Category: Dairy of a Dales Vicar

As I write this at the start of November, the fireworks from Bonfire Night are still echoing around the dale. The smell of smoke lingers in the air, and I can’t help thinking how strange our autumn celebrations are. Halloween seems to revel in darkness, while Bonfire Night explodes with flash and bang, filling the…

Across the Church of England and far beyond, there was a moment of history in October: the announcement that Dame Sarah Mullally has been chosen as the 106th Archbishop of Canterbury, the first woman ever to hold the office. It is a moment of both celebration and challenge. As I read the news, I felt…

Isaiah writes, “How beautiful upon the mountains are the feet of the messenger who announces peace, who brings good news” (Isaiah 52:7). Sometimes those words feel very close to home, because in recent weeks I’ve received three very different kinds of good news, each one a reminder that God is still at work, calling, encouraging,…

As I write this, our parish is preparing for one of the hardest moments in recent memory. On Friday, we will gather to say farewell to Bailey Chadwick, a nineteen year old man from Glasshouses, bursting with energy, mischief, and promise, who tragically died in a hit and run. There are no easy words for…

For two weeks in May, Sharon and I, along with some good friends, walked the Offa’s Dyke Path. It’s officially 177 miles from Chepstow to Prestatyn (although I clocked it at 195 miles, and another in our group claimed 198, so let’s just round it up and say it was nearly 200 miles), tracing the…

The Vicarage currently smells faintly of paint and new carpet. Not unpleasant, just… new. I actually quite like the smell. After twelve years the place has had a bit of a freshen-up. We’re not finished yet, but gone are the mucky handprints on the walls and doors, and we have soft flooring underfoot once again.…

Alleluia echoes still ring in our churches and hearts. Candles blaze, flowers bloom, and the story bursts wide open; death is undone, the tomb is empty, and hope strides out into the morning light. Easter doesn’t whisper. It resounds. And rightly so. Because resurrection is no small thing. It means the worst thing is never…