The happiest days of my life

I have a strange relationship with films and those who know me well would agree with that.  I often make the ridiculous statement ‘I can only watch a film I’ve seen before.’ People, rightly, look at me with incredulity.  But I know what I mean.  I like what I like and I know what I don’t like – violence, horror, blood, suspense, things like that.  I do, however, trust my sister’s choice of films.  While I was staying with her and her family after Christmas they made me watch ‘The Hunt for the Wilderpeople’.  I loved it.  If you haven’t seen it I recommend it.  And I have watched ‘The Two Popes’ – I thought that was great – honest, moving, heart-warming (never I thought I’d say that about watching anything to do with the contemporary church!).  But one of my favourite films is the 1950’s classic, ‘The Happiest Days of Your Life’.  It’s a film similar to the St Trinian series, set in an out of control Public School, and stars Alastair Sim and Margaret Rutherford and is completely devoid of violence, horror, blood or suspense.  Perfect!

Happiest

Fab film

The Church of England is facing a crisis, another crisis.  This one is all to do with training for priesthood.  Flicking through this week’s Church Times there are a number of articles about the problems being faced by Westcott House in Cambridge.  They have specific problems and I am keeping them in my prayers but there is the wider issue the church has to face about the fate of residential training.

It is 40 years this year since I arrived at the College of the Resurrection, Mirfield.  I looked at two other colleges before accepting a place there.  I went on a visit to Ripon College, Cuddesdon, which I thought seemed lovely but there was something not quite right for me, and I looked at Westcott.  I had a miserable few days there but I think that was because the previous weekend I had been to the College of the Resurrection and had had a ball.  I had thought that the Cambridge Federation would expose my little Anglo-Catholic self to something of the wider church but when I experienced that I knew that, at that stage, I needed something more solidly catholic.  So that is how I ended up in the Calder Valley for three years.

I hadn’t read any theology and barely done RE at school.  But I had been to church all my life with no gaps for teenage rebellion – those years passed me by.  But I had achieved a good enough first degree to enable me to read Theology at Leeds University under the professorship of David Jenkins.  So for my first two years I was a ‘Leeds Man’ as we were called.  Each day a few of us on the degree course piled into one of the College cars and drove off to Leeds, leaving our cassocks and scapulars behind and being proper students.

But after lectures we would head back to reengage with the ‘Common Life’.  We talked about that concept a great deal, and sins against it.  These were the days before ‘devices’ and you were not allowed to have a tele in your room as that was anti the Common Life, so the only way of watching the box was by going to the TV Room and entering into negotiation with those already there.  It was an experience similar to what you used to have in boarding houses by the seaside or on wards in hospital where you had to agree with a bunch of strangers whether it was to be BBC or ITV.  Of course, during my years at Mirfield ‘Brideshead Revisited’ was being shown and the TV Room was packed out with those who wished to be the reincarnation of Sebastian Flyte!

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The journey between College and church

Living the common life was part of what we were there to do, learning how to be alongside other people, with all their quirks and demands.  We had to serve at table and clear the pots; we had to clean the toilets and do the gardening; we had to rehearse serving and the chant, clean the chapel and meet all the requirements of an academic institution.  Above all we had to be in church.  There was no choice about this.  You went to Morning Prayer and Evensong each day.  You had to be at Mass on Sundays and Feast Days and the College Mass once a week, but most of us were at Mass every day.  And you had to be in church meditating and you had to have a Spiritual Director and there was an expectation that you would make your Confession.  There was very little resistance to any of this.  We simply followed the rules.  We knew that we had to be in our cassocks and scapulars most of the day, for church, for meals, for lectures, that we would wear black shoes or sandals.  We got used to being strange and living a dedicated life.  To put it simply, we were being formed for priesthood.

I cannot begin to tell you how much that has made me the priest and the person that I am. I found the place and its tight structure strangely liberating. I began to understand who I was and I was able to build a resilient prayer life and a pattern of committed worship that continues to see me through each day.  It was a hard thing to express to my family but these were the happiest days of my life.

