​The readings today have the same, deceptively simple message - God gives life to the dead.
 
However they are not really about life after physical death, but life before death. They're about God giving life to those who are physically alive but not much more than that.
 
In the 6th century BC, the Babylonian empire invaded the Kingdom of Judah - capturing Jerusalem, destroying the Temple, and either killing or taking into exile, most of the leading citizens. And its during those years of exile that Ezekiel is called by God to speak a message of hope.  
 
These are people who are alive but who feel they are just going through the motions. Because their sense aliveness, 
of who they are and what life is about,
is deeply bound up with being a nation, a community. 
And this seems well and truly dead, obliterated, 
wiped off the map. In present day terms, think Tibet.
 
To them, Ezekiel offers an extraordinary, barely believable, vision of hope. He speaks of the wind of God, the breath of God - the same word as Spirit - reforming, reviving them, breathing life back into them. 
There is clear echo here of Genesis - God giving life to the dust of the earth by breathing life into humans and animals.
 
The exiles are physically alive but not alive in the way God wanted them to be - alive to hope, alive to joy, 
alive to being a community that worshipped and served 
and witnessed to the God of all creation.
But that - says Ezekiel - is about to change. God is going to put the flesh of real, full, communal life on the bare bones of their existence. A people who were dead will be alive again. 
 
And this became real in the ministry of Jesus. So many people who met him, listened to him, were touched by him, followed him, found themselves slowly, or suddenly coming alive again. 
 
And he illustrated that in one of his best known stories 
- the prodigal Son, where the father is able to say - 
this Son of mine was dead and is alive again.
 
And those who discover the love of God in Jesus discover 
the same thing, that he takes these old dry bones of our lives and - slowly or suddenly - makes them live again, 
takes our cracked voices and helps them sing again, 
takes our battered hearts and helps them love again.
 
And this is what the story of the raising of Lazarus is about. 
In John it is the last of the great signs of Jesus' ministry. 
These signs were like acted parables where the important question wasn't so much "what happened" as "what did it mean"?
 
And the meaning for John is that these signs point to something deeper about who Jesus is."I am the resurrection and the life." Here in this person, says John, the great "I am" of God is present - the one in whom there is the sort of light and life that darkness and death can never extinguish.
 
And although the story illustrates this by bringing Lazarus back to physical life again, it is about far more than that. 
 
It is about the sorts of things we are going to sing about in a few minutes:
About the one who frees the captives,
who turns darkness into light, 
who drives out demons
who makes the desert blossom 
and quenches our thirst.
All of which are poetic images for bringing us,
our communities and our world back to life again. 
Setting us and others free to be more alive in the way God wants.
 
As if to underline the point, the climax of the Lazarus story isn't when he steps out of the tomb - physically alive again; it's when Jesus says "Unbind him and let him go."
It's not physical life that matters most (though that's a wonderful thing in itself) but being free of the things 
that hinder us from living better and loving better.
 
I can't think of anyone who puts this better than Dawna Markova, who wrote:
I will not die an unlived life.
I will not live in fear of falling or catching fire.
I chose to inhabit my days
to allow my living to make me less afraid, more accessible,
to loosen my heart until it becomes
a wing, a torch, a promise.
What binds us? What leads us to live an unlived life? Dawna suggests that it is our fears.
There will be other answers, I'm sure, but for me fear has certainly, and sadly, been a big part of it.
And then we might ask, what helps us to be more alive?
How do we step free of the things that bind us?
What do we find life affirming and life enhancing?
 
The beauty and wonder of nature?
The company of good friends?
Really being listened to by a counsellor or soul friend?
Offering hospitality to others?
Playing our part in helping to free others through acts of charity or working for social justice?
Being creative - in words, music, art, cookery?
Being still, meditating, connecting with our breath and our bodies?
Sharing with others in a community at worship?
Dwelling on the love of God we find in the Jesus of the gospels?
 
Whatever it is will be things in which the Spirit is present. Because God can't be locked up inside a church, any more than Jesus could be locked up in a tomb. 
 
There's an ancient legend of Pilate's wife standing near the cross on Good Friday. She turns to the Centurion and asks; "Do you think Jesus is dead?" "No, lady, I don't." is the reply. "Then where is he?" "Let loose in all the world, lady, where neither Roman nor Jew nor any other man can stop the victory of his risen life."
Let loose in all the world. "Unbind him and set him free."
 
