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Dear Friends
Back in the 70s, Slade sang the hit "I wish it could be Christmas everyday". I guess that I am not alone in breathing a sigh of relief that their wish didn't come true - the bank account and the nerves couldn't stand it if it kept on going! The whole point about feasts and festivals is that they are one off days, to celebrate something special. However special days in the church calendar do sometimes kick off, or bring to an end, a whole season - a time when we unpack the meaning of some aspect of our faith on a deeper level than would be possible if we only observed a single day. This year, as we enter June, we also come to the end of the Easter season, which culminated at Pentecost. We now journey through what the church calls "ordinary time". Although that might sound a bit flat after the highs of Easter, it is actually a very important time of the year. The colour for the season is green, which is very appropriate given that it runs from late spring, right through the summer until autumn. At this time of year, the natural world is a riot of greens - evidence of all the growth that plants are busy with. While in the spiritual realm, this season reminds us that the Christian life is not all about the peaks (or the troughs) but about slow and steady growth. It is about living faithfully day by day: putting faith into practice one prayer at a time, one decision at a time, one deed or word at a time. Of course it is lovely to have "high days" and I hope that our shared worship provides that on a regular basis: a time when we can feel connected to God and to each other; when we can be recharged, encouraged, challenged or comforted in our faith. However, that is not where (as the saying goes) "the rubber hits the road". That happens in the very ordinary things of life. And that leads to another significance of "ordinary time". In George Herbert's poem "Prayer", he wrote of "heaven in ordinary". It is wonderful phrase, capturing the sense Christians have of God taking flesh in Jesus, entering the stuff of our human nature and sharing the lives of ordinary human being. It also speaks to our belief that God's Spirit of life and love is present in every place, every moment, every experience. Which means that heaven can be found in the ordinariness of life. The secular is sacred. The whole of life can be a meeting place with God. So as summer approaches, I hope you have a very ordinary - yet very special - season. David
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(A lovely post upon the tradition of gifting flowers from our wonderful Floral Lead; Denise)  Gifting flowers goes right back to ancient times when societies often used flowers in religious traditions, appreciated for their beauty, scent, and practical uses flowers were offered to the gods and to the dead. The Greeks used flowers in ceremonies and also in storytelling. Later, they exchanged flowers to show love. Gifting flowers is a tradition that has lasted throughout history and has evolved over the centuries, but it’s aritual that spans all cultures. From congratulations on the birth of a baby to condolences on the loss of a loved one, gifting flowers continues to be one of the most popular ways to mark the momentous events of life. The gifts can be as simple as wild flowers picked from the wayside to elaborate bouquets bought from the florist.
Valentine’s Day continues to be the biggest flower-giving day of the year, but it is far from the only special occasion marked by this ancient ritual. Roses are the most popular flower to be gifted - whatever the occasion. In the Middle Ages gifting flowers became an integral part of chivalric courtship between a knight and his lady, with daisies symbolizing fidelity and affection. Floral motifs were included in the designs of shields, tapestries, and heraldry, embedding the symbolism of flowersinto medieval identity and storytelling. The blending of flowers with the ideals of knighthood gave gifting flowers an air of nobility and passion.The practice of gifting flowers with their layered symbolism during theMiddle Ages laid an important foundation for the expressive traditions that followed. Gifting flowers continued into the Renaissance times, when different flowers and flowering plants were linked to a variety of virtues and emotions. Blooms became not only tokens of love and appreciation but also powerful emblems of political alliances and power. However, it was in the Victorian era when posy gifting became popular and reached its peak. The meanings associated with flowers were compiled and popularized by writers and poets at this time. These interpretations were drawn from various sources, including ancient myths, folklore, religious symbolism, and the type, shape and colour of the flower itself; and were published in various forms, including flower dictionaries and ‘language of flowers’ books. The first flower dictionary in Europe, ‘Le Langage des Fleurs,’ was published in 1819, giving a list of flower meanings. Young gentlemen would send flowers with hidden meanings to a young lady. This form of flower code (called ‘floriography’) was a way of conveying one’s feelings in a time whenrestraint and discretion was the order of the day. Bouquets of specific flowers would be gifted, acting as messengers of emotions. The messages weren’t always positive, however, as beautiful arrangements could also be disguised as signs of rejection, anger, and sorrow. Some examples of flowers and their meanings are: Red roses represent love and respect, white roses symbolise humility and reverence, and pink roses express gratitude, while yellow roses signify the enduring bond of friendship. White carnations represent innocence, pink convey remembrance, and red symbolise admiration. Violets symbolised discretion and humility Hydrangeas represent understanding and friendship. Daffodils are linked to hope and new beginnings. Orchids symbolise eternal love and beauty. Chrysanthemums, in many cultures, symbolise loyalty, friendship, and rebirth. Lavender flowers represent mistrust and a lack of faith. These are but a few examples; there are, of course, many more flowers that could be added to this list. Sending a bouquet of flowers with a message in the type of flower itself is almost a thing of the past. Floristry (the cultivation, arrangement, and sale of cut flowers) developed in the mid 19th century, and so began the commercialization of the gifting of flowers that prospers to this day. Today we pick up a bunch of flowers usually from the supermarket (florists now being in short supply in Ripon) and scarcely give a thought to what flowers are contained therein. We hope that the mere giving of flowers will send the desired message to the recipient. I’m guilty of this - I choose flowers that are aesthetically pleasing, that look fresh and that have longevity, rather than thinking about the meaning of the chosen blooms; and look for the same things when receiving flowers. That is until Valentine’s Day, and what female wouldn’t say no to a beautiful bouquet of red roses then? However, having looked at the meaning of the orchid, maybe a potted orchid, that would possibly last for many years, may be a better gift. Any gentlemen reading this, please take note!
