St. Paul's Church, Coven, Staffordshire, Diocese of Lichfield

St. Paul's Church, Coven, Staffordshire, Diocese of Lichfield St Paul's is a traditional Anglican church under the Episcopal oversight of the Bishop of Oswestry.

30/08/2026

TWENTY-SECOND SUNDAY IN ORDINARY TIME Year A
20 August 2026

“Jesus began to show his disciples that he must go to Jerusalem and suffer many things at the hands of the elders and chief priests and scribes, and be killed, and on the third day be raised. And Peter took him aside and began to rebuke him, saying, ‘Far be it from you, Lord! This shall never happen to you.’ But he turned and said to Peter, ‘Get behind me, Satan!’”

Today’s Gospel reading picks up where last week’s left off. Peter has confessed Jesus as Messiah and Son of God, and now, as so often, he puts his foot in it. When Jesus tries to explain to him and the others what being Messiah means, Peter tells him he’s got it wrong. Far be it from you, Lord! This shall never happen to you.

It’s not clear what Peter had in mind. Like many of his compatriots he he may have been thinking of a political Messiah who would rally the nation, throw the Romans out, and reign as King on David’s throne. Knowing Peter though, it’s more likely he just hadn’t thought it all through.

In that he’s not alone. There’s a type of Gospel lite that ignores the fact that we follow a crucified Saviour, and confidently offers believers a worry-free life of prosperity and unblemished happiness. Sadly, though, it wasn’t like that for Jesus; and as Jesus makes plain to Peter and all his disciples at Caesarea Philippi, it won't be like that for them either:

“If anyone would come after me, let him deny himself and take up his cross and follow me. For whoever would save his life will lose it, but whoever loses his life for my sake will find it.”

The problem with these words, well known as they are, however, is that we have tended to do one of two things with them. Either we have trivialized them, reducing carrying the cross to little more than putting up with a difficult relative – Oh, that’s the cross she has to bear – or we have associated Jesus’ language with such heroic sanctity that it seems quite beyond us.

We think of the great saints and martyrs, many of whom bore the cross quite literally in imitation of their Lord, and we think (quite realistically), That’s beyond me. But what does it mean for us to take up our cross in the circumstances of our generally less heroic lives?

Part of that problem is that it’s very easy for us to admire the extravagant gesture, and forget the day-to-day acts of kindness and generosity to which we are all called. Or to put it another way, iIt is no doubt noble and fulfilling to write a cheque for tens of thousands of pounds for some worthy cause, and to bask in the praise we receive for so doing; the challenge comes when we are called to give our lives away in 10, 20 and 50p pieces. Somehow that seems less glamorous, and so much harder to do.

That's where Paul’s words in our second reading today come in, as he calls us to offer ourselves as a living sacrifice, holy and acceptable to God. Because it is in the 10, 20 and 50p we offer that sacrifice; the small change which adds up to truly bearing the cross.

Jesus ends with two harder verses, one forming part of our Gospel, the other going just beyond it. First he speaks about his coming in judgement; and the essence of what he says is that what we do matters. The Son of Man is to come with his angels in the glory of his Father, and then he will repay everyone for what has been done.

It’s a foretaste of the parable of the sheep and the goats, which we hear on the Feast of Christ the King: Just as you did it to one of the least of these, you did it to me.

And the other, just after where our passage ends, as Jesus goes on to say: “There are some standing here who will not taste death before they see the Son of Man coming in his kingdom.”

The first Christians would have interpreted these words in the light of their expectation of the imminent end of all things; as a literal prophecy that some of Jesus’ original band of followers would still be alive on the Day of Judgement. But there is another event which puts these words in context, namely the Transfiguration, which occurs immediately after the events of Ceasarea Phillipi, and which we celebrated on 6 August.

Six days after Peter’s profession of faith, Jesus takes him, James and Andrew up Mount Tabor; and there in a real sense they see the Kingdom come, as Jesus’ glory is revealed and from the cloud the Father confirms the truth of Peter's insight: he is indeed the Son of the Living God, whom all must heed.

More significantly, the Transfiguration marks the turning point after which Jesus begins the journey towards Jerusalem where all that he has been telling his disciples about will come true.

