An Angel at St John's ....?

“Do not neglect to show hospitality to strangers,
for by doing so some people have shown hospitality to angels without knowing it.”
-Hebrews 13:2

I’ve often wondered whether angels arrive with wings at all. Perhaps they arrive carrying coffee. Or moving chairs. Or patiently answering theological questions they have already answered six times before. Perhaps they arrive and quietly get on with the work of loving people.If that is the case, then St John’s has had one among us for quite some time.

I first met Juliet through the Magdalen Fellowship as a very, very, very nervous new Christian. Looking back, I suspect I must have been exhausting. I had questions about everything. Faith, scripture, suffering, prayer, church, doctrine, God. Most of all, I needed someone who wouldn’t make me feel foolish for asking them.
Juliet met me exactly where I was.
​
Before long she’d persuaded me to join her Bible study group with our dear Lesley. Those mornings became one of the places where my faith was formed. There would be learning, certainly. We would dissect biblical texts, watch videos, disappear down theological rabbit holes and occasionally wander so far off topic that nobody could quite remember where we’d started. There would usually be a discussion about cats. There would often be laughter. Sometimes tears. And there was always love.

The thing about Juliet was that she never seemed frustrated by my questions. She welcomed them. Somehow every answer felt both deeply thought through and entirely accessible. Not because she was trying to win an argument, but because she loved Christ so completely that speaking about him felt as natural as breathing.
Lesley and Juliet together were a remarkable pair. What a gift they were to so many of us. And oh Lesley, how you are missed.

Then came Celtic Worship with Reverend Ruth. This was also where I met Simon, Juliet’s wonderfully funny husband, who seems physically incapable of entering  the church without improving the chair arrangement. Together they are one of those partnerships that simply works. The sort of partnership that makes ministry look less like work and more like shared joy. I remember watching Juliet begin taking the chalice, reading the Gospel and growing into her vocation. There was never anything performative about it. Just a sense that she was becoming more and more fully herself. More fully who God had always called her to be.

Many of us developed the habit of dropping into church and finding Juliet sitting at one of the café tables, apparently attempting to write an essay. Apparently. In reality, somebody would always stop to chat. Then somebody else. Then somebody else.I suspect half the congregation have interrupted a theological essay at some point. At Reverend David’s first PCC meeting he described Juliet as having a “ministry of presence”. I’ve never heard a better description. Juliet was there. When life was wonderful. When life was dreadful. When faith felt easy. When faith felt impossible.When there were questions to wrestle with. When there was news to celebrate. When there was grief too heavy for words.She had an extraordinary ability to make people feel seen.That is a rarer gift than we often realise.

One of Juliet’s greatest strengths has always been her ability to empower others.She took me from being too nervous to make a squeak in church to receiving my Occasional Preacher’s Licence within a year. Even writing that sentence feels faintly ridiculous. But that is what Juliet does. She sees possibilities in people before they can see them themselves. When Reverend Ruth announced she was leaving, I remember Juliet saying, “We need to do something.” I had a few ideas. Looking back, perhaps more than a few. What followed was a Day of Prayer which largely existed because Juliet patiently endured an endless stream of messages from me. Questions. Ideas. Revisions. More questions. More ideas. More revisions. I still do it now. I suspect she occasionally sees my name appear on her phone and briefly considers emigrating.

Yet, she always encouraged. Always listened. Always found a way to help someone else step forward. At times I became convinced she possessed two brains and eight arms, rather like one of the many-winged heavenly creatures in Revelation. No other explanation seemed adequate. Particularly when one considers Junior Choir.

Every Friday, without fail, Juliet somehow transformed the side chapel into a place of music, creativity, faith, snacks and organised chaos. For the rest of us it often looked rather like herding sheep. Very enthusiastic sheep. Juliet, meanwhile, radiated a calm which somehow spread to everyone around her. Children adore her. Volunteers stay because of her. Families find belonging because of her. I suspect many of those children will remember Juliet long after they have forgotten the details of any particular activity or song. Because people rarely forget how someone made them feel.

Then there were the summer camps. The legendary summer camps. It was perhaps here that I saw Juliet sparkle brightest. Alongside her brilliant son Gabriel and an army of wonderful volunteers, she transformed St John’s into entirely different worlds. One year an Arabian desert appeared, complete with a home for Joseph’s Technicolour Dreamcoat. Other years brought animals, trees, mazes, tents and scenes which seemed impossible to create inside a church building. Yet somehow they appeared. Every time.

