Transfiguration in February

​There are in life those people who want to make you notice them because they are important. When a certain American President was in his first term I vowed I wouldn’t keep mentioning him. It’s even harder not to mention him in his second term which still has three long years to go. He wants to build an arc de Trump which will tower over every other building in Washington DC and he’ll be remembered as the greatest President the country has ever had. It happens in churches too…

 

We were in Durham Cathedral a week yesterday to hear the choir sing the Messiah. In the cathedral there is the cathedra, the seat of the Bishop. 16 large steps go up to it and it’s almost three metres above the ground. It was designed by Bishop Thomas Hatfield, who was Bishop of Durham from 1345 to 1381. There’s a story that the Bishop wanted it to be the highest throne in Christendom, so he sent two monks toRome to measure the Popes throne there so he could build it higher! The thing was to meant to inspire awe in people. The Bishop of Durham looking down from on high on his clergy and his people, was to be seen as someone worthy of glory and honour. 

 

Today Jesus most positively invites us to notice him and see his glory. 

 

It’s quite a story Luke tells. In it there are mountains, clouds, mysterious voices from clouds, dazzling white clothes... 

How easy it can be though, when one is quite familiar with a story, for it to lose some of its wonder.

 

We used to sing of it in Sunday School:

 

Looking upward every day,
Sunshine on our faces;
Pressing onward every day
Toward the heavenly places;

And…with actions! 

 

Climb, climb up sunshine mountain, (Pretend to climb in air.)

Heavenly breezes blow. (Wave hands in front of body.)

Climb, climb up sunshine mountain, (Pretend to climb.)

Faces all aglow. (Stick out palms under chin.)

Turn, turn from sin and doubting, (Turn head.)

Look to God on high. (Point up and look.)

Climb, climb up sunshine mountain, (Pretend to climb.)

You and I.

For just one moment, the disciples gain a glimpse of the glory of the Kingdom of Heaven; no wonder they ‘kept silent and in those days told no one any of the things they had seen’. Jesus’ face changes, and his whole being seems to radiate a blinding light. The Orthodox church calls this ‘uncreated light’ that is, not a worldly phenomenon at all, but as a result of a direct encounter with God, which alters and transfigures the whole of creation.I like the OED’s clear definition of transfiguration; as a ‘complete change of form or appearance into a more beautiful or spiritual state’.

 

So, what relevance might this amazing transfiguration story have for us in 2026?

 

I wonder if any of us can remember having had a ‘transfiguration moment’?

Perhaps we were tired or fed up, and something just happened that stopped us in our tracks andtransformed our way of thinking and feeling.

 

These transfiguration moments, which lift us out of ourselves and give us a glimpse of something ‘other’ - even an aspect of God - are precious – and so easily passed by unnoticed. I firmly believe that God wants to change and transform us into the people he created us to be... and perhaps by prayerfully reflecting on these glimpses, we are taking small steps in thatdirection. Rowan Williams writes in a reflection on the icon of the transfiguration, that ‘looking at Jesus seriously changes things; if we do not want to be changed, it is better not to look too hard or too long’. Powerful words.

On Good Friday in 1520, prominent Italian painter and architect Raffaello Sanzio da Urbino (better known as simply “Raphael”) died at the age of 37. He left behind a large body of work including paintings, altarpieces, sculptures, sketches… and one unfinished oil painting on wood, titled theTransfiguration.

Raphael, busy with other commissions, had worked on the transfiguration for four years—but he died prematurely before it could be completed. The work was finished by Raphael’s student Giulio Romano after the artist’s funeral. There is a noticeable difference in the fine details of the top and bottom, probably because the hand of the Master had been stilled.

Even in its unfinished state, Raphael considered the transfiguration to be his greatest masterpiece. He was so proud of it, in fact, that it was prominently displayed behind his deathbed.

Two scenes from the Gospel of Matthew aredepicted in Raphael’sTransfiguration:

At the top, Christ has climbed Mount Tabor with the Apostles, and there he is transfigured—appearing in his glorified body, flanked by Moses (representing the Law) and Elijah (representing the Prophets).
But in the lower part of the painting,the Apostles are struggling to heal a sick child. Only when the transfigured Christ appears in their midst is the child healed.

The original painting is now housed in the Vatican Museum.

 

We need those looking up moments in order to survive life in all its complexity. 

 

They offer us opportunities for transformation and fresh insight. 

