Church Blog
News, Updates, Thoughts

Dear friends,

This Sunday marks Christian Unity Sunday, a moment in the Church’s year that invites us to pause and remember that we belong not just to our own congregations or traditions, but to the one Body of Christ. In a world that so easily fractures and divides, this is a gentle but powerful reminder that our unity is God’s gift before it is our achievement.

It feels especially fitting to hold that theme alongside a baptism at Inkpen. Baptism is where Christian unity begins: before labels, before preferences, before disagreements, we are named and claimed as God’s beloved children. In baptism, we are joined to Christ and to one another — part of a family far bigger than we could ever create for ourselves.

Epiphany, too, continues to unfold its message. This season is about revelation — about discovering who Jesus is and, in turn, who we are called to be. In the gospel this week, we see the beginning of Jesus’ ministry: ordinary people drawn into relationship, transformation beginning quietly, and God’s glory revealed not with noise, but with depth and grace. Epiphany reminds us that God often meets us not in the spectacular, but in faithful presence and shared life.

That sense of shared life has been very present among us recently. Alpha began so warmly, with laughter, honesty, and real openness. It was a joy to see people exploring faith together, and a reminder that unity does not mean uniformity. We grow together not by having identical answers, but by listening well and journeying side by side. I’m also very much looking forward to being with our young people as Youth Alpha continues on Sundays — a hopeful and life-giving sign for our churches.

More widely, there does seem to be a renewed openness to spiritual questions. Many — especially younger generations — are searching again for meaning, truth, and something that holds steady in uncertain times. Not all of that searching leads straight to church, but it is often in places of kindness, service, and welcome that deeper questions begin. The Church has a precious role in helping people “join the dots” between practical love, community, and faith.

Closer to home, I’m encouraged by the enthusiasm around the Parish Nurse initiative and the clear desire to engage with it. This is another expression of unity in action — churches and people working together to offer Christ’s love in grounded, compassionate ways. Thank you to all who are supporting and shaping this work.

Finally, a practical request: we would love to begin a simple Sunday Club in Kintbury during the service, with crafts, stories, and gentle activities. This will only be possible with helpers — people willing to organise, welcome, and create a space where children can explore faith creatively. If you might be able to help, even occasionally, please do get in touch.

As we reflect on unity, baptism, and the unfolding light of Epiphany, may we continue to be a church where differences are held with grace, faith is lived out in love, and all are invited to discover that they belong.

With love,

Annette

Dear Lord,
Thank you that you call us into one body through baptism.
Thank you for the gift of unity that is rooted in your love, not our efforts.
Give us humility to listen, generosity to serve, and grace to walk together.
Bless our young people, our shared ministries, and all the quiet acts of love that reveal your light.
Amen.

“January brings the snow – makes our toes and fingers glow.”

We had a rhyming couplet for every month of the year – but this tended to be the one we repeated optimistically every winter.  And even then, before we knew we were in a period of global warming, growing up in a small village between the New Forest and the Solent, we were so often disappointed, alas.  And chilly as it has been this year, it hasn’t really happened for us here, has it? (ok, ok . . . SO FAR . .).

So if January doesn’t bring us snow, what else does it have to offer, apart from bills and coughs and colds? 

A New Year, of course – with all its opportunities for reflection, regrets, memories – and the chance perhaps to look forward with hope towards the forthcoming months.

And – Epiphany: that rather overlooked festival which gets mixed up with the start of a new school term, return to work, removal of Christmas decorations and other essential secularities.  We tend to feel that we’ve already celebrated the coming of the Wise Men in with Shepherds, Angels, Stars and Donkeys.  When I was growing up, our vicar limited Christmas Carols in church during Advent to the last Sunday before The Day – “We don’t celebrate the event until it has actually happened . . .”.  Our Carol Service was the Sunday AFTER Christmas, and the following week the Sunday School and Youth Group had an Epiphany procession, from the church hall to the church, with any number of Magi dressed in whatever weird and wonderful garments we could assemble that we fondly believed looked oriental.  So January started in a rather special way, Epiphany was definitely celebrated, and we did enjoy more or less Twelve Days of Christmas.

