24/06/2026
I remember preaching a lot in my early twenties in St Paul’s Baptist Church in Bristol. Becoming accepted by their incredibly warm congregation was such a joy, even though I was not officially a part of the church. This was ten years after the race riots, but the scars ran deep. As well as speaking in services, I found myself spending time with people listening deeply. It was in that loving congregation that someone first called me Pastor, though I had no training or official calling to that role. I can still remember the moment, feeling humbled, incredibly loved and about ten feet tall.
I’ve been listening deeply to people recently; it’s an amazing privilege when someone opens up about the thing that makes their heart ache, about something that troubles them, what makes them afraid, causes them to grieve, or even makes them angry.
This slow, non-judgemental listening requires a willingness to learn, to tread lightly, and the self-awareness to realise that my own contradictions and failings outweigh those that are vulnerably laid bare before me. The unspoken but ever-present realisation that the person before me is made in the image of God and is precious and honoured in his sight draws me in. As I listen, the conversation shifts, almost imperceptibly, towards the holy ground of people’s most intimate struggles and wrestling with God, and I listen with the same heartfelt awe as I did all those years ago. To be a Pastor is a precious gift, one of the most precious gifts life can bring.