As we draw ever closer to Holy Week maybe our prayer needs to echo those words of Jesus - Lord unbind us, and others, 
and set us free - that we may be live again, alive in the way you want us to be.

SERMON- Reverend David Paton Williams
15th March 2026
 Ephesians 5.8–14
 John 9.1–41

SERMON- Reverend David Paton Williams
1st March 2026
​John 3.1-17

​We've all know about Thomas who had his doubts. Well today we have heard aboutNicodemus who had his "buts."
 
He was a respected leader of the Jewish nation, a member of the Sanhedrin, the ruling Jewish Council. And in John's gospel he has just seen Jesus driving the money-changersout of the temple with a whip. Upsetting the tables and upsetting the authorities at the same time.
 
And, at this moment of high tension and hostility, Nicodemus, comes to Jesus under the cover of darkness. He wants to understand what Jesus is about, but he is troubled.
 
“Rabbi” he starts “we know that you are a great teacher sent from God, because nobody can do the things you do unless God is with them, but ….”  
 
Actually there’s no “but” in his words, yet you can hear it in his tone – its hanging there in the air.
 
“But … attacking the Temple was going a bit far.”
“ But … I don’t understand what you are trying to tell us.”
“But … you’re going to get yourself killed if you go on like this.”
 
We all have our “buts”.
Every Christian has said “Yes” to following Jesus
and yet we also have our buts as well.
We are “yes-but” Christians.
 
Some of our “buts” may be doubts and uncertainties -
things we struggle to believe or trust or accept.
Such as: "I want to trust you but, given the mess the world is in, can I really believe that you the Saviour of the world?" 
 
"I'm trying my best but, given the mess my life is in, can I really trust that you love me?"
 
Or: “I sense that you are calling me to do something but I’m not brave enough; but I don’t want to.”
 
A “but” is a doubt or a hesitation, which means it is also 
a moment of decision, a moment of opportunity.
We can go forward with a “yes”, or backward with a “no”, 
or maybe just dither in between because we aren't sure.
 
For Nicodemus, his “but” showed that although 
he hadn’t rejected Jesus out of hand,
as some of his colleagues in the Sanhedrin had,
he still couldn’t see the way forward
to putting his trust in Jesus and stepping out with new faith.
 
Nicodemus had come to Jesus by night.
On a human level this was because he was afraid that he would be spotted, but John sees it a symbol that Nicodemus was still 
“in the dark”.
 
In Jesus the dawn of the Kingdom was breaking, but would Nicodemus draw back the curtains and let the light in?
 
Jesus then puts it another way.
“Look its like this – you have been born physically.
Now you have to be born spiritually as well.
 
This leads Nicodemus to another “but” moment:
“But how can anyone be born once they are old?”
 
It sounds as if this “But” is an intellectual one,
though he may have been struggling with his pride.
“But  …I’ve been a good religious man all my life.
I’ve prayed and worshipped and been faithful to God’s commands. Does all that count for nothing?"
 
Jesus doesn’t give him a straight answer – though he seems to be saying.
   “It’s not that your past is worthless, rather your past is like a womb that's been preparing you for a new birth.
You can either remain where you are - in your old life, 
or you can let God lead you into a new life, into the light,
into the deeper reality of the Spirit.
 
To respond to that challenge must have been a difficult thing for Nicodemus to do.
 
So his “but” may also have been a but of fear:
“But … I may lose my position of respect in society.”
“But .. I may end up being attacked and persecuted like you.”
"I'd like to say a whole-hearted “yes” to God, but I don’t know where I will end up.”
 
Ah yes, says Jesus, that’s the way it is.
The life of faith is just like the wind
which comes and goes
and you don’t know where it carries the leaves off to.
 
Like Abraham – he didn’t know where he was going. 
He is held up as a great example of faith, though he too was a "yes-but" person. He said "yes" to a new journey, into a new life, 
an unknown land, a new understanding of God.
 But when faced with powerful rulers he let his fears speak to him, passing his wife off as his sister, rather than trusting God's promises. He was a mixture of faith and fear, like the rest of us. 
 
As for Nicodemus, after his meeting with Jesus, he seems to have 
kept going forward in faith. And at the end of the gospel, 
he comes with Joseph of Arimathea, another secret follower,
and they prepare Jesus for burial and lay him in the tomb.
 
Did that new life, that new openness to Jesus and the Spirit survive beyond the death of Christ? We don't know.
 