What else then, liturgically, can we look forward to in January?  Confusingly, I always found, this Sunday is the Baptism of Jesus.  As a child, I tried, and failed, every year to work out a logical chronology for an adult Jesus being baptised, by his adult cousin John – when we had been hearing about them both as babies just a few weeks beforehand.  And no – for some reason it never occurred to me to ask anyone.  The answer of course, and it took me years to work it out – is that the connection is theological not chronological.

Epiphany is a revelatory occasion – the infant Messiah revealed to the Gentiles; Jesus’ Baptism displays him as the Son of God; and the whole Christmas Season is brought to an astonishing close at Candlemas, with those extraordinarily prophetic words of Simeon, and the vision of Anna the prophetess.  Yes, I know – the date edges into February but it casts a welcome glow of light to lead us through the still dark weeks of January towards Lent – whose very name with its Anglo-Saxon origins – celebrates the “Length”ening days which herald the ultimate revelation offered by Easter.

I wish you a Happy, light-filled, revelatory New Year!

Jenny

----------------------------------------------------------

William Winterbourne – the “Kintbury Martyr”

On Sunday 11 th January it will be 195 years since a young Kintbury agricultural labourer was hanged
at Reading Gaol for taking part in the “Swing Riots”. He is buried in Kintbury churchyard and every year on the anniversary of his death, people from the parish and much further afield – often including members of his family – gather at his grave at around 11:30am to remember, reflect and fall silent at 12:00 noon: the hour of his execution.
Jenny

Dear friends,

As we step into a new year, I find myself looking back with deep gratitude for all that God has done among us over the past twelve months. Our church family has shared moments of great joy and moments of sorrow, all held within the love of Christ and the care we offer one another.

We have rejoiced in the baptisms of children and adults alike—precious signs of new beginnings and God’s grace at work. We’ve celebrated weddings, standing with couples at the start of their life together. And we have also known the sadness of farewells, entrusting much-loved friends and family into God’s eternal keeping. We miss those who have moved away, and we give thanks for the new faces who have made their home in our village and in our congregations.

It has been a year of encouraging growth. Our work with the preschool and our two local schools has expanded, with more opportunities to share stories of faith, to support the staff, and to be a gentle presence for families. Our ministry in the nursing home and retirement village has deepened too; we’ve witnessed faith expressed with remarkable resilience, humour, and tenderness.

The Alpha courses that are starting this month —both for adults and for our young people—provide wonderful spaces for honest conversation and discovery. It’s inspiring to see people of all ages excited to explore questions of faith and forming new friendships. Our ministry team has also grown, with new gifts, fresh ideas, and a shared commitment to serving our communities.

Looking ahead, our pastoral team is developing new initiatives to help us care even better for one another—particularly those who are isolated, struggling, or simply in need of a listening ear. We hope to offer more regular contact, small group support, and simple acts of Christian love that make a real difference.

With our increasing number of worshippers across the services, we are now looking for volunteers to help run simple Sunday Clubs particularly during the main communion services in Kintbury and Inkpen—nothing complicated, just a short craft activity or story with the children so that parents can have a few peaceful moments to pray and worship. If you enjoy spending time with children, even just occasionally, we would love to hear from you.

As we enter this new year, we do so with hope—hope not only for our church, but for our community, our country, and our world. What might that hope look like?

For our village: an ever-stronger sense of neighbourliness, where no one feels forgotten.

For the UK: a renewed gentleness in public life, where compassion shapes our conversations and decisions.

For the world: peace where there is conflict, justice where there is oppression, and relief for those facing hunger, homelessness, or disaster.

Hope often begins in small, faithful steps—kind words, open homes, generous hearts, prayerful living. My prayer is that in 2026 our church will continue to be a place where such hope is nurtured, celebrated, and shared widely.

Thank you for all you have given, all you have prayed, and all you continue to bring to the life of this church. May God bless you richly in the year ahead.

With love in Christ,

Revd. Annette

A very Happy Christmas to you all.

