Church Blog
News, Updates, Thoughts

Like Alison, I have been able to draw lessons from the place where we went on holiday last week in France.  Alison drew inspiration from the countryside in North Yorkshire previously scarred by mining but now restored and renewed as part of a national park. A place of beauty and re-creation.

Olivia and I stayed in an apartment in a village in North Brittany close to Roscoff where the ferry comes in from Plymouth.  Our Location was Place de La Libération, next to Place de la République and Place de General de Gaulle 18 June 1940. The three linked squares are like an education in French history.  The Republic, of which there have been five- the last begun by De Gaulle in the Algerian crisis of 1958, was first established after the Revolution in 1792.   In 1958 I was living in France with my family near Versailles as my father served at SHAPE, the Allied command then based in France. I was seven.   It was only a matter of years since France had been liberated from German occupation during the years of Vichy and the disliked Fourth Republic.

De Gaulle, awkward and passionate about La France, had appealed to his people to resist in his famous broadcast from London on June 18 1940. The Free French forces were founded and the path to liberation was begun, but only made possible by the vast efforts of the Allies culminating in the invasion of France on D-Day and a subsequent gruelling, but victorious, campaign.  Each year Olivia and I swim on Sword Beach, closest to Ouistreham where you take the ferry to Portsmouth, and remember those brave forces.

Liberation is a word of such importance that its emotions and reality can be hard to summarise. Indeed, only those who suffered occupation by an alien power can truly understand its significance, and only those who have brought about liberation can truly understand its cost and meaning.  A veteran soldier who had served with Special forces under David Sterling in N Africa who I knew said that people only care about two things, “love and freedom’.

And of course, at the heart of Christianity is the notion of freedom or liberation.  Jesus himself said, as recorded John’s Gospel, “If the Son of Man sets you free, you are free indeed” (John 8:36). The freedom is freedom from the fear of death, freedom from a self-filled life, freedom from the grip of materialism, freedom from the captivity of other people’s opinions and more. St Paul says “For Freedom Christ has set you free don’t submit again to a yoke of slavery” (Galatians 5:1). 

For our part we are called to experience and exercise this freedom and that we ourselves know this inner freedom, hope and love through faith; and can invite others to share in this freedom too. All of us should live, not for a week on holiday, but always in Place de La Libération having heard the summons of another incomparable leader.

Patrick Whitworth 

I have recently returned from holidaying on the North York Moors, where we were tucked away in a cottage on the hillside in Rosedale – a stunningly beautiful spot surrounded on every side by dramatic skylines and seemingly endless swathes of purple heather.  And silence – other than the birdsong and gentle sound of grazing sheep and cattle.  All as nature intended, or so it would seem.  But in fact, this valley was once an industrial centre for ironstone mining, and would have been anything but peaceful.  What are now grassy byways were once railway tracks.  Nestled in the hillside are what look like romantic ruins, but are actually the remains of mineshafts and huge kilns.  The soft lumps and bumps, now easy on the eye and a good place to sit with a flask of coffee, are in fact piles of waste dumped out of the kilns, now reclaimed by nature.    A landscape worked, depleted, reshaped, but now reclaimed, flourishing.  Damaged, but somehow astonishingly beautiful.  Full of life now, but with evidence still of its past, bearing its scars.   

This spoke to me of how we too are both beautiful and broken.  Made in the image of God, we are ‘very good’ (Genesis 1.31), and of inestimably great value to our creator (Psalm 8).   But like the landscape I’ve described, we too get bent out of shape.  Our resistance to our creator, our rebellion against living according to his ways, our reluctance to give him his rightful place in our lives, all of these mar his image in us.  Furthermore, our life experiences can damage us, things happen that hurt us, deplete us, change us, scar us.     