“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.(please click the images to access the music) “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. John 1 ! 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. Ain't No Mountain High Enough 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. Nearer My God to Thee 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. Nadie Como Tu || Welcome Home 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. Holy Spirit Mass : Glory 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. After three very precious years at St John’s, our family’s last Sunday worshipping with you at St John’s Church, Sharow will be 31st May. My final event before moving on will be the Art & Spirituality Day Retreat on 3rd June. Later in the year, I’m delighted that I will still be returning to lead Art & Spirituality on a quarterly basis, with the next gatherings on 16th September and 2nd December. Wonderful Wednesdays will continue each week, apart from Art & Spirituality days, and I’m so glad of that. New members are joining us, and the faithful regulars continue to keep the heart of it all beating. As I prepare for ordination and for beginning curacy at St Peter’s Church, Harrogate, I carry deep gratitude for all that these years at St John’s have meant to me and to our family. Peace and blessings, Juliet  Dear Friends
If you wanted to tell someone about a mystery novel you had read, would you only focus on one chapter, or would you try to sum up the whole thing? Well, sometimes it seems as if some Christians speak about the good news of Jesus as if there was only one thing that mattered - his death on the cross. However, the crucifixion is only one "chapter", if you like, in the whole story of Christ. And of course that story is only part of a much longer tale that began with the Big Bang and God's continual work of creating and sustaining our world. This is really where the gospel begins, though the drama and mysteryincreases as we come to the incarnation, with God sharing our life as fully and deeply as possible. It continues through all that Jesus was, said and did through his life and ministry. And it is only really in the light of all of this that we can begin to understand the cross. But of course we know that the cross wasn't the end of Jesus, nor was it the end of the gospel. Without the resurrection it would have been merely one more brave but brutal death in the whole litany of the world's suffering. However, the resurrection is still only one more chapter in the story, and certainly not the final one. In May we come to three more staging posts along the way. We celebrate the Ascension (May 14th) - and yes I know that it always falls on a Thursday rather than a Sunday, but it really is a major feast that deserves to be marked with joy and thanksgiving. Christ ascends, and in some mysterious way unites our humanity with the godhead forever. Just as there was a "downward" movement in the incarnation to unite God and humanity, so now there is an "upward" movement - completing the circle (all these terms are of course merely metaphors). Christ's presence is now universalised, paving the way for the feast of Pentecost (May 24th) - in which his followers in every place and age are able to share in the divine presence and love of God within and between themselves. We celebrate this feast as the birthday of the Church but that birth continues every day, through the presence of the Spirit of life and love among us. And that continuing reality is picked up in the last of this month's feasts - that of Trinity Sunday (May 31st). The divine community of love, which we have learned to worship because of this whole wonderful story, is reflected in the community of love that we call the church. Yes, that places responsibilities upon us and we are often aware ofour won and "the church's" failings in this regard. However, before all that, the church is a gift - God's gift of a community of people who share in, celebrate and share the whole story of God as Creator, Redeemer and Sustainer. So our feasts this month offer us so much, and when we add in the continuing beauty of Spring, there is so much to celebrate! With love and prayers David from Caroline Watson Sparrow  Bluebells lean where old stones sleep,
Soft as prayer the morning keeps; Through lichen names and weathered years, They ring no sound, yet bless the ears. Beneath the yew’s eternal shade, A violet tide through grass is laid, Where robins stitch the warming air And sunlight threads through roots and prayer. The churchyard wakes from winter’s seam, In petaled hush and greening dream; Each bell a note of tender blue, For those once lost, and life made new. The mossy paths, the leaning gate, Hold springtime gently, stilling fate; And every bloom among the graves Speaks not of death, but love that stays. So April kneels on sacred ground, With fragrant color, sight, and sound; And bluebells bow in bright refrain Until the swallows come again.  from Licensed Lay Minister - Ruth Grenfell