And now I am preaching probably more to myself than to anyone else – but the vital bit is what happens after. Do we just return home to our lives, maybe thinking ‘that was a nice day’ and not giving it another thought in all our busy-ness, or do we make a conscious decision to maintain and nurture any tiny insight or change that might have come about in us? One happened to me in Durham Cathedral. I know the exact date – Friday 19 January 2007. I was having a bad time. I was fed up. Everything in church was my fault. The letters weren’t nice. I sat there and I know exactly where I sat to this day and I told God I’d had enough. Of church that is! And God in the vastness and history of that place sorted my head and told me however bad it seems he’s bigger and to look for his glory when I’m getting tired of what’s around me. 

 

We need to create looking up moments in church don’t we? 

My learning to be a Superintendent course at Cliff College despite landing on my bottom, was very good. The highlight was being taken out of the ordinary superintendent groups because the Bridge Circuit is different as I don’t do the governance bit, and to be put with the other different Superintendent Darren Middleton who is Superintendent of the Coracle Circuit in the South West Peninsula District (that’s Devon and Cornwall) - it’s a circuit of new expressions of church. Darren is a minister and also a hairdresser and he’s opened a salon in Plymouth. 

He says “Hairdressing is the perfect tool to engage the wider community. The salon is a place where people come from all backgrounds and places to have some personal time that is solely for themselves. A space is given to each client to be themselves and talk, or not! Part of the service that a hairdresser gives is to listen. 

The salon experience is a holistic one - pampering for the hair, nurturing for the soul.” I didn’t realise just how compatible sermons and scissors are but in fact, in reality, they are synonymous. Especially if one considers a sermon something that is lived in the community and not just spoken from a pulpit.

My hope is to give this experience to people who need it but can’t afford it; those who cannot go to a salon for whatever reason - the homeless and the outsider, the refugee, those suffering with mental illness and those who just need to be loved and given space to be…” 

He was an absolute joy to chat to. I said to him “ you love it don’t you?”  He’s providing up moments for people day after day after day. Bit different to what I get “got any plans for the weekend? “

Of course, most of these transfigurational glimpses occur in the mundane, ordinary, everyday situations, hence being so easy to miss. But it would be exhausting and unsustainable to always live on the mountaintop, constantly being dazzled by revelations and dramatic experiences.

 

It is not God’s desire that we live on the mountaintops. We only ascend to the heights to catch a broader vision of the earthly surroundings below. But we don’t live there. We don’t tarry there. The streams begin in the uplands, but these streams quickly descend to gladden the valleys below.

But we can surely be sustained and equipped by the fruits of our glimpses and transfigurational moments, if we are willing. We are to take our transfiguration moments—our God moments—with us, to remind us why we are on this journey, especially when things are difficult. Like Peter, James, and John, we may not always understand what we have witnessed, but we know that we are loved and called by the God who shares them with us. 

Peter later wrote this in his second letter: “For we did not follow cleverly devised myths when we made known to you the power and coming of our Lord Jesus Christ, but we had been eyewitnesses of his majesty. For he received honour and glory from God the Father when that voice was conveyed to him by the Majestic Glory, saying, 

“This is my Son, my Beloved, with whom I am well pleased.” We ourselves heard this voice come from heaven, while we were with him on the holy mountain. So we have the prophetic message more fully confirmed. You will do well to be attentive to this as to a lamp shining in a dark place, until the day dawns and the morning star rises in your hearts. First of all you must understand this, that no prophecy of scripture is a matter of one’s own interpretation, because no prophecy ever came by human will, but men and women moved by the Holy Spirit spoke from God.”

As we prepare to enter Lent, the story of Jesus requires us to take the brilliance of the Transfiguration into our own journeys. 

May we be given the courage to be transformed, so that we can bear the light and mystery of God to others, setting the whole world aglow as 2 Peter declares: “a lamp shining in a dark place, until the day dawns and the morning star rises” in our hearts. Let us look up and see his glory is still around and let us look down and around to share it where we are. 

The long slow work of God - Candlemas

I used this blog post from faith meets world in my service tonight. I found it helpful. ​We are hopeless at waiting and Simeon and Anna are examples of patience and endurance in prayer…

The long, slow work of God

We live in an age of haste. Technology has tended to make everything faster, and this trend shows no sign of letting up. News, fashions and cultural phenomena can now propagate around the world at lightning speed. We’re trained to want and expect everything now, in an instant.

