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 such a loss.
And yet even in the middle of the storm, I have seen signs of Christ active among us.
On the night following Bailey’s death, I opened the doors of St Cuthbert’s and posted a simple message on social media, letting people know the church would be open until 9pm for anyone who wanted to light a candle. What followed was one of the most moving evenings of my ministry. I watched as individuals stepped quietly into the stillness, lit a candle, wrote messages for the prayer tree, and stood gazing at the figure of Jesus on the cross. Many allowed me the great privilege of praying with and for them. Some were around Bailey’s age. I’ve been Vicar here for twelve years now, so I recognised quite a few from my visits to the primary school, bright-eyed children once, now young adults carrying heavy grief. It hardly seemed possible that time had passed so quickly.
Too often, faith is treated like a private possession. Something you believe quietly, or keep on a shelf, ready for Sundays. But that’s not how Jesus lived. He didn’t pop into the synagogue once a week and then go home to mind his own business. He walked dusty roads. He sat with the grieving. He stood up to injustice. He fed the hungry. He welcomed the outsider. He lived his faith, and calls us to do the same.
So, don’t just believe in Jesus, follow him. Don’t just come to church, be the Church. Don’t just know the stories, live the story. Every day.
There will be two well-known hymns sung at Bailey’s funeral: Shine Jesus Shine and Sing Hosanna. On the surface, they’re bright and joyful songs, often sung at school services or family celebrations. But listen closely, and you’ll hear something deeper. “Lord, the light of your love is shining… set our hearts on fire.” “Give me oil in my lamp, keep me burning.” These are prayers for Jesus to be our light in the darkness. These are the kinds of songs you sing not because everything is fine, but because you are clinging to a hope that is stronger than the storm.
And perhaps that brings us to Harvest.
In September, churches up and down the dale will begin celebrating Harvest Festivals. We’ll decorate with apples and wheat, bring tins for the food bank, and sing the old favourites. But Harvest isn’t just about giving thanks for food. It’s also about fruitfulness, about what our lives are producing. St Paul called it “the fruit of the Spirit”: love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, generosity, faithfulness, gentleness, and self-control.
So, as we give thanks for God’s provision this Harvest, let’s also ask ourselves: What kind of fruit is my life bearing? What is the fruit of my faith?
If you helped set up chairs for Bailey’s family, offered tissues at the door, made teas and coffees and lunch when the Just B bereavement support team were here, prayed quietly at home, or simply showed up when you didn’t know what to say, you bore fruit and lived the kind of faith that Jesus calls us to.
Let’s keep going.
Let’s keep being people of light. People of kindness. People who name Jesus, not just in our prayers but in our actions. People who carry hope into the heartbreak, and peace into the noise. Because this community needs it. Because we need it. And because Jesus has no hands and feet on earth now but ours.
Until next time,
Darryl.