Photo, The East Window in St Mary the Virgin, High Easter, Essex
Summer Evensong in St Mary the Vitgin, High Easter gazing at the East Window.
We gather to open ourselves to God in this House of Prayer, where, alight with early evening sun, Incarnation beckons through refracted glass.
Here, blessed Mary and humble Joseph are transfixed in golden beams streaming towards them from the Christ-child, deeply alive in cradle strewn with straw.
Ox peeps adoringly over shoulder of Ass as the shepherd and his boy look on, crozier, an icon of pastoral love to come, carried proudly. Star above all, shining in majestic glory, a portal through which heaven comes to earth.
I see the telling of this in the left window as Angel Gabriel, deep in converse with God’s chosen One, seeks to draw from her a ‘Yes’ that comes from the heart, And challenges us too.
The triptych of God’s love is completed in the third window , that of Presentation where The child of God touches the waiting Simeon, as the old man tenderly takes, holds, and blesses Him in gentle and awesome thanksgiving, which releases his own soul into God’s arms, slipping into a peace his heart longs for.
Three God moments dance in coloured glass opening our hearts, our souls, our vision, Calling us to glorify, presenting ourselves to receive the light of our Salvation and the grace of God’s Incarnate love.
For this we came.
[Mr G. 23rd July 2026]
I visited High Easter Church on July 19th to take part in Choral Evensong. I was fascinated by the East Window and above is my reflection. Choral Evensong was sung beautifully using the Book of Common Prayer and accompanied by a fine organist. The congregation welcome was kind and warm, and the after service coffee was splendid! Should you ever find yourself in that part of Essex, the postcode is CM1 4QW. It’s a fine church with Saxon roots, roman brick and bits from almost every age. Unusually it has a window dedicated to St. Valentine!
Peace Vigil Reflection Part of the text of Pope Leo’s reflection at the Prayer Vigil for Peace in St Peter’s Basilica at the Vatican on April 11th
“Your prayer is an expression of that faith which, according to the words of Jesus, moves the world to pray for peace. War divides; hope unites. Arrogance tramples upon others; love lifts up. Idolatry blinds us; the living God enlightens. My dearest friends, all it takes is a little faith, a mere “crumb” of faith, in order to face this dramatic hour in history together — as humanity and alongside humanity. Prayer is not a refuge in which to hide from our responsibilities, nor an anaesthetic to numb the pain provoked by so much injustice. Rather, it is the most selfless, universal and transformative response to death: we are a people who are already risen! Within each of us, within every human being, the interior Teacher teaches peace, urges us toward encounter and inspires us to make supplication. Let us rise from the rubble! Nothing can confine us to a predetermined fate, not even in this world where there never seem to be enough graves, for people continue to crucify one another and eliminate life, with no regard to justice and mercy.
Prayer teaches us how to act. In prayer, our limited human possibilities are joined to the infinite possibilities of God. Thoughts, words and deeds then break the demonic cycle of evil and are placed at the service of the Kingdom of God. A Kingdom in which there is no sword, no drone, no vengeance, no trivialization of evil, no unjust profit, but only dignity, understanding and forgiveness. It is here that we find a bulwark against that delusion of omnipotence that surrounds us and is becoming increasingly unpredictable and aggressive. The balance within the human family has been severely destabilized. Even the holy Name of God, the God of life, is being dragged into discourses of death. A world of brothers and sisters with one heavenly Father vanishes, as in a nightmare, giving way to a reality populated by enemies. We are met by threats, rather than the invitation to listen and to come together. Brothers and sisters, those who pray are aware of their own limitations; they do not kill or threaten with death. Instead, death enslaves those who have turned their backs on the living God, turning themselves and their own power into a mute, blind and deaf idol (cf. Ps 115:4–8), to which they sacrifice every value, demanding that the whole world bend its knee. Enough of the idolatry of self and money! Enough of the display of power! Enough of war! True strength is shown in serving life. With evangelical simplicity, Saint John XXIII once wrote: “The benefits of peace will be felt everywhere, by individuals, by families, by nations, by the whole human race.” And echoing the incisive words of Pius XII, he added: “Nothing is lost by peace; everything may be lost by war” (Encyclical Letter Pacem in Terris, 116).