In this age of instant everything, Candlemas gives us an opportunity to stop and remind ourselves that God’s work in the world is often anything but instant; in fact, it tends to be long and slow. The Jewish people had to wait centuries for their Messiah to come; Simeon and Anna had to wait nearly their whole lifetime before they saw salvation with their own eyes; and Mary would have to wait thirty more years before she’d see Jesus begin to visibly fulfil the promise she’d been given about him. Thirty years of obscurity with nothing much out of the ordinary apparently happening – except that, in the very obscurity and ordinariness of it all, the long, slow work of God was quietly unfolding.

The question I’d like to leave us with is this: will we, like Simeon and Anna, have the kind of vision that allows us to see God at work where others see nothing special? Will we attend church out of a sense of religious duty, looking at our watches to see how much longer we have to wait for the service to end, or will we allow ourselves to be so immersed in worship and the liturgy that we’re slowed down and our eyes are opened to see all the seemingly small and insignificant ways God is at work in the world? Will we be distracted by whatever the latest fads, fashions and trends happen to be, or will we remain awake and aware enough to see the long, slow work of God unfolding in our church, our communities, our families and our lives? My prayer is that we, like Simeon and Anna, might be faithful; that we might cultivate a day-to-day connection with the Spirit; that we might have the kind of vision that sees potential and possibility where others see nothing out of the ordinary; and that we might not only see but celebrate the quiet, persistent work of God among us.

A covenant service with Anglicans

 

Peter was deeply concerned when he heard Jesus tell the rich young ruler:

"It is easier for a camel to go through the eye of a needle than for a rich man to enter the kingdom of God."

The disciples were troubled. If wealth and human effort could not guarantee eternal life, then what would be the benefit of following Jesus? Peter voiced the question many Christians still ask today:

“We have left everything to follow You. What then will there be for us?” 

“What then will there be for us?” 

We were in a restaurant last night - I’ll not tell you where. We were in a rush so needed good quick service. They asked us did we want drinks. We asked for tap water. The rather hopeless boy serving us wrote down water you buy. The manager came over and asked if we wanted a whole bottle or just two glasses. We said no, tap water. Then Lis spotted there was a lunch menu up to 5pm, with much of what we had ordered on it considerably cheaper. We were told we were too late, it finishes early and it was ten to five. The service was poor throughout then rather hopeless boy returnedasking if we wanted more drinks or desserts. We wanted the bill and to go. He then asked if we wanted to give a tip. They wanted to get as much money out of us as possible.

“What then will there be for us?” 

I’ll not name him, but a certain world leader has this week set up his own board of peace which will be better than the United Nations and he’s made himself chairman and those who want to join it have to pay for the privilege. 

The rhetoric while saying words about bringing peace to the world is more about me and how I will be remembered in history. No one has been a greater world leader than me ever. 

“What then will there be for us?” Is life indeed faith about me, getting a tip, being the greatest, getting what I want that is really satisfying?

The church was thriving. It had a beautiful new building, talented musicians, and a growing congregation. However, beneath the surface of this vibrant community, a subtle, creeping selfishness had begun to take root.

 

Martha, a long-time member, loved her church, but she loved her place within it even more. She always sat in the third row. When a new family—young, loud, and enthusiastic—sat in "her" spot, Martha didn't feel welcoming. She felt indignant. She spent the entire service glaring at the back of their heads, frustrated that her comfort had been disrupted.

 

Meanwhile, at the sound desk, Mark, who ran the audio, was struggling. The worship leader asked for a simpler sound to encourage congregational singing, but Mark liked to showcase his technical skills. He made the music loud and complex, ignoring requests from the elderly members who couldn't hear the words. Mark was using his ministry for personal gratification, ensuring he felt like the star of the show.

 

Finally, in the church council they were reviewing the budget. A small, struggling church down the street needed help with their food bank. Someone proposed a donation. However, Mr. Henderson, the treasurer, frowned. "We need those funds for the new lobby furniture," he said, citing the need for the church to look prosperous to attract newcomers. "If we give it away, we don't have it."

 

Selfishness was acting like a cancer, shifting the focus from serving God and others to serving their own comforts and reputations.

That Sunday, the sermon was on Jesus cleansing the Temple, where he flipped the tables of those making money in the house of God. The pastor spoke about how Jesus dislikes when religious practices become about self-gain rather than worship.

Martha felt a sharp pang of conviction. She realised she cared more about her comfort than loving her neighbour as herself. Mark realised he was using the church to inflate his own ego, rather than serving the body. And Mr. Henderson felt the weight of his greed, realising he was hoarding resources that were meant to bless others, similar to the "selfish rich man" in the parable.