But just as nature is irrepressible in its fight back, God is in the business of reclamation, we are his great restoration plan!   He calls us constantly with his steadfast love and compassion, offering forgiveness, healing, rebuilding what is broken.  Changing us, re-forming us into his image.  Bringing green shoots of new life, even when the landscapes of our lives look totally barren.  In this life we will continue to bear our scars.  But our lives can still be things of great beauty, as we respond to the loving care of our gracious God. 

Dear Friends,

One of the greatest joys in my ministry has been conducting weddings. Over the years, I’ve had the privilege of standing at the front of many churches with lots of different couples – young and not-so-young, nervous and excited, with guests in fascinators, top hats, kilts, sequins, and the occasional questionable novelty tie. And while every wedding has the same deep vows at its heart, no two are ever the same.

There’s something uniquely special about getting married in church. It’s not just the beauty of the building, though a flower-filled country church with sunlight streaming through stained glass is hard to beat. It’s the sense of sacred space, of being part of something greater than ourselves. Here, couples not only make promises to each other, but do so in the presence of God, seeking His blessing and help in all that lies ahead. I often say a wedding is both the most ancient and the most future-facing of ceremonies – rooted in tradition, but bursting with hope.

Of course, love comes in many forms – not only romantic love, but the love between friends, within families, and among neighbours. And for those who are no longer married, for whatever reason, the message of hope remains: you are held in the love of God, who is faithful and constant, and who brings healing and renewal to every heart.

With all this in mind, I’m delighted to invite you to a joyful afternoon of “Songs and Scones” at the end of the month – a special celebration of love, music, and memories. There will be scones (with homemade jam and perhaps a little tipple!), and of course, some much-loved hymns and anthems. The Benefice Choir will be leading us, and we’re forming a “pop-up” choir for the occasion.

Would you like to join in? We’ll meet in Inkpen Church on Sunday 31st at 3pm for a short practice to include learning a simple anthem. The service will start at 4.30pm– all abilities and levels of confidence welcome. If you’ve ever been tempted to sing in a choir, this is your moment!

I’d also love to hear from you:

What’s your favourite wedding hymn – and why?

Perhaps it was sung at your own wedding, or at a friend’s, or maybe it simply captures something beautiful about love and commitment. We’ll try to include as many as we can in the service, and any that we are unable to include will be sung in services ahead – so nothing gets lost.

Weddings are celebrations of love, of hope, and of the promise of faithful companionship. They’re full of joy, often laughter, sometimes tears – and above all, they point to the deep and abiding love of God, who walks with us in every season of life.

So come and sing with us, raise a glass, and share in a little bit of that joy together.

With every blessing,

Rev Annette

“A Mars a day helps you work, rest and play!”  Do you remember that long-lived and successful advertising jingle?  I certainly do, although I was hardly ever allowed anything like a Mars Bar as a child.  It was a sort of forbidden fruit – doubly delicious on the rare occasions when it was permitted.  I doubt whether the slogan would pass the censors these days – and I wonder whether we would still be influenced by it.

I think it is the arrival of the holiday season that has turned my thoughts towards the rhythms of working and resting and playing.  This was the theme of our Lent discussions this year: “Balance: Rest, Work and Play.”  Notice though, the different word order and the different emphasis that creates.  The series was about the significance of “Sabbath” and whether or how we observe that in our lives.  We had some lively discussions about why it is important, the different ways we celebrate it, and how it contributes to our emotional, spiritual and physical lives and overall wellbeing.

Kintbury School has signed up to a new initiative – OPAL: Outdoor Play and Learning.  I am proud to announce that I have a new title – I am now the official “Play Governor” for the school.  But I don’t think that will be quite the doddle it sounds as though it might be.  The famous child psychologist Jean Piaget stated “Play is the work of childhood”.  In other words, it is when we are at “play” rather than at formally designated “work” that our minds are most receptive to new experiences and ideas, we think most creatively, and learning has the best opportunity to lodge itself productively within the “little grey cells”.   So we might all benefit from seeking ways to generate meaningful and significant “play” experiences for ourselves and others.