But even so, Nicodemus is a helpful example to us, 
reminding us of our yes-but faith:
the way we want to follow Christ
but are held back at times by our "buts", 
our uncertainties, our fears, our pride,
 
We face choices every day, chances to live the way God is inviting us to. And they can be a struggle, and we will often fail, but it's all part of the real journey of faith.
 
And I think Jesus says: “I know it can be hard for you -
I know all about the “buts” that sometimes hold you back.
Even so, you can go beyond them. You can still say "yes". 
You can be a "but-Yes" Christian. You can say yes - yes, to 
living in the light - yes, to the new way of being that God offers."
"So come with me", says Jesus, "and see where the Spirit leads."

Beloved friends in Christ,


March unfolds in the intensity and promise of Lent.  We remember those whose lives inspire faith. On the first we celebrate David, Bishop and patron of Wales. On the seventeenth, Patrick, Bishop and missionary. The nineteenth brings Joseph of Nazareth, guardian of Jesus. On the twenty-fifth we mark the Annunciation, when Mary welcomed God’s call. And on the twenty-ninth we enter Holy Week with Palm Sunday, marking the triumphal entry of Jesus into Jerusalem and the path that leads to the cross. Each day invites us to notice Christ boldly present in our lives and in our communities.


The Lent course continues on Sundays, 7:00 to 8:30 pm, and everyone is warmly welcome. It is a space to share reflection, and to deepen your journey with Christ. Keep an eye on the blog for the Holy Week lineup, including an Easter Sunday fire, a vivid symbol of resurrection and hope.


Life at St John’s and The Holy Innocents continues with energy and generosity. The bell tower news highlights the dedication and joy of all who keep this ministry alive. Juliet’s next Art and Spirituality Day Retreat (18th March) offers a moment to pause and be nourished creatively and spiritually.


On Friday 20th March, the Lent Lunch provides a simple but meaningful opportunity to share fellowship, conversation, and warmth in this bold season.


The parish blog continues to offer rich reflection. Denise writes about the passion flower and its connection to missionaries in South America, a meditation especially resonant in Lent. And for a lighter moment, one of our wonderful churchwardens has suggested we might all like a story from a popular writer which a few of the St Johns congregation are enjoying. 


We have a full flush of Morning Prayer at St John’s throughout March, please do join us Monday’s and Friday’s at 9am. 


A prayer for March:


O God of patient love and steadfast courage, in these bold days of Lent help us to walk closely with Christ. Let us notice your presence in prayer, in reflection, in fellowship, and in the rhythms of our lives. May our hearts be open, our faith strengthened, and our eyes ready to see the promise of Easter in every day. Amen.


Whether this is your first Lent or one of many, whether you come alone or with friends, we hope you find space to reflect, to pray, and to be renewed. Here there is room for curiosity, for courage, for questions, and for belonging.

Palm Sunday tends to arrive visually. Branches. Movement. A liturgy that begins outside and travels inward. It is one of the few days in the Christian year where the Church quite literally walks her theology.​

And yet the day rests on something less visible, a psalm.

Psalm 118 formed part of the Passover Hallel. Pilgrims sang it as they walked toward Jerusalem. Its words would have been familiar, almost bodily. When the Gospels record the crowd crying, “Blessed is he who comes in the name of the Lord,” they are not improvising. They are calling up a tradition. They are reading Scripture into the moment.

Psalm 118 invites us to follow the procession inward, to notice what we lean on, what we hope in, what we trust. Branches will fade. Crowds will vanish. Human security will disappoint. The psalm remains.

It is better to take refuge in the Lord than to trust in man.​

Palm Sunday begins in movement, in acclaim, in light. The psalm reminds us of the hidden work beneath it. Refuge is what endures.

The Diary of Father Fred Hassleton (Rtd)
(Strictly Confidential. Not for circulation at Deanery Chapter.)
EDIT: A glossary of terms is appended in the below. You're welcome.
-Judith M Crowther, Parish Administrator.