The strange thing is above everything else a priest needs to learn resilience.  Of course you need to know how to properly lay out and fold a corporal on an altar – essential.  And some theology and biblical knowledge helps.  But if you are to survive then you need a disciplined life of prayer and worship and you have to know how to relate to a bunch of people, lay and ordained, who you think will share your views and beliefs and priorities and often don’t.  Parish life is not easy, nor is cathedral life to be honest, but then college life wasn’t always the bed of roses that I have so far suggested.  But there is a real sense that wherever God places you, wherever God calls you, to whomsoever God sends you you have to get on with it.  If that sounds less than life-giving then I have expressed myself badly.  The structure I was given day-in, day-out, in residential training equipped me to survive and to flourish.

That is my concern.  I am sure that courses in all their forms are great and that they provide excellent training but there is nothing that they can supply that can replace the experience of being residential, being formed in a particular environment, for a peculiar and particular priestly ministry.  But the church has to decide what she wants from her next generation of clergy because the truth is, you only get out what you put in.

Thinking of all this makes me pray once more the prayer of the former Secretary General of the United Nations, Dag Hammarskjold.

For all that has been, thanks.
For all that will be, yes.
Amen.

Take, eat

I know I’ve put on a bit of weight in the last few years.  Thanks for not mentioning it! But believe it, or not, I only eat three times a day – well, perhaps a bag of crisps in the evening – and not huge amounts – normally! But I wouldn’t dream of eating the same meal three times a day and I can’t imagine that many people would.  Breakfast is some granola or muesli, sometimes with yogurt and a little honey.  Lunch is invariably a sandwich and an espresso.  And dinner?  Well, that could be a lovely dinner in a Livery Hall or something picked up from the supermarket on the way home.  That’s it basically.

Broken bread

I was thinking about this last week because I was at the Eucharist three times in one day.  Now, on a Sunday that is not so strange.  There have been some Sundays throughout my ministry where I have been at more than one Eucharist and when I was in a parish in Leeds I was always at four and often presiding at all of them.  But a Wednesday in May? That did feel different.

Apart from breakfast which I always have on my own, standing in the kitchen, munching the muesli as quickly as I can in order to get into the Cathedral in good time to do emails before Morning Prayer, I’m normally eating with other people.  That is part of the experience of eating for me.  When I do have to eat alone it feels like a very different experience.  I was always impressed by one of my grandmas who was widowed in her fifties.  She never skimped on her meals.  I remember the woman across the road talking to my grandma about meals after her husband had died.  ‘You make custard!’ she said in disbelief.  ‘Yes’ my grandma insisted.  And she did, and gravy! I hope that if and when it comes to it and I am eating alone then I can adopt the ‘Custard Principle’ of life.

But the Eucharist is a meal that we never have on our own.  We rightly call it ‘communion’ because we are always sharing it with other people.  Paul was having to address an abuse in this pattern of Christian living when he wrote his First Letter to the Christians in Corinth.

‘When you come together, it is not really to eat the Lord’s supper. For when the time comes to eat, each of you goes ahead with your own supper, and one goes hungry and another becomes drunk.’ (1 Corinthians 11.20-21)

The whole principle of communion was under threat.  And we are reminded of the Corinthian crisis at every Eucharist when we use St Paul’s words as the bread is broken in order that it can be shared.  The text in Common Worship is drawn from 1 Corinthians 10.17.

We break this bread to share in the body of Christ.
Though we are many, we are one body, because we all share in one bread.

So the food was the same for each of those three meals, but each Eucharist was different because I was breaking bread with a different congregation and with a very different intention. The first service was the regular early morning Eucharist in the Cathedral.  It was being celebrated in the beautiful retrochoir.  We move around all the altars during the week and on this occasion it was in the Lady Chapel that I was presiding.  There were eight of us there, mostly people on their way to work.  It was very simple, very straightforward, very peaceful.

Then I made my way to Streatham and Bishop’s House, the home of the Bishop of Southwark.  It was the day of his senior staff meeting and so we were all there before we began the agenda, bishops, archdeacons, senior staff, ordained and lay, and me. The meal was the same, in fact the readings were the same – it was the feast of St Julian of Norwich and the Archdeacon of Reigate delivered a very good homily – but the Eucharist was different.  The Bishop was presiding and it was my turn to read the gospel – but essentially I was being ministered to and I was sharing in this sacred meal with the people with whom I work.

I had to leave that meeting early and head back to the cathedral to preside at a very special Eucharist, the final one of that day, a service in celebration of the life and ministry of the priest I mentioned last week, Fr Christopher Morgan.  The nave was packed with people from all the parishes in which he had worked and friends from near and far.  There was a great atmosphere and almost everyone there made their communion or came up to receive a blessing.