And that is the concept of Sabbath – the Seventh Day of Creation in Genesis, the first book of the Bible – when the Lord God did nothing except enjoy his handiwork – the world, the plants and animals, the mountains, plains, oceans and dry land – and humans.

So whatever you’re doing this summer, I wish you plenty of “Sabbath” – plenty of creative rest – positive playtimes – and maybe even the occasional Mars Bar, or whatever is your equivalent occasional treat.

Enjoy! 
Jenny

 “In my end, is my beginning.”  Words from TS Eliot’s “Four Quartets”, written between 1935 and 1942 – in the shadow of the events in Europe and elsewhere during those years.  The phrase – as with many others from those poems – has haunted me ever since the teen-aged Jennifer purloined a copy from my Godmother’s bookshelf.  (I did return it – I promise!).  The poet had converted to Anglo-Catholic Christianity a few years before he started writing the work, which is full of his soul-searching for meaning in life – probably why it appealed to a teenager.  I didn’t understand it then, and if I’m honest, I don’t really now.  Elsewhere in one of the four poems are the lines:

“We shall not cease from exploration
And the end of all our exploring
Will be to arrive where we started
And know the place for the first time.”
So perhaps the reader is supposed to respond and explore – rather than seek to comprehend.

I was sharply reminded of this work after taking two interments recently, less than 24 hours apart from each other.  At one of them, we read the passage from the second chapter of Genesis, describing how “the Lord God planted a garden in Eden, in the east; and there he put the man whom he had formed.”  The beginning of time, according to the Bible.  And at the other – a passage from the penultimate chapter of the Book of Revelation, the final book in the Bible, in which John the Elder recounts: “Then I saw a new heaven and a new earth; for the first heaven and the first earth had passed away, and the sea was no more.”  The very end of time as we know it.

A strange and chance juxtaposition of texts – causing me to ponder beginnings and endings and the relationship between them.  Is Time cyclical – as TS Eliot suggests – or linear, as we perceive it in our lives?  Or is it a human invention, fulfilling an ancestral need to put words around the little bounded bit of eternity we claim as our own?  We don’t remember our beginnings – and we can’t know our endings; so is there a link between them, other than the stretch of an individual lifetime?  According to the Apostles’ Creed, we believe in the resurrection – not just of the dead, as per the Nicene Creed – but actually of the body – another mystery.

So much for us to wonder at and puzzle over – so little that we can explain or understand.

Jenny

About Churchyard Rules and Keeping Things Tidy

Dear Friends

I want to take a moment to talk about something close to many of our hearts—our churchyard.

The churchyard is a peaceful and special place where we remember and honour those we have loved and lost. Many of you visit regularly to care for graves, leave flowers, and spend time in quiet reflection. That’s something we value deeply, and it’s part of what makes our parish such a caring and respectful community.

A few concerns have arisen, and I’d like to explain things clearly.

Who Makes the Rules?

First, it’s important to know that the rules about what is and isn’t allowed in the churchyard aren’t made by me or the local church council. These are national rules, set by the Church Commissioners and managed by our diocese. All Church of England churchyards follow the same guidelines.

They’re designed to make sure churchyards remain peaceful, well cared for, and respectful for everyone, both now and for future generations.

Information leaflets explaining the churchyard regulations are available in church and can also be emailed on request. Before any memorial can be placed in the churchyard, a Memorial Application Form must be completed—this applies whether the request comes from a family or a stonemason. The form must be signed by the incumbent (vicar), who is only permitted to approve it if the proposed memorial fully complies with the diocesan regulations. These rules, including permitted materials, sizes, and inscriptions, are set out on the application form that is also signed by the applicant.

Why Some Things Get Removed

Over time, people understandably want to personalise a grave by placing statues, lights, fencing, artificial flowers, or planting shrubs and trees. While this is always done with love, many of these things aren’t permitted under the current rules.

