“In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God.”
Gospel of John 1:1

There is no better place for a summer listening mix to begin than here.

Before sunlight through the trees. Before swallows over the churchyard. Before the first note rises from organ pipes or trumpet. Before all things, Christ.

The Church has always known that music can carry truth where ordinary speech cannot. A sermon may sharpen the mind, but a melody often reaches the heart first. Scripture itself gives song a remarkable place, with well over 400 references to singing, and more than 50 direct calls to sing. Praise is not an ornament to faith. It is one of faith’s first languages.

As Augustine of Hippo is often quoted, “He who sings prays twice.”
And the mystic Hildegard of Bingen wrote, “The soul is symphonic.”

That feels exactly right for summer.

So here is a little listening pilgrimage.

We begin with John 1 by Indiana Bible College.
Not sentiment. Not mood. Beginning.
Its insistent refrain carries the great Christian claim, that before our prayers, before our losses, before the turning of the world itself, Christ already was. And then comes the wonder at the centre of it all: the Word became flesh and dwelt among us. This is worship with backbone. Praise that starts in eternity.

From there, suddenly, the pulse changes.

Ain’t No Mountain High Enough, as sung in Sister Act, bursts in with sheer delight. It was never written as a hymn, and yet it carries something deeply gospel-shaped: love that keeps coming, love that crosses distance, love that refuses to be shut out. It catches an echo of Epistle to the Romans 8, nothing can separate us from the love of God. Sometimes praise arrives smiling.

Then comes Nearer, My God, to Thee by BYU Vocal Point.

A very different kind of beauty.

This hymn does not pretend life is easy. Its words know darkness, uncertainty, and the ache of long roads. Yet through all of it comes that brave, stubborn longing: nearer. Not triumph, not easy answers, simply the soul lifting itself toward God. Some hymns do not dazzle. They endure.

And then, wonderfully, the feet begin to move.

Nadie Como Tú -Welcome Home brings salsa praise alive with one clear confession: there is no one like You.

The rhythm itself feels theological.

Praise was never meant to live only in the head. It belongs in hands, breath, movement, joy. Second Book of Samuel tells us that David danced before the Lord with all his might.
Sometimes the holiest thing we can do is stop worrying about dignity and let joy have its way.

And finally, Holy Spirit Mass: Glory by Kim André Arnesen.​

It feels less like a song than a widening of space. Something luminous. Something almost architectural. It gathers up everything that has come before, Word, incarnation, longing, movement, praise, and lifts it heavenward.

How blessed we are at St John’s Church Sharow to know something of that same gift among us.

We are richly blessed by Chris, whose playing at organ and piano does far more than accompany. He steadies us, carries us, and often gives shape to prayer when words feel too small.

By Wood, whose trumpet can make the air itself feel brighter.

By Joanna, whose strings have brought such grace and warmth to our worship. As she begins life in her new town and new faith community, we send her with gratitude, affection, and every good wish.

By Caroline who works tirelessly, bringing together our church bookings and concerts and our amazing concert volunteer teams.

And by all who quietly sustain the worshipping life of this church through music.

Because music is never merely decoration.
It is memory.
It is courage.
It is proclamation.
It is joy made audible.

And sometimes, if grace is especially generous, it makes us do what David did.

​Dance.

Forty days after Easter, the Church keeps the feast of the Ascension, the day when the risen Christ was taken up before his disciples. As the book of Acts of the Apostles tells us, “He was lifted up, and a cloud took him out of their sight” (Acts of the Apostles 1:9).

The Ascension is not the story of Jesus leaving the world behind. It is the proclamation that human nature, our very flesh and blood, has been carried into the life of God. In Christ, humanity is enthroned in heaven. He ascends not to abandon the earth, but to fill all things with his presence.

Epistle to the Ephesians gives us the Church’s great vision of this mystery: “He ascended far above all the heavens, so that he might fill all things” (Epistle to the Ephesians 4:10). The Ascension means Christ reigns now. His lordship is not distant. It reaches into the ordinary, the broken, the hidden places of life. Heaven is no longer sealed. In Christ, heaven and earth are joined.

The great theologian Athanasius of Alexandria wrote, “He became human that we might become divine.” The Ascension is the radiant fulfilment of that hope. The one who descended into our frailty has now raised our humanity into glory.

And the mystic Julian of Norwich, whose vision was shaped by the nearness of God, wrote, “And all shall be well, and all shall be well, and all manner of thing shall be well.” On Ascension Day, that promise sounds with particular force. Christ has gone before us. Our future is not emptiness, but communion.​

This is why Ascension is such a joyful feast. It tells us that the risen Christ reigns, that prayer is heard, that human life is precious beyond measure, and that the destiny of creation is glory.

You are warmly invited to celebrate Ascension Day with us at St John’s Church Sharow at 7.00pm, Thursday, 14th May 2026.

We will gather for worship, Holy Eucharist, and one of the most stirring moments of the year: trumpets sounding from atop the bell tower, letting praise ring out over the village and fields.

There is something profoundly fitting in that sound. On the day Christ ascended, the Church lifts both voice and heart. Trumpets from the tower do more than mark an occasion. They proclaim to the whole community that Christ is risen, Christ is ascended, and Christ reigns.
​
Whether you come every week, or have not crossed the church threshold for many years, this feast belongs to you. Come and stand beneath the evening sky. Come and hear the call of joy. Come and celebrate the Lord who ascends, yet remains nearer to us than our own breath.