On this joyful day, I want to say a heartfelt thank you to everyone who has helped in the life of our church this year—those who read or pray, welcome at the door, make coffee, arrange flowers, visit others, support our children, care for our buildings, and quietly hold our community together with love and faithfulness. Your kindness shines more brightly than you know.

Christmas tells us that God’s light comes right into the ordinary places of our lives—into joy, certainly, but also into the shadows of grief, worry, or weariness. The light of Christ reaches even there. If this day feels heavy for you or for someone you know, you might pause and light a candle. Let its small, steady flame be a reminder that God’s love still shines, even when life feels dim.

And yet Christmas also brings its little flashes of unexpected cheer: the neighbour who drops a card through the door “just because,” or the child who hands you a slightly wonky homemade decoration with enormous pride. These small kindnesses often say more about God’s love than any sermon ever could.

As Karl Rahner once wrote, “Christmas is the tenderness of God made visible.” My hope is that we will notice that tenderness in the smiles we share, the tables we gather around, and the care we show to one another today.

As we celebrate, may we look out for one another—especially neighbours who might be alone or struggling. The message of Christmas is something we share not only with our words but with our compassion.

My prayer for each of you is that, in the midst of all that this season brings, you will find moments of hope, peace, joy, and love—glimpses of the God who is with us.

With every blessing,
Annette

I wonder, if I were to ask you to try to describe who or what God is like, what you might say?  Perhaps you would think of creation - vast, complex, beautiful. Of a God that made the universe, generates and maintains life, keeps the seasons turning.  A God who is distant, wholly ‘other’, abstract.  Awe-inspiring perhaps, but too big to be comprehensible.

Perhaps like me, you find it difficult sometimes to conceive that such a God could possibly have any interest or concern for human affairs, let alone the details of my day-to-day life.

I find myself asking, along with the psalmist

‘When I look at your heavens, the work of your fingers,
    the moon and the stars that you have established;
 what are humans that you are mindful of them,
    mortals that you care for them?’  (Psalm 8.3-4)

Is it just wishful thinking then, that the creator of the universe might be concerned with the things that concern me?  Is it too good to be true?

But at Christmastime we are asked to make a huge leap in our minds. We are presented with Emmanuel, ‘God with us’, in the form of a tiny, helpless baby.  We’re quite used to the story.  But if we try to hear it again, as if for the first time, does it not sound rather far-fetched, ridiculous even?  How utterly incongruous – that the God of the universe is somehow squeezed into this tiny form. 

But if the creator and sustainer of the universe did somehow want to make himself known in a way we could grasp, if God really did desire to be in touch with us ordinary little people in a personal way, how could it be done?  Perhaps this entrance into the utter ordinariness of an unknown family, who’d been going about their simple lives doing the best they could, was actually the masterstroke in bringing together heaven and earth, the cosmic and the personal, the individual.

It is such an extraordinary idea that we surely have to either dismiss it as nothing but a rather quaint fable, or else consider that it is actually the most incredible, world-changing, and life-changing event. The creator of the universe intervening in a moment in time, in a way that has universal relevance, the birth of a tiny baby.  After all - we have all been one. We have all been that small, that vulnerable, that fragile, yet that precious. All of us, no exceptions. And here is God in the utter simplicity of a newborn. 

So, if you wonder, as I sometimes do, whether a God that creates and holds all things in time and space together can possibly have anything to do with me, my day-to-day, my ordinary little life, let's consider the story again. As unbelievable as it might seem, could there have been a better way for God to get the message through? I can’t think of one! 

Dear All, 

 On Advent Sunday I was preaching in the Anglican Cathedral in Zamalek, Cairo -the Island in the Nile in central Cairo at the end of a week there! (Sorry, it sounds like showing off!!).  I had gone with a friend and we were staying in the Cathedral Hostel to take part in a Conference hosted by the Archbishop of Alexandria, Dr. Mouneer Anis. 