I still cannot quite comprehend the creativity, planning, safeguarding, logistics, volunteer coordination and sheer energy involved. What I do know is that children walked through those doors and encountered joy. Not a shallow joy. Not entertainment for entertainment’s sake. The joy of discovering that faith is beautiful. The joy of discovering that church can be alive. The joy of discovering Christ. How blessed we were to witness it.

As the years passed and St John’s navigated seasons of change, Juliet became one of the people deeply endeavouring to hold things together. Alongside visiting clergy, our brilliant churchwardens, lay workers and countless volunteers, she helped ensure that worship remained prayerful, joyful and firmly centred on Christ.

She led worship. She nurtured Celtic Worship. She studied tirelessly. She learned Greek. She wrote what felt like countless essays. And through it all there remained a deepening sense of prayer. A growing depth.A growing attentiveness to God. I watched someone who was already gifted become increasingly rooted. Increasingly thoughtful. Increasingly courageous.It was tangible just in her voice alone, a powerful certainty.

Alongside all this, Juliet continued to weave together her vocation as an artist and her vocation as a disciple.Her Art and Spirituality retreats became places of welcome and transformation. People travelled from across the region to attend. Clergy and lay people. Artists and those convinced they had not produced anything creative since primary school. It never seemed to matter. Under Juliet’s guidance people somehow found themselves creating. Praying. Reflecting. Being still.

What struck me most was that everyone would begin with the same invitation, yet leave having created something entirely unique. Juliet has always understood something important about people. That no two souls encounter God in exactly the same way. Then came Wonderful Wednesdays. A simple name for something profoundly important.

In a world where loneliness has become one of the defining challenges of our age, Wonderful Wednesdays created community. Coffee. Conversation. Creativity. Friendship. Belonging. People who may never have crossed the threshold of a church found themselves welcomed and valued. People who felt isolated found companionship. People who thought creativity was beyond them discovered otherwise. The impact was so significant that even our local MP came to see the work for himself and the extraordinary contribution churches continue to make within our communities.

Everything I have written here is only a fraction of Juliet’s ministry. It is simply the part I have witnessed. Others will have entirely different stories.Stories of encouragement. Pastoral care. Quiet acts of kindness. Unexpected wisdom. Timely prayers. Gentle conversations that arrived at exactly the right moment. But for me, perhaps the greatest gift Juliet gave was this: She explained Christianity to me in a way nobody else ever had. Not simply through words. Though she has plenty of those. Not simply through theology. Though she has plenty of that too. She explained Christianity by living it. By meeting people where they are. By walking alongside them. By helping them feel held. By helping them discover gifts they did not know they possessed. By pointing, over and over again, towards Christ.

So yes, I confess I am a little jealous of St Peter’s in Harrogate. They are gaining a curate of extraordinary creativity, wisdom and pastoral sensitivity. They are gaining someone who notices people. Someone who empowers people. Someone who carries joy into rooms. Someone who shines. Who misses nothing and will make every ministry of their church shine a little brighter (and make a poster for it too). ​

I shall miss the random messages containing photographs of beautiful rainbow light spilling through St John’s. I shall miss arriving with a barrage of theological questions. I shall miss the hugs. I shall miss the laughter. I shall miss the sparkle.

Please keep sending the music. Please keep sending the fascinating things you’ve learned. Please keep being exactly who you are.

And thank you. Thank you for your patience. Thank you for your friendship. Thank you for your ministry. Thank you for the countless lives you have touched, many of which you will never fully know about this side of heaven.

This article tells only one story among many. But I suspect if all those stories were gathered together, they would tell us something rather beautiful. That God delights in working through ordinary people who say yes. And that sometimes, if we’re very fortunate, one of those people arrives at your church, sits down at a café table intending to write an essay, and quietly changes the lives of everyone around them.
St John’s has been immeasurably blessed by Juliet.
And St Peter’s is about to be too.

Juliet, May the raindrops fall lightly on your brow. May the soft winds freshen your spirit. May the sunshine brighten your heart. May the burdens of the day rest lightly upon you. And may God enfold you in the mantle of His love. 

-Lucy

Add your comments, memories and thanks to Juliet below.