Peter would, of course, be one of those forced to bear the cross quite literally, crucified in Rome within a few years of Paul’s ex*****on by the sword. But we bear our cross no less truly when we deny ourselves for the sake of others, living out the values Paul so simply describes. And in so doing we too see the Kingdom come in our own lifetimes.

23/08/2026

TWENTY-FIRST SUNDAY IN ORDINARY TIME Year A
23 August 2026

Saint Peter is front and centre in our Gospel today, the story of his confession of faith at Caesarea Phillipi – the same story we heard on his feast day in June. So I’m going to ignore Peter and talk instead about another of the apostles, one we hardly ever think about, but whose feast day falls this week, Saint Bartholomew.

We first meet Bartholomew in a passage in John’s Gospel, where to confuse the matter he is called Nathanael; but by a process of comparison with the lists of apostles in Matthew, Mark, Luke and Acts, it has always been assumed that the Nathaniel mentioned is Bartholomew under a different name. You may recognise it:

“Philip found Nathanael and said to him, 'We have found the one Moses wrote about in the Law, the one about whom the prophets wrote: he is Jesus son of Joseph, from Nazareth'. 'From Nazareth?' said Nathanael 'Can anything good come from that place?' 'Come and see' replied Philip.

“When Jesus saw Nathanael coming he said of him, 'There is an Israelite who deserves the name, incapable of deceit'. 'How do you know me?' said Nathanael 'Before Philip came to call you,' said Jesus 'I saw you under the fig tree.' Nathanael answered, 'Rabbi, you are the Son of God, you are the King of Israel'.”

This tells us a little more. First, he is obviously a bit of a cynic. When Philip tells him they’ve found the Messiah and the Messiah is from Nazareth, his reaction is that Nazareth is the sort of rural backwater that doesn’t produce messiahs. He tells it as he sees it, a quality Jesus himself recognises when he describes him as incapable of deceit.

Cynicism is not a Christian virtue, but straightforwardness is. But while Bartholomew may be a cynic, he is also quick to revise his opinions. Even Jesus appears surprised by his sudden profession of faith: You are the Son of God, you are the king of Israel – and this from a man who moments ago had dismissed Jesus out of hand! So with honesty and plain speaking we also see humility, and a willingness to change his mind.

So often in disputes we become so wedded to our own position that we find ourselves unable to admit we are in the wrong even when we know in our heart of hearts we are. No such pride holds Bartholomew back: he encounters Jesus in person, and is enthusias-tically won over by him.

It’s also clear in this encounter that Bartholomew is one of those happy souls who is able to put his trust in Jesus almost immediately. Not everyone finds it that easy. Many people have to wrestle with their faith, because belief for them is a struggle. Probably most Christians have moments of doubt when belief seems more difficult, our faith more shaky. But as a model of simple trust, Bartholomew reminds us of the words of Father Faber’s hymn, There’s a wideness in God’s mercy:

If our love were but more simple,
We should take him at his word;
and our lives would all be sunshine
In the sweetness of our Lord.

Finally, there is Jesus’ slightly startled response to this profession of faith, to the effect that if Bartholomew has believed simply because Jesus told him he had seen him under the fig tree, he would see greater things than that, even heaven laid open and, above the Son of Man, the angels of God ascending and descending – an obvious reference to the Old Testament story of Jacob’s ladder.

This is a deeper reference that it may immediately seem. Jacob had seen heaven opened and recognised God’s presence at a turning point in his story. And what Jesus is saying is that he has come to reveal that same presence in a way that will turn Bartholomew’s life around.

After this, John gives us one other glimpse of Bartholomew, with the other apostles on the shores of the Sea of Galilee after the resurrection, when the risen Jesus came to meet them. Thereafter we have only tradition to rely on. That tradition tells us that Bartholomew travelled to Ethiopia and to India, where he is still especially venerated to this day, to Persia and finally to Armenia, where he was put to death by being flayed alive, which is why his emblem in art is a butcher’s knife.

Of course, as with such stories about any of the saints, we are free to believe them or not, as we see fit. There are no records other than the memories of the Christian communities in which his name is honoured.

History, of course, records another Saint Bartholomew’s day: the day of the infamous massacre of French Protestants in Paris in 1572; and on a similar, if less bloody and arguably more understandable note, the day in 1662 when Nonconformist ministers appointed to parishes during the Puritan rule of Oliver Cromwell had to quit their livings after the Restoration of Charles II – both events somewhat at odds with this picture of the apostle himself.