From 8, to 20, to 150.  The same meal but such different celebrations, the same food but such different gatherings, the same sacrament but different manifestations of the church.  And that is the glory of the Mass, of the Eucharist, of Holy Communion, of the Lord’s Supper, whatever name you might use for the meal that we were given in the Upper Room and told to ‘do this in remembrance of me’.  That is it’s glory.

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I was further reminded of this the day afterwards.  Each year for about the last 15 years I have had the privilege of leading a day with those about to be ordained priest to think about presiding at the Eucharist, the theory and the practice.  And this was the day for doing it this year.  I began with a Mass in another environment, in the chapel in the Franciscan house just outside the Cathedral parish.  I’m on their rota, and in their little chapel there were five of us breaking bread, me with two of the sisters and two of those who live alongside them.  It was another lovely gathering.  So I went from there to share my views on how we should preside at something that as priests we do so regularly but which is always so fresh and new and once and forever.  But I began the session by doing something different.  Instead of launching in with what I wanted to say, I read a passage from the final chapter of Dom Gregory Dix’s great work ‘The Shape of the Liturgy’. Dix, after describing some of the history of the liturgy, then breaks almost into poetry.  He begins by saying

Was ever another command so obeyed?

And then goes on to describe the variety of contexts in which the liturgy is celebrated and concludes

And best of all. week by week and month by month, on a hundred thousand successive Sundays, faithfully, unfailingly, across all the parishes of Christendom, the pastors have done this just to make the plebs sancta Dei – the holy common people of God. (pg 74)

There is no other better prayer to pray in thanksgiving for Jesus’ gift of himself to us than by using, as I use every time before I approach the altar, the great collect for the Feast of Corpus Christi.

Lord Jesus Christ,
we thank you that in this wonderful sacrament
you have given us the memorial of your passion:
grant us so to reverence the sacred mysteries
of your body and blood
that we may know within ourselves
and show forth in our lives
the fruits of your redemption;
for you are alive and reign with the Father
in the unity of the Holy Spirit,
one God, now and for ever.
Amen.

In memoriam

When I arrived at the College of the Resurrection in Mirfield to begin my training for the priesthood there were various bits of induction that we had to undergo. As far as I remember, we seemed to spend a lot of time learning how to serve at the various services – that was very important because every one was very particular that things were done correctly. We also learnt to sing plainsong. That meant a rehearsal on regular occasions at first and then once a week going though all the chants and antiphons for the forthcoming days. We learnt about what living the ‘Common Life’ meant, how we were to live considerately with one another. We were given our various roles and responsibilities in the College. You aspired to be one of the College Officers but began as one of the many gardeners or with various cleaning responsibilities – I had a number of loos to look after at first. It was a lot to take in before you began studying the things that you needed to study!

But one of the other things that happened is that you were assigned to one of the priests, usually one of the brethren of the Community of the Resurrection, who would then be your Spiritual Director and Confessor. It was expected that you would make your confession and that you would meet regularly with your Director. It wasn’t just that both of these roles were something that was important in developing in the spiritual life and building resilience for priestly ministry, it was also because there was a lot that was happening to you as you began to go deeper into God.

I was thinking about this for a couple of reasons. One was because we were reading the other day Psalm 42 in which verse 9 says

‘Deep calls to deep in the thunder of your waterfalls.’

And the other reason was that the priest to whom I was assigned died a few days ago.

I was told to meet Fr Simon Holden who would look after me. I continued to meet with him until he moved from the Mother House and I, still being in the area, needed to change to someone who was still at Mirfield. But going along to see Simon over the years was a real joy and an inspiration and, looking back, helped form so much of what has subsequently been important to me.

A rather traditional view of the Sacrament of Reconciliation

One of the things that Simon said over and over again was that God loved me. He must have seen in me something that really needed to hear that simple truth, that God loved me for who I was and who I am. It was his gospel for me, his good news for me. And it was good news. And being ordained and then going into parishes and the Cathedral and other areas of ministry it is something that I have discovered lots of people need to know, lots of people who have gone to church for a long time as well as those who have recently arrived in the community of faith. It was a going deeper into the reality of God who is love. But then, as now, so much of how we hear faith interpreted was condemning. This was affirming, and in its own way challenging. As I was understanding myself and who I was as a child of God, Simon was telling me what God told Peter on the roof of the house of Simon the Tanner in Jaffa

‘What God has made clean, you must not call profane.’ (Acts 9.15)

It is too easy for us to hate what God has created as good, to call profane what God has made clean. But Simon would not allow that and his repeating time after time of this simple truth that ‘God loves you’ changed my view of God and changed my view of myself. It was a lesson I would never forget and as I look back at the sermons I have preached from being a curate onwards, Simon’s message to me is there beneath it all.