 

The next Sunday looked different. Martha arrived early, not to claim a seat, but to greet the new family and invite them to sit with her. Mark turned the volume down and focused on facilitating worship, not showcasing his skills. And the church council decided to donate to the neighbouring food bank, deciding to use their resources for the kingdom rather than their own comfort.

 

That church was reminded that the church is not a place for self-gain, but a house of prayer and service.

 

Today we come to renew our covenant with God. This service for me is the heart of Methodist spirituality. It’s good that today we share it as a benefice and as an LEP. We come to ask “What then will there be for us?” And God might ask of us “what then will there be for me?” in response.

The Covenant Prayer was first used in 1755, at a service in London with 1800 people present. The heart of the service are the words of response: we will say them in a more modern form, but the older words are powerful: 

I am no longer my own, but thine.

Put me to what thou wilt, rank me with whom thou wilt.

Put me to doing, put me to suffering.

Let me be employed for thee or laid aside for thee,

exalted for thee or brought low for thee.

Let me be full, let me be empty.

Let me have all things, let me have nothing.

I freely and heartily yield all things to thy pleasure and disposal.

And now, O glorious and blessed God, Father, Son and Holy Spirit,

thou art mine, and I am thine.

So be it.

And the covenant which I have made on earth,

let it be ratified in heaven

Interestingly, there were once three forms of the covenant service, one of which was for individuals making a private covenant, not in corporate worship. To take our place in the covenant people of God, we each express our individual desire and willingness but we also make our promise alongside others. The covenant prayer binds us together with God and with each other for the work of God, for which we are to watch over one other in love. That’s a huge Methodist theological phrase – we have a responsibility for one another. This is a different covenant service for me today – normally I would give communion out including wine in little glasses. We receive it one by one and then we form community as we are dismissed together to go renewed as a people together. Today we have an Anglican communion using Methodist liturgy (it’s a long story) and a shared cup. Maybe that reminds us we are one. Though we are many here today, we are one. 

 

What then will there be for Christ in this? A relationship. John Wesley’s original covenant prayer was rather like a marriage service. You were invited to take on Christ, as my head and husband, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, for all times and conditions, to love, honour and obey thee before all others, and this to the death.”  God’s gracious offer to us is also a challenge. If God is committed to us, are we prepared to accept that as reality? Can we commit ourselves in return to God? If we choose to accept it, how can we manage to live out our commitment adequately?

What then will there be for us? Sacrifice brings reward. Following Christ brings eternal inheritance. God’s blessings are sure. Like Peter, we may ask, “What will we get?” But like Jesus answered, the true benefits are both now and forever. We are reminded we are part of a deep fellowship. I was reminded of this last night. In Ripon we’ve marked the week of prayer for Christian Unity every day this last week with worship or prayer in a different church. Last night around 60 of us gathered in St Wilfrid’s church for a service with Bishop Anna preaching. Afterwards there was wine, cheese and cake and people stayed for ages chatting and getting to know each other. We have a common purpose, and it is good to be reminded of this. 

As we say the prayer today, we are committing ourselves to be where God wants us to be, not always where we want to be. We may need to take on the world and its values and that might feel overwhelming. I get overwhelmed by the news, don’t you? 

I like what my favourite current theologian Nadia Bolz Weber wrote yesterday: “It may be a lie that tender people are especially prone to believing: that if I really loved the world, I’d be able to carry it.

But none of us can carry it all, my friend. And yet each of us can carry a bit. Something. A mountain, or a morsel; a whole community or just a wee corner of the world that fits our hands.

None of us are equipped for all of it—but each of us is equipped for some of it. And today as a benefice and as a Methodist people we are called to be here in fellowship and in ministry together. So part of what we do today is to pray for our work together and the year ahead whatever it brings. 

For Margaret, a lifelong Methodist, the first Sunday of January was always more significant than New Year’s Eve. It was Covenant Sunday.

The sanctuary felt quiet and solemn, a contrast to the festive celebrations of the previous week. As she sat in her pew, she thought back to the words she had been preparing herself to say: "I am no longer my own, but yours."

 

She recalled the history she learned about the service—how John Wesley, in 1755, wanted a way to bring people into a deeper experience of God. It was a commitment that required total surrender, asking to be used for God's purposes—whether in doing or suffering, in fullness or in emptiness.

 

“Put me to what you will, rank me with whom you will,” the congregation prayed together, their voices a quiet murmur of dedication.