Day One – Arrival
I have arrived at Walsingham. The blessed shrine of Our Lady. England's Nazareth.
Even typing that makes my cassock sit up straighter.
The coach journey from St Faithful’s Havnot was devout, if one excludes the back row attempting the Angelus in three keys and one tempo that may have been jazz. Mrs Davenport has brought a statue of Our Lady in bubble wrap “in case the official one looks tired.”
As we entered the village, I felt that particular glow known only to clergy who believe they are finally in the theological big leagues.
Within seven minutes I had been asked:
Whether I was 'Society' or 'Forward in Faith'. (I am neither. Never been one for clubs.)
Whether I concelebrate facing East or 'liturgically'.
Whether I travel with my own biretta.
Reader, I do not own a biretta.
I have always assumed my head theology was sufficiently sound without additional millinery. And, besides, I've never been able to look at a biretta without seeing a young priest who wore it wrong, and ended up looking like he had Mickey Mouse ears.
​
Day Two – Procession
The Marian procession was magnificent. Banners snapping. Thuribles smoking. Hymns ascending with the confidence of people who have never once worried about copyright licensing.
And lace.
So much lace.
There are surplices here with sufficient yardage to curtain the nave at St Faithful’s twice over. I passed one priest whose cotta had sleeves so expansive that small mammals could plausibly have nested in them during Benediction.
And yet — and yet — it was beautiful.
The statue of Our Lady moving through the Norfolk sunlight. The hush in the Shrine. The weight of centuries of whispered prayer.
I felt unexpectedly moved.
Which was slightly undermined when Father Aloysius leaned across and murmured, “We’re going rather light on Marian maximalism this year.” I'm not entirely sure what that means, but I nodded gravely, as though maximalism is explained in the Book of Common Prayer.

Day Three – The Holy Mile
We walked the Holy Mile barefoot.
I had thought this would feel ancient and devotional.
It felt mainly like gravel.
Mrs Davenport floated ahead like a penitential gazelle. I lagged behind, wondering whether progressive clergy are constitutionally unsuited to pre-Reformation footwear policies. I'm guessing that medieval Walsingham had rather more nice soft mud, and rather less crumbling tarmac.
Halfway along I realised I was mentally drafting a safeguarding risk assessment for flint exposure and querying the insurance implications of medieval piety.
This may not be what the 14th century had in mind.

Day Four – Benediction
I like incense.
Or rather, I thought I liked incense.
There are, it transpires, competitive levels of incense.
At one point during Benediction I lost visual contact with the monstrance entirely and had a brief theological wobble about whether this was an advanced apophatic manoeuvre.
The thurifer swung with Olympic commitment. The bells rang with eschatological enthusiasm. My glasses fogged with what I can only describe as sacramental condensation.
And then — amid the splendour — something small and awkward stirred.
Not doubt.
Not cynicism.
Just… a tightening.
Over coffee I found myself in a conversation about “proper Catholic order” that appeared to involve diagrams.
Later, I slipped into a smaller gathering entitled “Mary, Mother of the Marginalised.”
It was quieter. Less certain. Diagram-free. More 'blessed are the poor', less 'blessed are the chasubles'.
And I felt oddly at home.

Day Five – A Mild Identity Crisis (With Incense)
I came to Walsingham on this first ever visit, quietly confident that I was properly Anglo-Catholic.
I leave wondering whether I am Anglo-Catholic with footnotes.
I love the beauty. The sacrament. The poetry. The unapologetic conviction that God is to be adored, not merely analysed over fair-trade coffee in the parish hall.
But I am less persuaded that holiness can be plotted on a graph of sleeve circumference.
I do not wish to abolish lace.
But neither do I wish to measure grace by it.
I love Our Lady.
But I suspect she is less anxious about sub-groupings within the Church of England than we are.
Perhaps Catholicity is not about recreating a lost golden age of striking headgear and Latin absolutions.
Perhaps it is about making space — for grace, for complexity, for the slightly unsure priest from St Faithful’s Havnot whose ecclesiology is catholic but whose conscience leans towards inclusion.
In any case, I return home with renewed devotion, marginally tougher soles, and a profound gratitude that Our Lady appears not to mind, or at least not to smite, progressive clergy.
Even the barefoot ones.

​
----
Disclaimer
Pinched (with permission) from the fictional St Faithful’s is Havnot, because a number of our own St John's congregation are enjoying the stories so much ! 
Books by Canon Tom Kennar (including 'The Parish Life' – volumes 1 & 2 about St Faithful’s) are available in print and e-book. Merchandise lurks online. See https://tinyurl.com/4k9jtpbe for more details.

"I initially attend the learners bellringing meeting, at Mirfield Parish church West Yorkshire in 2024. The team comprised of four learners, and a bell caption.Unfortunately, the bell captain left the parish, therefore we transferred to Kirkheaton, St John the Baptist, in March 2025. The practices were both challenging and rewarding. There was a great sense of support and community cohesion. I found the lessons therapeutic and enhanced personal well being.
 