So I thank God for Simon for that profound and life changing truth and I thank God for something else as well. As the church thinks about the Sacrament of Reconciliation, the Seal of the Confessional and safeguarding, something I have spent a great deal of time thinking about in the last few years as a member of the Church of England’s working party on the subject, I give thanks that it was Simon who taught me how to hear confessions as I was making my confession.

I still use a handwritten card as a prompt for the words that I have to say. I wrote it all out as I was preparing the leave the College. I remember asking Simon if he could dictate the words to me as I wrote them down. At that stage there were no ‘official’ texts available in the CofE so we learnt from our spiritual teachers. There was a particular prayer that Simon always said after the absolution, the traditional words ‘I absolve you’, ‘ego te absolvo’. He would pray

The passion, death and resurrection of Our Lord Jesus Christ, the merits of Our Lady and all the saints, whatever good you have done or evil you have suffered be to you for the remission of sin, the increase of grace and the reward of everlasting life.

Those who have made their confession to me and received absolution will have heard those same words, they were handed to me as gift and I happily hand them on. They thrilled my heart then, they thrill it now.

Our teachers always give us gifts, but not just to keep to ourself. Thank you Fr Simon for these gifts, to know the love of God and to know that all is grace, even the good I have done and the evil I have suffered, all is caught up in the loving purposes of God as I now pray that you are caught in the everlasting arms of the one you taught me is love.

Simon, may you rest in peace and rise in glory. Amen.

As if for the first time

In the past few weeks across the church #newrevs has been trending on social media.  This is ordination season and so brand new deacons and priests have been sent out by bishops to their parishes.  I was thankful to celebrate 35 years in orders at the beginning of July (I was ordained deacon in 1983) and it was lovely to see all the hopeful excited new ministers emerging from their ordinations with a freshness reflected in their surplices.

The ordination of priests inevitably is followed by a flurry of ‘First Masses’. A typical Anglo-Catholic will send out their Ember Card, the card asking for your prayers as they prepare for ordination, with the additional notice that they will preside at the eucharist, celebrate the Mass (whatever language you choose to use) on such and such a day and time and you are very welcome. The First Mass stands alongside the ordination as a pivotal moment in the new priests life.

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Over the years – apart from mine own – I’ve gone to many such celebrations and shared in the joy of not just the new priest but their family and friends and the people in the parish as well as their clergy friends as they begin this particular part of their priestly ministry.  Many will have been preparing for a long time for the moment – in their heads since the moment that they and the church accepted the call to priestly ministry – but also then as the diaconate year moves into its second half thinking about how they will say Mass.

For quite a few years I have run a course in the diocese for the deacons who will be ordained priest.  It’s of course a very mixed group often encompassing the full range of traditions that are reflected in our diverse, broad CofE. But whilst tongue in cheek I tell them I’m going to tell them the correct way in which to preside at the eucharist, in my heart I know that I believe that to be true, not in an arrogant ‘I’m right you’re wrong’ way I hope but simply because I believe so wholeheartedly that the eucharist is where the church is truly being the church and the priest, presiding at this ecclesial gathering enables the people to meet the Lord in word and sacrament.

So those to be ordained will be thinking about the ‘manual acts’ what you do with your hands, and the ‘secret prayers’, the sotto voce devotions made at various points in the liturgy, their tone of voice and their tone of presiding.

Then the day comes and all is in place – the silver is sparkling, the linens are crisp and white, the wine is chilling (not for the service but for the reception afterwards), there are bunches of red roses for Our Lady and the new priest’s mother and the servers and the choir and the readers and the preacher (a vital part of the service – have you managed to secure the enviable, best preacher you could inveigle into preaching for you) are all rehearsed and ready.  It’s a showpiece and there is nothing wrong in that.