They can cause problems for mowing and maintenance, grow out of control, or affect the appearance and feel of the churchyard for others. Because of this, when general tidying happens, unauthorised items may be removed, especially shrubs and plants, which will usually be taken out promptly.

This isn’t about singling anyone out—it’s simply about looking after the space fairly and properly.

What About the Larger or Older Memorials?

You might have noticed some older or larger memorials that don’t seem to follow the current rules. That’s because they were installed before modern regulations were introduced, and while they remain part of our churchyard’s history, they do not set a precedent for what is allowed today.

In some cases, stones were also installed during interregnums (times when there was no vicar in post), without the proper permissions. Unfortunately, these were never officially authorised—even if they’ve been in place for some time—and again, they do not give permission for others to do the same.

The Archdeacon has the authority to require the removal of any memorial that doesn’t comply, even if it’s been there for several years.

What If a Family Wants Something Outside the Rules?

If a family would like to install a headstone or memorial that doesn’t quite fit within the standard regulations—maybe in terms of size, shape, colour, or design—there is a process called a faculty that can be applied for.

A faculty is special permission granted by the Diocese, similar to planning permission in the secular world. It involves submitting an application with clear reasons for why an exception is being requested. The Chancellor (a legal officer for the diocese) will review the request and decide whether to allow it.

Some families have successfully applied for a faculty and received permission for a non-standard memorial—but it’s not guaranteed. Each case is considered individually and carefully, and the process can take some time.

If you're considering a memorial design that may stretch the usual rules, please speak to me first, and I can help you understand the process and whether a faculty might be needed.

Let’s Work Together

I know these rules can sometimes feel restrictive, especially when grief is still fresh or memories are strong. Please know that none of this is meant to make life more difficult. These rules are in place to protect the peace, dignity, and beauty of our churchyard for everyone.

If you have any questions or concerns, or want to talk about a particular grave, I’m here and happy to help.

We’ve also posted the churchyard regulations and information about the faculty process on the church noticeboard and website.

Thank you for your understanding, your care for this place, and your continued support. Together, we can make sure our churchyard remains a place of rest, respect, and remembrance for many years to come.

With every blessing,

Rev Annette

“In my end, is my beginning.”  Words from TS Eliot’s “Four Quartets”, written between 1935 and 1942 – in the shadow of the events in Europe and elsewhere during those years.  The phrase – as with many others from those poems – has haunted me ever since the teen-aged Jennifer purloined a copy from my Godmother’s bookshelf.  (I did return it – I promise!).  The poet had converted to Anglo-Catholic Christianity a few years before he started writing the work, which is full of his soul-searching for meaning in life – probably why it appealed to a teenager.  I didn’t understand it then, and if I’m honest, I don’t really now.  Elsewhere in one of the four poems are the lines: 
“We shall not cease from exploration
And the end of all our exploring
Will be to arrive where we started
And know the place for the first time.”
So perhaps the reader is supposed to respond and explore – rather than seek to comprehend.

I was sharply reminded of this work after taking two interments recently, less than 24 hours apart from each other.  At one of them, we read the passage from the second chapter of Genesis, describing how “the Lord God planted a garden in Eden, in the east; and there he put the man whom he had formed.”  The beginning of time, according to the Bible.  And at the other – a passage from the penultimate chapter of the Book of Revelation, the final book in the Bible, in which John the Elder recounts: “Then I saw a new heaven and a new earth; for the first heaven and the first earth had passed away, and the sea was no more.”  The very end of time as we know it.

A strange and chance juxtaposition of texts – causing me to ponder beginnings and endings and the relationship between them.  Is Time cyclical – as TS Eliot suggests – or linear, as we perceive it in our lives?  Or is it a human invention, fulfilling an ancestral need to put words around the little bounded bit of eternity we claim as our own?  We don’t remember our beginnings – and we can’t know our endings; so is there a link between them, other than the stretch of an individual lifetime?  According to the Apostles’ Creed, we believe in the resurrection – not just of the dead, as per the Nicene Creed – but actually of the body – another mystery.