It was an absolute joy to spend the Easter holidays with our family in France. Our daughter Rachel and her family live close to Lake Geneva and the French Alpes. The setting is stunning and our daughter Pippa and her family joined us. It was such fun. Yet I have to admit we missed you all and the marking of Good Friday when we remember the death of Jesus and the desolation of those who loved and followed him. We missed the bleak remembrance of Easter Saturday when hope seemed extinguished. We missed the explosion of joy on Easter morning and the fire outside St John’s - I hope you had a fire this year! What we did was visit the church (pictured) in the nearby village of Messery and we prayed alone, as a service was being held elsewhere. There was something poignant about the emptiness of that little church which resonated with the current state of the world. I still find Easter Saturday the most difficult of days but we had children and grandchildren around us and we felt blessed. When we woke on Easter morning as there always is, there was the realisation that the life gave was not extinguished but risen! God restored hope in Jesus. Hope is a precious, threatened experience in the cruelty and pointlessness of war, yet hope lives in the risen Jesus. No service nearby but we were thrilled to tune into the live transmission of the Easter morning service from Ripon Cathedral. There was something very special about feeling that people in Ripon, anyone far from home or unable to go out could share in this profession of faith it was exhilarating. Wherever we are, this miracle is for us, all of us everywhere! He is risen indeed! ALLELUIA! Thank you to all the family for your welcome, we had a memorable time! We saw snow high in the mountains and watched those younger than we are, skiing; it was breathtaking. We saw drifts of spring flowers as the snow receded and we saw the sparkling lake and enjoyed wonderful company.  Do you believe that change is possible? I mean change in yourself. Or do you think that how you are now is how you will be for the rest of your days?
When I was in my late thirties - admittedly quite a long time ago now! - I learnt to juggle. Until then, I had lived with a deep belief that I would never be able to juggle but a student at Ripon and York St John said that she could teach me, and in next to no time I was juggling. I was amazed, I was excited. I actually became quite evangelistic about juggling, saying to people that if could learn so could they. Challenged to put that to the test by equally sceptical people, I went on to teach lots of different people, from children upwards, the basics of the art. Now I need to admit that I never went beyond a basic three ball juggle - so some of my protégés went further - but that didn't matter. I had discovered something new about myself. I felt like an aging plant that had just put out a new bud, growing in an unforeseen and unexpected way. I believe that we are all like that; that we have never finished "becoming". There is always the chance of some new beginning. Even when we feel totally stuck in our ways, we never really know what is around the corner. I think of Gerry, an old friend who, at the age of eighty, discovered a new, deep faith in God. As a young man he had rejected his Catholic upbringing and become a Marxist. He went through the horrors of a POW camp out in the Far East, which left him with recurrent nightmares. And then, in the last stage of his life he had discovered the love of Christ and it truly changed him. He asked me, why it had taken so long for that to happen. I had no real explanation except to say that sometimes we need to go through a long journey in order to be ready to be open to God. However, Gerry wasn't the oldest person I knew to have that sort of new beginning. As a curate I helped prepare two ladies in their late eighties for confirmation. We never know what is round the corner. We never know what part of ourselves is yet to flourish, given the right circumstances. A change of job, the birth of a child, a new home, retirement, a "chance" conversation, the death of a loved one .... all these and more can lead to the start of something new and unexpected. And we never know when God will come knocking on our door. So it was for the first disciples on Easter Day. They saw totally unexpected changes happening in their own lives. They would have been the last to believe that hardened fishermen, men of the world, like them, could become confident evangelists and healers, risking - and sometimes giving - their lives for the conviction that God had started something so totally new that it changed everything. For them, resurrection wasn't simply, or even mainly, about faith in life after death. It was about life before death. A life that kept on surprising them with the knowledge that change - for them and for everyone else - was indeed possible through faith in the Risen Lord. I wish you a surprising Eastertide! David Another gathering of Silver Diners today at Sharow Village Hall was enjoyed by two dozen people. As usual there was quite a choice with three soups, three trays of sandwiches and sausage rolls followed by cakes and cheese. If you haven’t been before then come and join in next month! We meet on the last Friday of every month in the village hall from 12 - 2pm and when we are nice and relaxed we have a quiz. There is no charge but donations are welcome. If you’d like further info call Ruth on 07846395396  |
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