What a different setting it is to Kintbury or the Benefice! In the heart of a city of 20 million, within a three mins walk of the Nile: as it sweeps down majestically to Alexandria from Upper Egypt. The Cathedral sits in a compound and was rebuilt in the 1960s, shaped like a Bedouin Tent with a Pineapple Crown of leaves, made from concrete, poking out of the top. And outside the gates is a man with a machine gun as there have been too may attacks on Churches, especially the Copts (the original Egyptian Church).  And every morning there are queues of Christian Sudanese refugees, escaping the terrible civil war next door: mostly women and small children, waiting patiently for support.   On Sunday by far the largest congregation is the Sudanese Service with hundreds of members; the English Service has a more sedate, but nonetheless attentive, congregation of sixty or so.  

I was there to speak at a conference for Muslims and Christians earlier in the week on Monotheism, and in particular on the Trinity. This led me to Augustine of Hippo’s reflections on the Trinity in his De Trinitate and an account of the Nicene Creed and the Council of Nicaea. Translated into Arabic it was a prelude to a dialogue with about sixty there including Imams, and chaired by the bishop.  In an atmosphere of increasing tension in the UK over race and religion fanned by comments from the US, it seemed like a good model and a healthy dialogue.  And in speaking I knew that one of the main issues with Islam is what we celebrate at Christmas: namely that God in Christ took on human flesh in humility and evident weakness, abandoning the majesty of heaven for the simplicity of the stable to show us and win for us the way back to God.   It was a reminder to me of what lies at the heart of our Christian story. This is what we celebrate at Christmas and it is the greatest journey ever taken! 

Thinking of journeys, next year I am leading a group with McCabe Travel (experienced in arranging pilgrimages) to Christian Roman Provence from May 17-21 if anyone is interested email  pjwhitworth15@gmail.com for details. These visits are always mind and soul enhancing occasions; and, in the meantime, A Very Happy Christmas! 

Patrick Whitworth             

My dear friends,

As we prepare to gather around the manger this Christmas, I’m struck by just how much has changed during 2025. We are all a year older (some of us more willing to admit it than others!), yet with that passing of time comes a deeper sense of who we are as a church and as a community.

Across our country, we’ve seen moments of real transition. A new Archbishop of Canterbury, Dame Sarah Mullally D.B.E., brings a fresh voice of faith and encouragement to the Church of England. Here in our diocese, our new local Bishop, Mary Emma Gregory (Bishop of Reading), is guiding us with wisdom and care, supporting parishes like ours as we grow in faith and serve our communities. Like the nation, we’ve been adjusting to changes—with hope—and always with that distinct British determination to keep calm and carry on.

Here in the parish, we’ve seen encouraging signs of renewed life. New faces have joined us, familiar ones have stepped into new roles, and long‑prayed‑for ministries have begun to take shape. There’s a quiet sense of movement—God gently nudging us forwards, reminding us that His Church is very much alive.

In our homes, life has unfolded in its own beautiful way. Many of you have welcomed new grandchildren or great‑grandchildren, little bundles of joy and determination. Others have been joined by furry babies, whose wagging tails or whiskered noses know just when we need comfort. These new arrivals soften our hearts and remind us that love is always arriving fresh.

Christmas, with its old‑fashioned nostalgia, carries a similar gift. Familiar carols, the glow of fairy lights, and decorations unpacked year after year all remind us of stories, people, and traditions that have shaped us. Yet Christmas is not just about looking back. It is about Emmanuel—God with us now. In a world that moves quickly and often feels unsettled, the birth of Jesus anchors us in hope that does not fail.

As a parish, we continue to discover the strength of community: neighbours checking in on one another, people quietly helping behind the scenes, and a rising willingness to be there for those who need a warm welcome or listening ear. This is the heartbeat of the Gospel lived out day by day.

So as we step into 2026—older, perhaps wiser, and hopefully a little kinder—may we carry with us the message that began in a stable: that light shines in the darkness, love is stronger than fear, and God’s future is always bigger than we imagine.

May the year ahead be a blessing for you and your loved ones, whether grandchildren, great‑grandchildren, or the furry members of the family. And may our church continue to grow in faith, courage, and joyful hope.