So much for us to wonder at and puzzle over – so little that we can explain or understand.

Happy pondering – let me know if you reach any conclusions!

Jenny

You’ve probably heard the song: “Our God is a great big God, and he holds us in his hands.” It’s catchy, it’s joyful—and it’s deeply true. Sometimes we need reminding that God isn’t distant or small or easily overwhelmed. He’s great, big, and present—and he holds us in his hands.

In Isaiah 40:28-31 it says:

“Do you not know? Have you not heard? The Lord is the everlasting God,

the Creator of the ends of the earth.

He will not grow tired or weary,

and his understanding no one can fathom…

those who hope in the Lord will renew their strength.”

That’s our God. Not just mighty in power but overflowing with love and grace. He’s the God who made galaxies yet knows your name. Who holds the oceans, and also your everyday concerns.

C.S. Lewis once wrote: “We are half-hearted creatures… when infinite joy is offered us.” And that joy begins not in knowing everything about God, but in trusting that he’s big enough to hold us, guide us, and never let us go.

The great theologian Karl Barth was asked to sum up Christian faith in a sentence. He simply said: “Jesus loves me, this I know, for the Bible tells me so.” That’s the greatness of God in a nutshell—love made real, in Jesus.

And here’s the invitation: early in 2026, we’ll be running Alpha—a space to explore the big questions of life and faith, with no pressure and no jargon. If you or someone you know is wondering about God, searching for meaning, or just curious about faith, Alpha is a brilliant place to begin. 

Who might you encourage to join in? Who could you invite? Let’s be praying now and keeping our eyes open for those little nudges and conversations where an invitation could make all the difference.

Because our God is indeed a great big God—and maybe it’s time more people knew it.

Revd Annette

I went on V.S.O. after college with a friend, to an island in the Turks and Caicos area of the Caribbean. Sounds idyllic doesn’t it - well not quite.

In fact, it was a nearly barren island about 5 miles by 2 miles, with no electricity, no running water, compost toilets and very little food. The only water available was when it rained and was collected in a tank on our roof. That was because we were given, to our horror, the ex-slave owners house to live in. Everyone else went to collect water from a tank in the middle of the village.

These people lived in near poverty. There were no shops or industry, so the government had initiated famine relief. For this the women worked in the barren fields breaking the rocks into smaller rocks, with their babies tied to their backs. For this work they received 5 dollars a month to buy enough food to survive.  There were no young men, they all had to go to the nearby Florida Keys to find work – which is why the women worked in the fields. Their houses consisted of a concrete floor with corrugated iron sheets for walls and a corrugated tin roof to cover it.

It had formerly been a slave plantation. Although slavery had been legally abolished around the 1850’s, in these remote desert islands it continued for a long while after in various forms. Some of the older inhabitants could tell you of their experiences.

Sounds bleak, doesn’t it? Yet these people had hope, and one Sunday I was walking up to a local church gathering when I heard the voice of Martin Luther King Jnr, delivering his mighty ‘I Have a Dream’ speech. I stopped in disbelief. Somehow, they had got hold of an old wind-up gramophone and were playing a recording of his speech.

We were the only white people living in this village, but they treated us so well. They were always kind and considerate towards us, willing to share whatever they had. It was a humbling experience; here we were with all our obvious advantages, but their faith and hope shone like a bright light in their hearts and lives.

That was 55 years ago, and now Martin Luther Kings dream has been and is being realised, and things have dramatically changed.

Jesus said, ‘I am the light of the world’ (John 8:12.)  

At the beginning of his gospel John expands that idea,

‘His (Jesus’) life is the light that shines through the darkness—and the darkness can never extinguish it.’