But perhaps, if they serve no other purpose, they will remind us that honesty, humility, and trust in the Lord are virtues we still need as we seek to follow Jesus in the life of faith. And Bartholomew’s comparative obscurity tells us that it is that faithfulness, and not renown, that truly matters.

16/08/2026

ASSUMPTION OF OUR LADY
16 August 2026

Today’s feast has many names. In the Calendar of the Church of England, it is simply the Feast of the Blessed Virgin Mary, but it more commonly known in the West as the Assumption, and in the Eastern Churches as the Falling Asleep or Dormition of our Lady. But whatever name we use, it celebrates the end of Mary’s earthly life, and the moment she was received by her heavenly Father into eternal glory, there to rejoice for ever with her Son.

It is a feast that invites us to think about the role of Mary in God’s plan of salvation. Of course, the precise place of Mary in the divine scheme of things has been, sadly, one of the things that has most divided Christians; with those jealous for her honour sometimes seeming to place her above her Son, and those on the other side often giving the impression that there is only so much honour to go around, and that if we honour Mary we somehow take something away from Jesus.

We can consider Mary in a number of lights; of which perhaps the most attractive today is the simplest: as an ordinary human being, caught up in extraordinary circumstances; and yet still having the courage always to say ‘Yes’ to God; a yes that was to lead her from the strange circumstances of the Annunciation – and we must never forget how strange they really are, however familiar they have become in the retelling – through giving birth in a stable, exile in Egypt, apparent rejection by her twelve-year old Son in the Temple and again later in life, and the tragedy of the foot of the cross, to of course, the joy of the resurrection.

And yet the biblical picture of Mary, even at this human level, is an attractive one, not only in her faithfulness to the end; but in those little incidents as well, such as the wedding at Cana, where in her concern for those around her, she brings to Jesus’ attention the fact that the wine is running out and all could be ruined for the young couple. She is then able to say in perfect confidence to those around her (despite another apparent rebuff), Do whatever he tells you.

We would do well to follow her simple model in our own lives: to bring things to Jesus in prayer without fuss or embellishment, and to leave them with him, confident that he will act. And it is no wonder that, on the strength of this passage, many Christians have seen in Mary a power of prayer to which they could turn in their need. We honour in Mary, the human being closest to Jesus, a simple trust and faithfulness which is a model for us all.

We can also consider Mary in what, to use a technical term, we call a typological manner; that is to say, when we see how, in a certain sense, Mary becomes the personification of Old Testament images. We do this, for instance, in the well-know passage from Isaiah, about a virgin who shall conceive and bear a Son. Isaiah had nothing supernatural in mind at all when he spoke these words to King Ahaz, but was offering a very specific time frame for something to happen: about nine months. But Matthew the Evangelist, inspired centuries later by the Holy Spirit, saw in those words something that pointed to Mary and to the birth of her Son, the Messiah.

In the same way, Mary is associated with the concept of wisdom in the Old Testament, which is seen as feminine, God’s handmaid personified. Or again, just as Eve is called in scripture, the mother of all the living, so Mary, Mother of Jesus in whom we are reborn, is Mother of the Church, those who have been born again in baptism.

And above all, Mary becomes the personification of the people of Israel, the Virgin Daughter of Sion. This is the image John points us to in Revelation, when he speaks of a woman clothed with the sun, the moon under her feet, and crowned with the stars, from whom the one who is to rule the nations is born.

This way of understanding Mary is perhaps less natural to us, but it is the driving force behind much of the Church’s understanding of Mary; just as Old Testament prophecies of a king from the line of David, or a suffering servant, helped the Church to develop its understanding of Jesus.

But finally, Mary needs to be seen, not as a person in the past, however attractive, nor as a theological concept, but as she is now, a living person, glorified in heaven; still closest to her Son. Because the bonds that exist on earth don’t cease to count in heaven. And in that place, she continues to be everything that she was on earth, brought to perfection: the prayers she offered powerfully in Jesus’ presence here now even more powerful; the concern for those in need now infinitely greater; her role as mother extended to all for whom her Son died. It is for this reason that the Church has always understood Jesus’ words from the cross about Mary to John, the disciple whom he loved, as applying to us all, Behold your mother.