Wishing you a peaceful, blessed, and very happy Christmas.

With love and prayers,

Your Vicar, Annette

Advent Sunday is also, this year, St Andrew’s Day, as you will certainly be aware if your family hails from North of the Border where the National Day is celebrated with a public holiday – unlike poor old St George of England.

I’m glad St Andrew gets a proper festival day all to himself – I can remember as a child feeling rather sorry for the Andrew of the Gospels; he seemed always overshadowed by his lively, outspoken brother Peter and the two “Sons of Thunder”, as Jesus nicknamed the volatile James and John, and was not included in the really close occasions with Jesus, such as the Transfiguration on the mountain, and the vigil in the Garden of Gethsemane.

And yet – he has his moments in the Gospel stories.  It was Andrew, remember, who in John’s Gospel responds to Jesus’ invitation “Come and see” right at the outset of Jesus’ ministry; later, bursting with excitement he searches out his brother with the prophetic and insightful exclamation: “We have found the Messiah!”  (In the Eastern Orthodox tradition he is known as Protokletos – the First Called.)  It is Andrew who locates the boy with the loaves and fishes – although he discounts the potential value of the offering – “but what are they, among so many?”.  He was, of course, present at the Last Supper; after the Ascension he gets one mention in Chapter 1 of the Acts of the Apostle – the rest is Biblical silence, enhanced and embellished by legend, early writings and folk lore, including his supposed crucifixion in the Roman province of Achaea, Greece, on the diagonal cross which became his symbol.

I was brought up on folk tales, myths, legends.  And yet when I started thinking about St Andrew, I realised that I didn’t know why, or how, he became Patron Saint of Scotland.  So I did a bit of reading; it’s an interesting and ancient little story – with perhaps a bit more credibility than many such.  In 832 the Picts and Northern Celts were fighting off an invasion from the Saxons, from south of the Border (yes, I’m afraid that is us Sassenachs).  They were heavily outnumbered, and on the eve of battle, their leader, King Angus (Óengus II) prayed for divine help.  As he finished his prayer, he looked up at the sky – to see a white cloud pulled into the shape of a diagonal cross, which he understood to be a sign from St Andrew.  Against all odds, the Scots were victorious and so Angus called Andrew the Patron Saint of Scotland and adopted the Saltire (the white diagonal cross against a blue background) as the National Flag.  Andrew was venerated – but informally – by the Picts and the Celts over the next 500 years; then in 1320, following the Declaration of Arbroath, demanding Scottish independence from Pope John XXII, Robert the Bruce formally proclaimed Andrew as the Scottish Patron Saint.  This was considered a politically astute move, given the significance of Andrew’s brother Peter to the Catholic Church, helping to promote a different relationship between Scotland and the Pope.

There are also, inevitably, numerous stories about Andrew (often involving miraculous escapes from shipwrecks, and other supernatural events) describing how, over the centuries, relics of the saint were brought to Scotland where they were enshrined and became pilgrimage sites.

So on Advent Sunday this year, in among our contemplation of the Advent message and mysteries, let us also remember Andrew: Saint, Apostle – the first to recognise Jesus – possible martyr and the protector of the Scots.

A very blessed and contemplative Advent to you all
Jenny

Dear friends,

As the days grow shorter and autumn deepens around us, our parish life continues to be full of faith, warmth, and hope. It has been such a joy to see our churches filled these past weeks—moments that remind us that God is very much at work among us. 

Last weekend’s five Remembrance services across our Benefice churches were truly moving. Attendance was up in every church, and there was a deep sense of community and gratitude. It was particularly heartening to be joined by so many uniformed young people, whose respect and attentiveness were striking. They stood shoulder to shoulder with veterans and families in quiet honour of those who gave their lives for peace.

On Monday 11th November at 11 a.m. in Kintbury, the whole school gathered in the Churchyard alongside the community. Young people read the roll of honour and a poem before the two minutes’ silence—a powerful and reverent act of remembrance that left many of us deeply moved. They had also created a display in church about the impact of the war in Kintbury. It’s encouraging to see such understanding and compassion in the next generation.