May that same light shine in yours and my life to sustain and guide us in our walk of faith.

John

Trinity Sunday is the day before the Church goes green.  Or at least, altars and vestments do.  
I am often reminded of the verse in Psalm 23 which refers to the experience of resting in green pastures.  It feels like a time of arrival and an opportunity for a period of reflection.

During the six months previous, we gallop through aeons of Biblical time, guided on most of our journey by the narrative Way-markers of the Gospel story and the frequently changing colours of the altar frontals and priestly robes.   We start Advent, at the beginning of December, by going back to beginnings – the Patriarchs – then move rapidly forward through the Prophets, John the Baptist and Mary until – a culmination you might think – the Nativity and the arrival of the Christ Child.  Which turns out not to be the end of the journey – rather, the beginning of a new one.

And so we speed on – not always chronologically which can get confusing – through the 30-something years of Jesus’ Life and Ministry, to his Crucifixion and Resurrection.  And suddenly we slow down – the better perhaps to contemplate the miraculous – and move into “Real-Time” with the forty days of Resurrection appearances.  It’s almost a gentle stroll towards the surreal experience of the Ascension; after that, like the disciples before us, we are left on our own, to wait quietly through the next ten days for Pentecost and the birth of the Church some 2,000 years ago.  Or 50 days after the Resurrection – whichever reckoning you prefer.

Trinity Sunday demands that we stop and wrestle, like the Church Fathers in the years leading to the big episcopal conferences of Nicaea and Constantinople, with the enormous questions of Who? How? and What? is God; and now, at last, having dutifully done so, we have reached those green fields of “Ordinary Time”.  

The lectionary is relaxed – we can follow the set readings if we choose, but we don’t have to.  We can spend time with some of those events and Bible passages for which there was no space, no time, before.  We can linger and explore the lesser trodden Biblical byways.  We can, if we wish, dive deep into the still and refreshing waters of meditation and contemplation.

All those “Sundays after Trinity”.  All that “Ordinary Time.”  What bliss!

Enjoy . . 
Jenny

Last Sunday we marked Pentecost with a joyful, celebratory outdoor service up on the hill near Combe Gibbet.  The sun shone, and – most appropriately – the wind blew, albeit rather more gently than that felt by the Christian believers on that first Pentecost day.   As we felt the breeze on our faces, waved streamers, flew kites, blew bubbles, we reflected on the work of the Holy Spirit, the Spirit of God which is invisible but nonetheless evident in the effects, the impact that it has.   We thought about how those first disciples were changed, became confident, courageous, and empowered to tell their story, and proclaim the message about Jesus.  And we thought about how we too can be changed, from the inside out, if we open ourselves to God and when we do so, his Spirit will produce in us fruit of ‘love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, generosity, faithfulness, gentleness and self-control’ (Galatians 5.22-23). 

This tells us something about our need to rely on God, rather than just our human talents and skills, or our own efforts to be good people, as admirable and well-intended as those might be.  Jesus had told his disciples, before he left them, to wait in Jerusalem.  Wait for the Holy Spirit, which he had promised would come.  We can imagine Jesus urging them, ‘Wait.  Don’t rush ahead without me. By my Spirit, I will give you everything you need. All the confidence, all the strength, the courage, the direction, to take the message about me out onto the streets, out into the world.  But wait.  You can’t do it on your own.’

Then Pentecost happened, the Holy Spirit came, and the disciples were good to go!

Just as it was for those first Christians, so for us – we need God’s Spirit to equip us for whatever he calls us to do.  And we are ‘post-Pentecost’ people.  God’s Spirit is with us.  We too are ‘good to go’.  So let’s encourage one another, as we did up on the hill on Sunday, to have confidence in our story, and to share it with others:

So light up the fire and let the flame burn,

Open the door, let Jesus return,

Take seeds of His Spirit, let the fruit grow,

Tell the people of Jesus, let His love show.