Let us, therefore, unite the moral and spiritual strength of the millions and billions of men and women, young and old, who today choose to believe in peace, caring for the wounds and repairing the damage left behind by the madness of war. I receive countless letters from children in areas of conflict. In reading them, one perceives, through the lens of innocence, all the horror and inhumanity of actions that some adults boast of with pride. Let us listen to the voices of children!
Dear brothers and sisters, there are certainly binding responsibilities that fall to the leaders of nations. To them we cry out: Stop! It is time for peace! Sit at the table of dialogue and mediation, not at the table where rearmament is planned and deadly actions are decided! Yet there is a no less significant responsibility that falls to all of us — men and women from all over the world. We are an immense multitude that rejects war not only in word, but also in deed. Prayer calls us to leave behind whatever violence remains in our hearts and minds. Let us turn to a Kingdom of peace that is built up day by day — in our homes, schools, neighbourhoods, and civil and religious communities. A Kingdom that counters polemics and resignation through friendship and a culture of encounter. Let us believe once again in love, moderation and good politics. We must form ourselves and get personally involved, each following our own calling. Everyone has a place in the mosaic of peace! As Pope Francis taught us, “There is also a need for peacemakers, men and women prepared to work boldly and creatively to initiate processes of healing and renewed encounter”
Dear brothers and sisters, let us make a commitment to pray without ceasing and without growing weary, a commitment to a profound conversion of heart. Throughout the world, it is to be hoped that every community become a ‘house of peace,’ where one learns how to defuse hostility through dialogue, where justice is practiced and forgiveness is cherished
Brothers and Sisters of every language, people and nation: we are one family that weeps, hopes and rises again. “No more war, a journey with no return; no more war, a vicious cycle of grief and violence;” (Saint John Paul II,)
Dear friends, peace be with you all! It is the peace of the Risen Christ, the fruit of his sacrifice of love on the cross. For this reason, we raise our prayer to him:
Lord Jesus, you conquered death without weapons or violence: you shattered its power with the strength of peace. Grant us your peace, as you did to the women filled with doubt on Easter morning, as you did to the disciples who were hiding in fear. Send forth your Spirit, the breath that gives life and reconciles, that turns adversaries and enemies into brothers and sisters. Inspire in us to trust in Mary, your mother, who stood at the foot of your cross with a broken heart, firm in the faith that you would rise again. May the madness of war cease and the Earth be cared for and cultivated by those who still know how to bring forth, protect and love life. Hear us, Lord of life!
St Joseph could be called the man in the background. His importance at one level is that he provides a link with his ancestor David, thus giving Jesus the lineage back to the establishment of the Royal Kingdom of which Jesus is the heir. In the story of Jesus’s birth, we have to go to St. Matthew for the story of Joseph’s own Annunciation. (Matthew 1: verses 18 to 25) Having learned of Mary’s pregnancy, Joseph’s life was in a turmoil. The law was quite clear that Mary should be punished but Joseph was a compassionate man and he wanted to spare her and her family disgrace. It was then that an angel visited him in a dream and explained about the work of the Holy Spirit in Mary and about both their parts in the Incarnation. Joseph is central to the Christmas story and it is because of him that they must go the Bethlehem for a census. There he provides shelter for Mary to give birth to the Saviour of the World. We next hear about him when Herod seeks to kill Jesus and they take the long journey to Egypt. Later he is told by an angel to return home and the family settle in Nazareth. After this, the only reference to Joseph is in the incident where the boy Jesus remains in the Temple and his parents have to rush back to search for him. We are told that after this Jesus went back home with his parents to Nazareth where he was obedient to his parents. Then, Joseph fades completely from the story though there are references to him when the crowd say of Jesus, Isn’t this the Carpenter’s Son?