 

Margaret felt the weight of the words. She knew this was not a contract, but a covenant—a love poem to God that was entirely voluntary. It was a time to re-examine her life, to lay down her desire to control her own fate, and to trust that she belonged to God.

 

The service moved into the Sacrament of the Lord’s Supper, which Wesley believed made the covenant real, binding the promise made in words to the experience of grace.

 

 

As she partook in the bread and wine, the fear of the unknown future—of what "suffering" or "being set aside" might mean—faded, replaced by a sense of peace. She was not doing this alone; she was part of a community, all promising together to serve God with their whole lives.

Leaving the church, the cold January air felt bracing. She felt a profound sense of "re-set." The covenant was not just a one-day event, she knew; it was a promise to carry through the coming year, trusting that God would be with her, no matter what.

 

“What then will there be for me?”

I think for me this service – and I’ll have led it five times by this afternoon, I’ve another one at 2pm – says no matter what, the world of pushy people, world leaders losing it, rumours of war, uncertainty and sudden bombshells even in the church, we abandon ourselves to divine providence ( another good Methodist phrase) and we travel on hopefully.

What’s new?

​“What’s new?” The new is inviting, isn’t it, or is it scary or even unwanted? Three little scenarios…

The new is inviting… one of the folk who did our Advent course in Boroughbridge told us in one of the sessions about her puppy. She and her husband went out for the afternoon leaving said puppy loose with every door in the house open. They came back to find two huge bars of Dairy Milk under the Christmas tree eaten with bits of Christmas paper everywhere and upstairs a hidden large box of celebrations chocolates got into and chocolates and wrappers eaten. They had to rush puppy to the vets to get him to get his feast out of him. He saw new things to explore and it was fun at the time. 

The new can be scary. You get an upgrade for your phone. It takes ages to work out how it works. Or is that just me? You start a new job and it might feel overwhelming as there’s so much to take in. When life’s circumstances hit us that change things, that can be frightening as we adapt to a new way of being.

There is a story told about a dialogue between a Bishop and a Churchwarden.  

Bishop:  How long have you held office? Warden: About forty years Bishop. Bishop: You must have seen a lot of changes in that time… 

Warden:  Aye, and I’ve opposed every one of them! 

And yet… our faith says on this second Sunday of the New Year, on this first Sunday of Epiphany, don’t be negative or scared or block the new. God’s mercies are new every morning, great is his faithfulness even the world is spinning fast and spiralling out of control. What does the new brought on by a bomb or a threat mean for people? What about Venezuela, what about Gaza which has gone quiet, what about Ukraine, what’s going on in Iran? And bombs dropping on Syria now? 

What are the people of Greenland thinking? Someone yesterday sent me a Matt cartoon. Two elderly people are sitting staring at an unopened box of chocolate biscuits. And one says to the other “my diets going badly, if I spot a biscuit it’s like Trump seeing Greenland.”

This season of Epiphany is literally a season to help us despite the world to be clear about the nature of God. We need time to think about what it means that Jesus has come. We had our Epiphany party at Grewelthorpe on Tuesday. One of the readings shared was called the party’s over and the author pleaded for time to think…

Here is the good news today. There is a new song. There is a new heaven and a new earth. Today. It’s new. It’s come. It’s for us. Right now. 

“ O sing to the Lord a new song; sing to the Lord all the earth

Sing to the Lord, we say to all who will listen, bless his holy name; tell of his salvation from day to day”.

Rarely has that new song been more needed in our nation and in our world.   Year by year, the earth’s climate is changing.  We are living in the midst of the greatest human migration in history. In every country including our own there are questions of identity.  

Who are we as a nation?  Inequality grows year by year. We seem to be divided as a people. The world faces immense challenges.

What kind of a song are we called to sing as a Church in such a time?

When the world is being shaken, we must sing a new song of hope
When the world is hurting, we must sing the new song of healing and salvation.
When the world grieves, we sing new songs of resurrection.
When the world grows more unfair, we must sing God’s new song of justice.

To those who are enslaved and prisoners, we teach new songs of freedom
To those who are afraid, we share our songs of courage
To those who are dragged down by sin, we sing of God’s forgiveness
To those who are confused we sing God’s clear new song of truth

In this divided world, our songs reach out to strangers, to welcome and build bridges.
In this restless world, our songs tell of God’s peace and our final rest in heaven
In this polluted world, we sing a new song of care for God’s creation
In this world of vanity and pride, we sing songs of humility and meekness
In a world which lives for itself, we sing of love of God and neighbour.