For those from other traditions this all sounds, frankly, weird or wrong.  Those for whom the eucharist holds a less central place in their understanding of the church, of redemption, of the Christian life, etc, etc, the idea that you would elevate presiding to such a level and in such a way speaks of a kind of idolatry of the Mass.  But I think that I would describe the variety of reactions that are made more in terms of whether presiding at the Eucharist is seen as functional or ontological – and for catholics it is the latter.

The writer of the Letter to the Hebrews talks a great deal about the nature of Christian priesthood as opposed to Aaronic.  But the writer at one point in the letter is constantly quoting one line from a psalm

The Lord has sworn and will not change his mind,
“You are a priest forever according to the order of Melchizedek.” (Psalm 110.4)

What is bestowed in ordination through the grace of the Holy Spirit is not for a moment but for all time. “You are a priest forever.” You are changed forever, there has been an ontological shift and at the altar we see this most clearly as the priest stands in the place of Christ and brings the past and the future into the present in the once and forever liturgy of the church.

But this has implications for every other eucharist at which a priest presides.  Yes the first time is a real celebration and it is great to have a party afterwards but what about the second and the tenth and the one hundredth and the thousandth and the countless ministry of the aged priest who continues to approach the altar? The true reality is that every priest should approach the altar as if for the first time.

We learn a great deal by watching how other priests preside. When I was being formed for priestly ministry at the College of the Resurrection I would watch what the brethren of the Community did.  And one I will never forget is Fr Ronald Haines.  This is what I wrote about him in a retreat I led for those about to be priested

We students watched to see who the President was.  There were two particular delights.  One was the Superior of the Community who with an agonized solemnity would preside with huge gravitas.  The other was Fr Haines. When I was in College I suppose he must have been priested for over 40 years – a good long time.  But the thing was – and this is the lesson that he taught me, that he taught us – that he celebrated every Eucharist as though it was his first and as though it was his last.  Every celebration at which he presided had that sense of deep wonder, of being the most important event of that day, for him, for us.  There was a precision, a delicacy, a slight hesitancy about what he did that made it totally fresh, alive, and deeply moving.  It was a privilege to be at those Eucharists and because you knew that for this priest it was also a privilege – that he was taking nothing for granted – that it was total gift to him and that that total gift was what he was giving to us – it was still more of a privilege.

And I think it is the same for each of us, whether we are ordained or not, to come and as in T S Eliot’s lovely phrase in his poem ‘Little Gidding’

‘And know the place for the first time.’

At the altar we encompass time and place, at once in that Upper Room with the disciples and yet before an eternal and heavenly altar before the Lamb of God, and yet here, in the local, in the now, in the divine present in which the ordinary stuff of life becomes the most extraordinary encounter and communion with the Living God.  That is why each time we step from any sacristy, any vestry we should do so with fear and trembling but with the deepest joy.

Lord Jesus Christ,
we thank you that in this wonderful sacrament
you have given us the memorial of your passion:
grant us so to reverence the sacred mysteries
of your body and blood
that we may know within ourselves
and show forth in our lives
the fruit of your redemption,
for you are alive and reign, now and for ever. Amen.

My Holy Week – Maundy Thursday

Football, so they say, is a game of two halves. Well it’s not a game, obviously, but Maundy Thursday is the same – its in two halves (excuse the tautology!). Holy Week has many strange gears to it.  The week begins on Palm Sunday with real energy.  There’s a palpable sense of excitement and anticipation as you set out on the procession and into church.  Choristers are excited at getting a palm cross and, whilst the director of the choir isn’t watching, having a swashbuckling time with them as they become swords or daggers in their imaginative hands. And then it all goes quiet.

Monday, Tuesday and Wednesday of Holy Week have a very different feel.  At the Cathedral we attempt to reduce the number of regular meetings that occur, but the emails keep filling up the inbox and the devil plays his games and there are things to be done and decisions to be made and whilst you may try to fit in some pastoral, sacramental ministry and attendance at some extra services, there’s a ‘business as usual’ feel about the place.

We’ve been really blessed this year with Canon Mark Oakley who’s used those first three days to introduce or reintroduce us to George Herbert, John Donne and W H Auden and that’s been fantastic.  Those addresses concluding with Compline have had a quiet reflective feel about them.  And that’s quiet right because in this way we somehow manage to touch something of the week with Jesus.

