept that stress and trauma warrant therapy—could we accept that spiritual crisis—questions of meaning, guilt, loss, transcendence—warrant pastoral and communal care? As the founder of the NHS, Bevan insisted that inability to pay should never bar someone from medical treatment. Might we insist the inability to believe or belong should never bar someone from spiritual companionship?
Chaplains are already around in hospitals, prisons, and schools. But what if they could be woven even more deeply into mental health teams, the community, and GP practices? People experiencing depression and anxiety often carry spiritual questions too. We seem to enjoy privatizing those questions or treating them as irrelevant, but we could provide spiritual professionals to accompany people in greater depth. This isn't about proselytising, but it is recognising that meaning-making is a part of healing.
Tell better stories. The story of the NHS began with a vision—a society that refused to let people die because they were poor. The story of mental health reform began with the belief that minds matter as much as bodies. To normalise spirituality, we need a story that values the soul. Perhaps it begins with the ancient intuition that each person bears the imago Dei—the image of God—and that to care for one another is to honour that image.
Use different labels. The label religion doesn't seem to have much weight or use in modern society, largely in part because it deals with things both unseen and sometimes untreatable. But I think Jesus would balk at the idea that it has it’s own societal category when religion is to do with how we live our life. It’s about how we connect with the world and the people around us, how deeply we can live in harmony with God and the impact of our lives will touch on areas like health, business, politics, entertainment, and work. Normalising spirituality means being honest about the deep roots of words, but also being able to use labels which invite rather than exclude. I don't want to defend our vocabulary; I want to explore venturing into new language.
Reflection is good
Have you noticed how much of our lives we spend living in the fast lane? Things seem to come at us on the other side of the road all of the time. As humans, we learn to react and deal with new situations every day. A bit like facing one of those serving machines in tennis. It can be relentless. It can be hard to find time to take stock of our life experiences.
Living by the sea, I am trying to carve out time during the day to slow down. Either first thing in the morning, at lunch time, or after work. It brings such a change of perspective. Our relationship with nature will impact how much we notice, think about, and appreciate our natural surroundings, and is critical in supporting good mental health and preventing stress. The fact that we have the sea on our doorstep is a real bonus, one we need to capitalize on.
Why not find yourself a quiet spot where you can connect with nature? You will begin to connect with your senses, what you see, hear, smell, touch, and taste. Might sound a bit weird, but tasting something from the earth that is perhaps salty will connect you more with nature.
Reflection is good; it helps us get quiet on the inside. It allows us to process events in our lives, whether they are good or bad. Rather than leaving them locked up in a potential jack-in-the-box situation, our memories and emotions can be let out and articulated. A bit like releasing homing pigeons from a cage. They are free to fly as high as they want before returning home and joining the rest of our memories, feeling they have had time to express themselves.
The fact is, we don’t take enough time to reflect, which is why our emotional tanks can end up on empty. So, if you can, deliberately take time out to reflect on the busyness of your life on a regular basis, you will begin to benefit from it and see that it is good for your wellbeing.
Why not begin by scoring yourself out of 10 for wellbeing? If it needs topping up, then take some time out for yourself.