Reading the Bible there are many people who appear for some particular reason and then disappear from its pages. Joseph, however, stands not only as one who completes the picture of the Holy Family but who is also a reminder to all of us that God does not always need us to shine on the centre stage. God needs people who are faithfully living out a life of prayer and support with compassion, kindness and loving obedience. People who, like Joseph are attentive to God’s will. He needs people who are content to be in the background and who, by a life of quiet service, allow Jesus to take centre stage in all our lives. Too often the Church is preoccupied with itself and can get so bogged down in its own affairs that it fails to proclaim the Lord we are there to serve. Joseph never does that. He always points away from himself and shows us a vision of God in Christ Jesus. That is God’s call to Christians ~ to us.
Heavenly Father, whose Son grew in wisdom and stature in the home of Joseph the carpenter of Nazareth and on the wood of the cross perfected the work of the world’s salvation: help us to count the wisdom of the world as foolishness, and to walk with Joseph in simplicity and trust; through Jesus Christ our Lord.
Cygnets watched over by parent swans. Hatfield Forest, Essex. Photo by Mr G
A Reflection about Mothering Sunday by Piers Northam.
There is a Neopolitan saying about cockroaches Ogni scarrafone è bell’ a mamma soja– which translates as ‘every little cockroach is beautiful to its own mother…’ It feels relevant, because the cockroach’s mother looks on her offspring with a eyes filled with love – and that set me thinking about how we are each looked on by God.
As we journey through Lent, I think it’s an important thing to ponder on for ourselves: how does God see us? I mean really see us? I suspect that answers to this question will vary, but they might include the fact that he loves us; that he might also be a bit disappointed in what he sees us getting up to; that he’s forgiving and always willing us to turn back to him; that he’s also forward-looking and sees the potential in us: sees the best that we can be; and that he sees the beauty that we might think is either not there or well-hidden under our crusty, cockroachy exteriors – and so he gazes on us with love and affection – with the gaze of a loving parent.
On Mothering Sunday, that notion of the relationship between parent and child – by which I mean the very best version of that relationship – might have a lot to teach us: it’s bound up in notions of nurturing and feeding us; protecting us; teaching and equipping us for life; perhaps a bit of necessary discipline from time to time, but above all that sense of wanting the best for us; loving us: and that unspoken bond and shared identity… The Bible Readings for Mothering Sunday, from Exodus and from St John’s Gospel, have some other interesting things to say about parenthood:
First there’s the story of Moses’ mother. It’s perhaps useful to remind ourselves of the background to this story: the Hebrews were enslaved to the Egyptians, but they had grown hugely in number and the Pharaoh feared being overrun by them so, in order to keep down the population, he commanded that all Hebrew male children be thrown into the Nile and killed – they were living in dark times. When Moses was born and his mother could no longer hide him, she made a basket for him, sealed it with pitch to make it watertight and hid him amongst the reeds. Here is a mother who can no longer protect her child, so she entrusts him to God, leaving him somewhere she prays he will be safe. And then, of course, Pharaoh’s daughter comes along and finds him – she acts instinctively; taking pity on this defenceless baby. She is aware that he is probably Hebrew – an alien that her society looks down on – but what she sees is a fellow human being: a child in need of care and nurturing whom she goes on to bring up as her own. And then we see the two women working together to raise Moses: his biological mother hired as a wet-nurse to feed him and raise him for a period. Later, she hands him over to Pharaoh’s daughter because she realises that by doing so he will survive and thrive and be safe and well looked after. In her we see sacrifice and trust in God; putting her child’s needs before her own; nurturing him and wanting the best opportunities for him in life. And in Pharaoh’s daughter, we see compassion and generosity; she looks beyond the views of her society, to see a defenceless child and she responds to his need, bringing him up as her own. Both these women think of Moses first and both act in his best interests.
The other little thread here, that is picked up in the Gospel reading, is that motherhood for Pharaoh’s daughter goes beyond blood-ties. Moses is her child by adoption, yet he is treated as her own. And this is what we see at the Cross when Jesus entrusts Mary and John to each other. The beloved disciple takes Mary into his household and treats her as his own – as she does him. In entrusting them to each other, Jesus is asking them to form this interdependent, loving relationship.