Due to family commitment both my husband and I moved to Ripon North Yorkshire in November 2025. Where I received positive feedback from staff at Ripon Cathedral about the bellringing classes at St John's in Sharow North Yorkshire.
I contacted the bell captain and was welcomed by all the ringers in February 2026. The tutorials are group based and more positively on a 'one to one' by the bell captain. Therefore, initiating advice and enhancing skills. The tutorials are extremely inclusive and supportive. St John's is a very friendly but vibrant environment. Where bellringing is embraced not only by Sharow, bur surrounding communities."


It's great the know Sharow is a supporting and welcoming place to learn to ring.

I undertook my first 2026 fundraising Wild Swim on 19th February. This time in Gloucestershire, joining my sister-in-law in her friend swimming in a local lake. Much calmer than the abandoned New Year's day swim in Redcar. Looking ahead to March, on Friday 13th, hopefully not inauspicious, we're meeting Ian the church architect and Simon the bell specialist, to finalise plans for moving the bells. All very exciting. On 28th St John's is hosting a Quarter Peal Event to celebrate Tracey's 40th birthday. Tracey is an experienced Ripon Cathedral ringer who is very active in supporting our band. A number of churches will be involved, including ringing on our simulator. The last Quater Peal of the day from 4.30pm to 5.30pm will be ringing out from St John's in celebration.
There are two funerals in March at which the tenor bell will be rung as the coffin enters the churchyard. It is a privilege and honour to be able to ring the bell.
To see all the ringing times, please look at the notices in and outside church and on the church website. You're always welcome to join us during a practice.
For more information or to make a donation please get in touch.
Best wishes Bridget Taylor-Connor Tower Correspondent 07752981346 [email protected] ​

The name “passion flower” was given to the plant in the sixteenth century by Roman Catholic missionaries in South America, where the flower grew naturally. They noted how the flowers had particular physical features that aligned with the crucifixion. They saw it as a gift of God to help them in their work of teaching the Indians to understand the Passion of Christ and the Crucifixion and used it as a teaching aid. 
When the passion flower was brought back by them to the New World ‘the Passion of Christ’ reference stuck and the flower grew in popularity.

The Passion flower (Latin name Passiflora) belongs to a family of climbing plants of which there are numerous varieties; but the one referred to here is the common blue passion flower, although its colour may also be described as a purple/blue hue – reminiscent of the liturgical colour of Lent. Many of you may have one growing in your garden. If so, look closely at it when it flowers and see if you can identify the following symbols: 
1. The five petals and five sepals (the outer parts of the flower that enclose the flower before it blooms) together represent ten of the twelve disciples who didn’t betray or deny Jesus (as Judas and Peter had done). 
2. The three topmost stigmas (part of the plant that rises from the top of the flower and receives pollen and initiates fertilization), each with a roughly rounded head, recall the three nails that impaled Christ on the cross. 
3. The five stamen that hold the anthers (the parts of the flower where pollen is produced) together signify the five wounds (hands, feet and side) of Christ. 
4. The anthers alone represent the sponge used to moisten Jesus’ lips. 
5. The central column of the three stigmas and five anthers signify both the post on which Jesus was whipped and the cross on which he was hung; and the many slender tendrils surrounding its base are likened to the cords and whips used in the scourging. 
6. The radial corona filaments (the base of the central column holding the stigma) represent the crown of thorns. The word “corona” is actually defined as being like a crown, or in the shape of a crown of thorns. 
7. The red stain of the corona is a reminder of his blood that was shed. 
8. The leaves of the passion flower are shaped like a lance to represent the spear that pierced his side. 
9. The fruit is round and signifies the world that Jesus came to save and was crucified for. 
10. The tendrils that support the stems as they grow symbolize Jesus holding on to God’s purpose and being supported by God’s love. 
11. The fragrance of the flower represents the spices that the women brought with them to the tomb. 
12. The duration of the flower’s life is three days – the time elapsed from crucifixion to resurrection. 
Europeans soon discovered the medicinal value of the passion flower and its fruit and took up its use, especially for calming the nerves, which is thought to be yet another symbolic aspect: Like Christ who came to relieve the sufferings and anxieties of man, so this plant relieves the pains and sufferings of those who take advantage of the properties imbued in it. 
Some tenuous links maybe, but I will never look at the passion flower in the same light again without thinking of the Passion of Christ.