Of course, the actual piety – whether or not we choose to light candles, say the Rosary, or otherwise directly invoke her in our prayers, will vary as much as any one Christian’s prayer life varies from any others; though prayers such as the Hail Mary, rooted in the words of Scripture, should be familiar to every believer. For Christian tradition has always recognised that Mary has a central place in our understanding of the faith: not one that puts her above her Son, nor one that detracts from her Son; but one which sees her where she naturally belongs, at his side as his mother and ours.

09/08/2026

NINETEENTH SUNDAY IN ORDINARY TIME Year A
9 August 2026

There is a custom in some circles of advertising sermon titles, often on a church’ outside noticeboard. And so the story is told of the church whose morning sermon was on the passage we just heard: Jesus walks on water. But the evening preacher was following a different theme; and his sermon title, immediately underneath Jesus walks on water, was, Searching for Jesus!

In fact, the Gospel we’ve just heard is an important one. Recorded by Matthew, Mark and John, although not Luke, it has much in common with the story of Jesus stilling the storm, told by Matthew, Mark and Luke, but not John. Perhaps Luke and John felt they were dealing with two accounts of the same event and omitted one.

But the image of the frightened disciples tossing up and down on the waves was obviously seen as significant by the each of the Gospel writers as they each decided what to include in their narratives, and what to leave out.

Very probably, they interpreted it in the light of their experience as a community, as the early Church seemed to be tossed and buffeted on every side. And they would have seen this story as a promise that no matter how rough things got, the Lord would be with his Church to protect it and to guide it.

We should not lose sight of this meaning, because we, no less than the early Christians, can sometimes wonder what is going on with God’s Church. But there is a more personal approach to this story too.

Think for a moment about the story as a whole: the climax is clearly the affirmation at the end: Truly, you are the Son of God. But if that’s who he is, and even the wind and the waves obey him, why does Jesus wait till the storm is at its peak before coming to the rescue of his friends? Why does he allow them to fear for their lives? Why, in short, did Jesus allow it all to happen in the first place? For if he can stop the storm after it has started, he could certainly have stopped it before it began.

But what happens because of all this? In simple terms, the disciples move from fear to trust. From thinking they are seeing a ghost they move to understanding Jesus for who he is more clearly. Suppose now there had been no storm, that Jesus had, in effect, consulted the weather forecast and decided to make a few changes. What then would have happened?

No fear; but no opportunity for the disciples to ask themselves who Jesus really was. No miraculous stilling of the wind and the wave; but no deeper understanding of Jesus’ Lordship. In short, the things that happen to the disciples’ faith would not have happened. Jesus uses the storm to deepen their faith.

Now think for a moment about your life. Have their ever been times when you, like the disciples, have felt things were getting stormy, out of hand? Of course there have. Have there ever been times when God has seemed absent, or even frightening? I’m sure I know what the answer to that one is too, because we all have times like that, when it seems as if God is is not there.

And have there ever been times when you have come through such a period, and looked back, and realised, Yes, God was there? And not only was he there, your faith is deeper and stronger because of what has happened in a way that it would not have been if whatever it was had not happened.

Now, it’s important to say, this is not an easy thing. I’m quite sure the disciples weren’t saying among themselves, Ah yes, our faith is being deepened by this experience. They were hardened fishermen, and were no doubt frantically bailing out the boat and leaving the theology till later. So when we have such experiences, we can often find ourselves frantically bailing too, and leaving the theology till later. And some people, sadly, are never able to do the theology, as it were; to ask those questions about their trust in God.

Sometimes their pain is so deep, that it’s too much to sort out this side of heaven; sometimes they simply give up on God and become embittered. But all of us here, I hope, would want to be able to say of such experiences, however long it takes us, that because of them, we have been drawn closer to the Lord, and come to a clearer understanding of who he is in a way that without them we would not have been.

I don’t think we are wrong to interpret this story in the way that I have just suggested. Yes, as a promise that, no matter how rough things get for the Church, the Lord will come to help. But also as a reminder that it is often only by such experiences of difficulty and abandonment that we are able to grow in faith as individual believers; and that such experiences enable us to grow in a way that without them, we would not be able to. And it is a reminder also that it is often through our questions, as much as our certainties, that we grow in our faith.