The song we sing is the song of the gospel of Jesus Christ.  It is a song of great power and love.  Perhaps we do not sing it very well or as clearly as we could.

Perhaps we have forgotten its immense potential to transform human life.  Perhaps we have lost confidence in the immense importance of the message entrusted to the Church.  We need to find our voice again. We can’t do Christmas frivility all year – it will make us ill like that puppy with over excess.

But we need the song of the angels to be sung into 2026 don’t we? We need to be Jesus in our community. There is a cartoon circulating at the moment. 

Jesus is with a crowd and he says blessed are the peacemakers, blessed are the poor in heart, blessed are the meek, and some wag in the crowd says “mate, what sort of Christian are you?”  In every place, God calls us to sing a new song in the midst of this weary world.

Every year Radio 1 has a winner of the Sound of the year. This year it’s 22 year old Skye Norman. She said yesterday she has been singing since she could talk. She gave her first performance at the age of six, singing Cyndi Lauper's notoriously tricky True Colours at a school show.

"I don't know how, but my little voice managed to do it at the time," she laughed.

Before the song had even finished, she knew she'd devote her life to singing.

"It was just magical. It was my first time having an audience, and I felt so comfortable."

What new song are we singing?

Then someone new – something new – has come. Let me take you to our Gospel reading. 

This is our good news, friends. The Spirit descends upon us, the heavens open, and God speaks – not with judgment, punishment, or condemnation, but with joy, grace, hope, love. 
We are God’s beloved children – forgiven, claimed, named, baptized.

If you were to read Matthew chapter 3 in the original Greek, there’s something very interesting about the grammar its writer used. Throughout this gospel, the writer often uses the present tense to describe something that happened in the past. This is one such passage. So, the text doesn’t actually say, “Then Jesus came from Galilee.” It says, “Then Jesus comes from Galilee.” 

It doesn’t say, “Then John consented”; it says, “Then John consents.” Scholars have discussed why these passages might have been written this way. Many people think that it is so we, the readers, feel that the action is happening right in front of us, and that we are a part of it. Today! 

Even when we read the English translation of this passage, we get a sense of urgency and action. 

It seems that the author of this text wanted us to be able to imagine ourselves as part of Jesus’s story. We can imagine ourselves standing outside of time, participating in the action. 

At this point in the year, both in our culture and liturgy, we have left Christmas behind. The decorations in stores came down weeks ago, my friend posted with a picture of Easter eggs in Aldi “hurry, 12 weeks to Easter, get your eggs early” and, at church, we are in the season after Epiphany. Jesus isn’t a baby anymore. But, the power of Jesus’s human birth, the world-shattering effect of his Incarnation, remains still with us. Jesus took on our humanity in his birth and continued to share in what it meant to be human throughout his life - and the thing I find attractive about him is he transforms peoples lives on the spot by being alongside them. Incarnation doesn’t get put away with the tree. 

We sang it at Grewelthorpe on Tuesday the last carol of the season – while shepherds watched - its last line - the work of God has begun but never ceases, so I dare to suggest to us that the work of the church begins again this Sunday. We sing a new song. We share Jesus the new expression of God’s love. We do it in our worship together, we will do it this afternoon in the cathedral as we join the farming community to bless the year, we do it in pastoral care round hospital beds, we do it preparing and sharing baptisms and funerals, we do it at bereavement café which meets this Wednesday, we do it at coffee mornings, we do it planning the future with policy and hopeful vision together. 

O sing to the Lord a new song. This is my son with whom I am well pleased. We are that crowd excited and inquisitive about this Jesus amongst us. This is your God. 

This what the Church stands for: to live out the life given to all who seek to follow Christ the Lord - of whom Dr Matthews, the former Dean of St Paul's Cathedral wrote: "People knew where he had been because of the trail of gladness that he left behind him." I like to think that at best we, the Church, are part of that trail of gladness. That is what Epiphany is all about, and that is what we celebrate today. And through this year. Sing to the Lord a new song; sing to the Lord all the earth. Sing to the Lord, bless his name, tell of his salvation from day to day”.

The whole of creation as I said earlier is summoned to worship and to joy.  The kingdom of God is breaking in: the kingdom of justice and mercy and peace. Not one day. But today. 

Each day there are new blessings to appreciate, new wonders to discover, new adventures to be had. There is nearly always a new song to sing. So… 

What’s new? Everything!