The introductory Youth Alpha runs for the next two Sunday evenings, offering our young people space to explore faith in a welcoming and open way. The full course will continue after Christmas. Please pray for those taking part and for our leaders, who are guiding the sessions with such enthusiasm and care.

In January, we’ll be launching the Adult Alpha course on Tuesday evenings, a chance to begin the new year with fresh conversations about faith, purpose, and life. Whether you’ve been coming to church for years or are simply curious, Alpha is a wonderful way to explore questions that really matter. As C.S. Lewis once wrote, “Faith is the art of holding on to things your reason has once accepted, in spite of your changing moods.”

As we turn our thoughts toward Advent, that season of watching and waiting, we’re reminded that preparation begins within. “Prepare the way of the Lord” (Isaiah 40:3) isn’t just an ancient call—it’s an invitation for each of us today to make space for Christ in our lives. Even a few quiet moments each day can help us rediscover hope amid the busyness of the season.

We also look ahead prayerfully to the national budget next week, aware that its outcomes will bring concern for many. “Bear one another’s burdens, and so fulfil the law of Christ” (Galatians 6:2). As a community, let us continue to be alert to those who may feel the strain, offering both prayer and practical help. Our ongoing support for the food bank and community care remains a vital expression of our shared faith in action.

So, as November draws on, let us keep praying, preparing, and caring. God is with us—in remembrance, in our young people, in our shared life, and in the quiet hope that Advent brings.

With every blessing,

Revd. Annette

 Written by a student at Kintbury St. Mary's Primary School

I recently spent a week in a dearly loved bolt hole in the countryside, in a place that I find so exquisitely beautiful, peaceful, and full of precious memories, that it is an emotional wrench to leave it.   If only it were possible to bottle the experience, bring it back, and hold on to it forever!   
This caused me to reflect that when we feel things deeply, when we care, when we love, and allow attachments to grow, alongside comes the possibility, indeed the inevitability, of loss and sadness.   And yet, what are we to do?  We are created with the capacity and the longing for love.  As creatures made in the image of God, who is love, it is in our spiritual ‘DNA’.  Our recent Bereavement Service offered a space for us to acknowledge that with love can come great pain, and we were gathered to ask for God’s help to bear this.  Dare we trust that when we suffer loss, or the pain of the lack of love, we are somehow held within an even greater love, the Psalm 23 kind of love?  Believe that there is One who walks invisibly, silently beside us in the darkest of valleys?

The words of the hymn ‘O Love that wilt not let me go’ came to my mind, and unable to recall all of the words, I looked it up.  My curiosity piqued, I investigated its origins.   It was written in 1882 by George Mattheson, on the eve of the wedding of his sister.  He tells of how the words felt to be ‘dictated by an inward voice’ at a time of ‘severe mental suffering’.  Some years earlier, as a young man, George had begun to go blind, and his fiancé had broken off their engagement, unable to bear the thought of going through life with a blind husband.  He never subsequently married.  We can only imagine his feelings of loneliness and rejection, resurfacing as he prepared to share in his sister’s joy.  He bore multiple losses - of his sight, of his beloved, and of his future as he had imagined it to be.  And yet, in the midst of his anguish, he was inspired to write this: 

O love that will not let me go,
I rest my weary soul in thee;
I give thee back the life I owe,
That in thine ocean depths its flow
May richer, fuller be.

O Light that follows all my way,
I yield my flick'ring torch to thee;
My heart restores its borrowed ray,
That in thy sunshine's blaze its day
May brighter, fairer be.

O Joy that seekest me thru' pain,
I cannot close my heart to thee;
I trace the rainbow thru' the rain
And feel the promise is not vain
That morn shall tearless be.

O cross that liftest up my head,
I dare not ask to fly from thee;
I lay in dust life's glory dead,
And from the ground there blossoms red
Life that shall endless be.

Words that might offer us a way to pray, when we don’t have sufficient words of our own.   

Alison