None of this is easy; none of this is to downplay the very real anguish such times bring us as Christians, when it is hard to see Jesus anywhere. But it is a reminder of which we all stand in need, and a guide to interpreting the ups and downs of our lives in God’s hands. For he is always with us.

02/08/2026

EIGHTEENTH SUNDAY IN ORDINARY TIME Year A
2 August 2026

If, after you left church today, someone asked you what the Gospel was, what would you say? Assuming you had remembered, you would say, It was the story of the Feeding of the Five Thousand. Some of you might be more precise: It was Matthew’s account of the Feeding of the Five Thousand. And you would be right; but only partially so; because while the Feeding of the Five Thousand is the climax of the passage we have just heard, a lot of other things are going on as well, all of which add to the picture, and we must not overlook them.

First of all, Jesus has had to change his plans. Matthew tells us that Jesus withdrew to Galilee after hearing about the ex*****on of John the Baptist, which has clearly affected him deeply, and he now feels the need to be alone, as we all might in similar circumstances. So he gets in a boat and tries to get away from it all. This tiny detail sets the scene. It reminds us of Jesus’ humanity, and his need for many of the same things we need. Like us, he feels grief, and under-stands what it is to need time apart.

But for Jesus, it is not to be. Like film stars, politicians, and others in the public eye today, he is spotted and followed, not by journalists or photographers for the obligatory photo call, but by crowds of people who figure out where he is headed and follow him around the lake on foot. He is simply too well known to escape, a point the Gospels make in other places too. And when the crowds find him, they expect him to carry on as normal. They bring him their sick and possessed, and expect him to heal them.

Imagine: you want peace and quiet, and instead you get one person after another coming up to you and asking for this, that and the other. And I used to get cross when each of the children used to ask me one after the other what was for supper when they were small. Imagine how Jesus, grieving for John and desperate for a break, must have felt. And yet heal he does.

By now the disciples have arrived; and they are worried about all this, telling Jesus he ought to send everyone away; and at the human level they are right. That is what Jesus ought to have done at the beginning. And in any case, as the disciples quite rightly point out, sooner or later all these people are going to need something to eat. If Jesus doesn’t send them away for his sake, he needs to send them away for their sake, before they start to drop by the wayside. To which Jesus gives the simple reply, 'They need not go away; you give them something to eat.'

When John tells this story (and it one of the few events other than the passion recorded by all four evangelists, which shows how important they all considered it) there is a great sense of occasion: we are told it is Passover, we are told the condition of the grass, we are told how much food for everyone would cost, and we are told about the boy who comes forward with his lunch. And of course, we are given Jesus’ great discourse of the Bread of Life to follow. Mark and Luke give us similar details, albeit it without the discourse.

But there is none of that here; only a straightforward description of Jesus’ actions, followed by the note that all ate and were filled. This is the minimalist version: just the facts. Jesus saw people’s need and he met it; it's a simple as that. And Matthew goes on to tell us, that after all this Jesus simply instructs the disciples to prepare the boat and get on their way, while he at last dismisses the crowds.

I think we can draw four things from all this. First, we see in this story something of the infinite compassion of Jesus: his ability to share our needs and meet them. Not only was he mourning his cousin, he was as tired and hungry as the crowds himself. And yet he meets their needs just the same, granting healing and nourishment out of the inexhaustible riches of his divinity.

Second, we are reminded that, like Jesus, we are often called to meet the needs of others, even when we have needs of our own. That is not easy, and we often fail. But it is behind much that we do, as parents or grandparents, employees, or friends. We don’t always feel like giving of ourselves, and yet we must. It is how we follow the example of Jesus; and we need to extend it into all areas of our life.

Third, we are shown God’s power to do great things even with limited resources. Five loaves and two small fish are all it takes to feed a crowd of thousands. We may think we have little to offer. We may consider our prayer weak. We may think our parishes small and our resources limited. But nothing is too small for God if it is offered honestly and in the expectation that he will use it.

And finally, even though it is John who makes the link most clearly, we are drawn by all versions of this story to the Eucharist as the place where Jesus in his compassion meets us and fulfils our needs. Here we receive the Bread that grants healing and nourishment out of the inexhaustible riches of Jesus’ divinity. Here we are fed with the food that gives us the strength to be more like him; more able to give of ourselves out of the depths of our own need.