After that noisy beginning, the unstoppable rejoicing of the crowd, the beginning of the week then sees Jesus slipping in and out of Jerusalem, doing some teaching, causing a frisson or two in various places and with various people and disappearing off to his friends in Bethany – his bolt hole.  But there’s something of the calm before the storm about it all.

Maundy Thursday though is the turning point for us as it was for Jesus and getting up in the morning and heading off to the Cathedral I know that.  Years as a Precentor have made me very aware of the amount of work that goes into staging the liturgy in the next three days.  The Vergers, the musicians, our Stewards, other volunteers are all geared up for this change of pace, this change of gear, as Holy Week becomes the Triduum, the Great Three Days.

The two halves of the day are very important as well.  Whilst Her Majesty The Queen is somewhere – St George’s Chapel Windsor this year – distributing the Royal Maundy money – in many Cathedrals preparations are being made to receive all the clergy, and sometimes lay ministers as well, for the Chrism Mass and the Renewal of Ordination Vows – or whatever it is that the service is called. Southwark is no exception.

Chrism

There I am, trying to get in shot this morning!

 

As I said yesterday, Paul, the Dean’s Verger, has been busy over the last few days preaparing the oils and yesterday afternoon there was a great deal of furniture shifting going on to get the stage set for the eucharist this morning.  When I arrived all was ready, the silver was out, the wafers counted, seats had been labelled for the ‘dramatis personæ’ and all we needed was all the people who had a role in the service and the congregation, of course.

Then, in the evening it will be the Celebration of the Last Supper, the foot washing, the Watch, our immersion into the events on Mount Sinai, the Kidron Valley and the Garden of Gethsemane, which form the second, dramatic half of the day.

As I was thinking about it all, and at the moment I’m in the gap between the two halves, it struck me that this day is so important for me because it puts me not only in touch with Jesus and all that was happening to him, a liturgical folding of history so that past and present come together, seem to touch, just as they do every time we offer bread and wine in the Eucharist, but also with the priesthood in which I am privileged to share.

After 32 years of being a priest its hard to imagine any other way of life and, to be honest, I’m not sure what else I could do. However, the reality of a lot of ministry is that you get dragged away from the very things that you were ordained to do.  Knowing what you were ordained to do is of course a moot point.  Church tradition, generational differences, temperament, giftings all make us view ministry and priestly ministry, in particular, in different ways.

So I’m pleased that in the Chrism Mass I can be drawn back to the beginning, to the vows that I made in Ripon Cathedral all those years ago and recommit myself to them and in the evening I can wash feet and break bread which, for me, symbolise what it is that I feel called to do – to serve and to feed.

Both of those things – to serve and to feed – can be developed and expanded, they are both sacramental to a greater or lesser extent.  Foot washing symbolises visiting the sick, going round someone’s house, being known at the school gate, helping at the Food Bank, sleeping out for the night shelter, visiting the bereaved before and after the funeral, all those things. Breaking bread encompasses all the feeding that we do, the preaching, the teaching, the Alpha, Emmaus, Pilgrim courses, baptism preparation, house groups, assemblies, as much as placing broken bread in those outstretched hands.

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Wash the feet and break the bread

 

So I’m brought back to the heart of it and reminded who I am and as I looked down this morning from my stall and saw all those dog collars, hundreds of them, it was great to feel that we were in the same business. And as I look down the nave this evening and see the people whose feet I’ll wash, and see the people who’ll receive bread and wine, the body and blood of the Lord, at my hands and from my hands, I’m deeply thankful. It helps me get through the other 364 days when perhaps I forget, for a moment, that I am living the life of a priest and become seduced by the idea that I’m doing the job of a Dean!

Lord, you call us to service;
make us worthy of that calling.
Amen.

Holy Land

A pilgrimage for returning pilgrims

My Lent Diary

A journey from ashes to a garden

In the Steps of Martin Luther

A Southwark Cathedral Pilgrimage 2017

sabbaticalthoughtsblog.wordpress.com/

Canda, Jerusalem, Mucknall

Southwark Diocesan Pilgrimage 2016

Hearts on Fire - Pilgrims in the Holy Land

A good city for all

A good city for all

In the Steps of St Paul

Southwark Cathedral Pilgrimage June 2015

LIVING GOD

Reflections from the Dean of Southwark

Passion in real time - a retreat for Holy Week

Led by the Dean of Southwark, the Very Revd Andrew Nunn

Andrew Nunn's reflections from General Synod

the personal views of the Dean of Southwark