It is these relationships that are at the very heart of our Christian faith. Jesus tells us that we are children of his Heavenly Father, who is also our Father – we’re reminded of it every time we pray that great prayer he taught us. And so, by extension, we are to be family to each other – with all that that might entail. As with Pharaoh’s daughter, we are to see beyond the blood-ties of our own families and beyond the borders of race and nationality and to regard each other as beloved brothers and sisters.
But on Mothering Sunday, I think we could push things a stage further. We’ve all heard of sibling rivalry and there’s never a guarantee that we’ll get on with our brothers and sisters. But if we focus on the way that the best parents look on their children, we might find a stronger imperative.
In the 16th century, long before it was subsumed into the Mothers’ Day peddled by the card companies, this Sunday in Lent was a day when churchgoers returned to their ‘Mother Church’ – often the local cathedral or big church, or perhaps the church where they were baptised. In later times, domestic staff who lived away from home, were given the day off to return to their families – and usually to their mothers – and this is where some of the customs that we keep today came from. But that notion of ‘Mother Church’ is an important one, for if we take it seriously, then it tells us something about how the church should be – not a church that fences us out with rules and regulations about who’s in and who’s out, but one that loves and nurtures us. One that, like Pharaoh’s daughter, simply recognises our common humanity – whether we’re Hebrew or Egyptian, black or white, rich or poor, gay or straight or any of the shades and variations in between. Because if we look beyond our cockroachy exteriors, we’re all simply children of God and the Church needs to recognise this and gaze upon us with abundant love – irrespective of who we are or what we look like.
Now I know that for some, the phrase ‘Mother Church’ will evoke notions of an Institution that knows best; perhaps even one that lays down the law and tells you what to think; or one that is too slow to show true love and acceptance to all. And that’s not what the best parenting is all about is it? What I would love to be able to say of the Church of England is that it isn’t entirely like that – and actually, at grass-roots level, I don’t think it is. For me, Anglicanism – in its best form – aims to brings us to maturity: helping us to learn that we are loved by our Father in Heaven so that we grow in confidence; teaching and equipping us; encouraging us to think for ourselves and to learn so that we can grow into adults – or at least mildly sensible teenagers – who have enough nous and confidence to go out into the world and treat our fellow men and women lovingly. That’s what the best parents do, don’t they? They bring up their children confident in the knowledge that they are loved and therefore able to be loving to others; equipped to be good and valuable members of society.
Now I referred to ‘Mother Church’ a moment ago as an Institution, but of course the really important thing is that the church isn’t an institution at all. It’s you and me – we are the Church. So it seems to me that our calling is not just to treat each other as brothers and sisters, with whom we might bicker around the dinner table, but actually to look at each other with the loving eyes of a parent – with all that that entails.
Of course that’s a lot more challenging isn’t it? We’ve got to be like the cockroach’s mother, seeing past the carapace to the lovely little cockroach inside. We’ve got to want the very best for each other – and not just the ones who are like us – Jesus, with his words to John and Mary, blew the whole thing wider from up there on the cross. We need to be like this to the whole of humanity.
I was chatting with a friend in the week who I haven’t seen for quite a while and we were talking about the rather depressing state of the world right now and she said, ‘wouldn’t it all be so much better if we could simply treat each other with kindness?’ I think she’s absolutely right – and I think St Paul would agree:
‘clothe yourselves with compassion, kindness, humility, meekness, and patience. Bear with one another […] forgive each other. And above all, clothe yourselves with love.’[1]
The other day I was telling someone, who didn’t know it, that wonderful story of the Prodigal Son – it’s one of my all-time favourites: I never cease to be moved by that moment when the father, who’s been sitting all day at the front step gazing down the road, sees his son returning home. What does he do? He hitches up his skirts and goes running, full pelt down the road to meet him and sweep him up in a loving embrace. That bursting-at-the-seams joy at seeing his lost child come home, gets me every time. And that needs to be us.
We need to be out on the front step, looking down the road to see which one of our children might be coming home; we need to be rooting around in the bulrushes looking for those whom we can protect and clothe and give a home to; we need to be feeding and nurturing those who are with us and – in the manner of all good parents, giving them the confidence that they are loved and valued; we need to be inviting and gathering those around us to the table to break bread with our brother, Jesus.
Mr G's Ponderings 