And here we offer our limited gifts in his service, 'ourselves, our souls and bodies, to be a living sacrifice' (as the prayer has it), knowing that he who chose to take our weakness upon himself will accept and bless them to his glory, as he accepted and blessed the loaves and fishes by the Sea of Galilee two millennia ago.

26/07/2026

SEVENTEENTH SUNDAY IN ORDINARY TIME Year A
26 July 2026

Today’s Gospel completes the series of readings we have heard over the last couple of Sundays, in which Jesus has used a variety of images to describe the kingdom of God.

The kingdom, we have been told, is like a sower going out to sow, or a field in which both wheat and weeds grow side by side. It is like a mustard seed which defies expectations and grows into a tree where the birds can build their nests, or a portion of yeast leavening flour enough to feed a great number of people.

And today Jesus continues in the same vein but with a series of shorter similes, describing the kingdom of heaven as like hidden treasure, a rare pearl, and a net cast into the sea and catching fish both good and bad. You can imagine Jesus firing off these different images in rapid succession as he seeks to engage with the crowds listening to him speak.

The first two images belong together: the Kingdom is like treasure hidden in a field or a pearl of great values. In both case the outcome is the same: once the discoverer has discovered them, nothing else matters. He sells everything in order to possess what he has found. And here we see the link with our Old Testament reading, in which God offers Solomon anything he desires, yet all he asks for is wisdom: the ability of govern as God would have him.

But there is a difference. The man who finds the treasure in the field stumbles upon it by accident; the man who finds the pearl is a dealer in such things, and as such is actively seeking. And maybe it is true that there are both those who find their way into the kingdom by having actively sought it, and those who, as it were, stumble into it by chance.

And in our churches, there are those who have been members throughout their lives, actively seeking the kingdom, as it were; and those who somehow stumble in, very often moved unconsciously simply to show up at a service for reasons they themselves do not fully understand, and yet both are equally members of the Kingdom, and to be valued as such.

Finally, the image of the fishing net takes us back to Jesus’ earlier parables of the sower and the seed, and the wheat and the weeds. In this life good and bad are found side by side. But at the end of the age God will separate them one from another, gathering the good to himself and discarding the bad. It’s a mixed economy!

And so within the Church we find people of all sorts, there for all sorts of reasons. We hope and pray that very few are to be found about the bad fish on judgement day, but is is a possibility that calls each of us to examine our motives.

By way of an illustration, one of the things I have at home is a little book for enquirers entitled, What am I doing here?, designed for people who somehow stumble into churchgoing, but lack the background many of us take for granted. A light-hearted publication, it is illustrated with cartoons, one of which depicts some of the less pure reasons people attend church. My girlfriend made me go is one; another is, I fancy someone in the choir.

More seriously, we all need to take to heart the words attributed to Saint Augustine of Hippo: There are many whom God has the Church has not; and many whom the Church has God has not, and remember that God’s grace is active even in the least likely people and places.

At the end of all this, Jesus asks his disciples whether they have understood what he has been telling them. They confidently answer, Yes; though one does have to wonder in the light of their later record whether they really got it.

And he goes on to describe them as ‘scribes trained for the kingdom of heaven’, the reference to bringing out of their treasure things both old and new suggesting their task is both to continue to teach what they have received as part of the heritage of Israel, but to incorporate into it all that Jesus has now revealed to them. In the same way, as Christians we read both Testaments of the Bible, recognising the Old Testament as addressed to us no less than God’s people of the Old Covenant as a necessary background to the New.

In addition to all this, however, there is in each of these images a sense of finding the surprising in the midst of the ordinary: treasure found by chance in the dirt of an ordinary field; a pearl discovered by a dealer going about his day-to-day business; and an ordinary fishing net bringing in a typical mix of fish.

Yet in such circumstances as these the signs of the kingdom are there to be discovered, and to surprise us in their discovery, ‘heaven in ordinary’, as the priest and poet George Herbert put it. Yet it is here, says Jesus, in the daily round and the dust and dirt, side by side with the bad fish, that God is at work and the signs of his kingdom are to be found. We pray for the grace to always to recognise the signs of the kingdom with joy; and to prize them above all else.

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Wolverhampton

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