Project Spire

Nothing to do with me, of course. Project Spire, that is. It's not as if Baptists are being asked to chip in to a £100 million fund to provide redress for the evils of slavery. The Church of England is going to do that all by itself. Aw, bless.

Although I'm not exactly sure why they are bothering. True, some Church of England clergy profited from the slave trade. On the other hand, Evangelical Anglicans were at the forefront of the campaign to abolish slavery. Including the preacher and former slave-ship captain John Newton and the politician William Wilberforce.

Plus, there are a number of problems with this conscience-salving project. As historians point out, Africans weren't simply victims of the abominable slave trade. Some were willing participants. They rounded up men, women and children from different tribes and sold them to European slave traders. Will the descendants of African participants in the slave trade be having a whip-round for the benefit of the descendants of those who were transported to the sugar plantations? We'll see.

After all, where does it end when it comes to reparations? If you are all in favour of Project Spire, I'll have you know that I am Welsh. The Anglo-Saxons drove my Celtic ancestors out of nice places such as Bath and forced us to relocate to the likes of Blaenau Ffestiniog. I mean, have you ever been there? It's so grey and desolate, it's like you've taken a wrong turn off the A470 and ended up on the Moon. Visit, and you'll be sure to agree that if ever reparations were in order, the Welsh should have their cut. I accept cash, cheques or BACS payments.

More importantly—and this may still count for something—there is scant support for the idea that one generation must atone for the faults of another in the Bible. Take a look at Ezekiel 18, which explicitly states that we are responsible for our own actions, not for those who have gone before us. We had best avoid repeating the sins of our forefathers, but we can't be expected to repent of them. 

The £100 million committed to Project Spire is a tidy sum. But atonement for sin can't be bought with money: "you were ransomed... not with perishable things such as silver or gold, but with the precious blood of Christ" (1 Peter 1:18–19).

Here's an idea. Why not use the £100 million to fund Christian mission at home and abroad? Where Anglican congregations are growing, they tend to be of an Evangelical stamp. Invest the dosh in those kinds of fellowships. I'm sure they'll know what to do with it. Like training an up-and-coming generation of preachers, planting new churches in places where they are needed, or revitalising churches that are in danger of fizzling out. Not to mention investing in the spread of the good news of Jesus overseas. Money on its own can do none of those things, but none of them can be done without financial support.

But, as I say, nothing to do with me. Forget I even mentioned it.

* For local parish magazines 

The Sirens' Song

I didn't like school. Most lessons held little interest for me. My attitude was: why should I waste time tuning in to double maths when I could be daydreaming?

Suffice to say, school didn't much like me either, and I left with a string of low-grade qualifications. My only decentish result was a grade 'C' O-Level in Classical Studies.

That was my favourite subject. The teacher, Mr Hamlet, was brilliant. He made the tales of ancient Greece and Rome seem vibrantly alive. I found Homer's Iliad and Odyssey so captivating that I may actually have done some revision for the Classical Studies exam. CSE Physics, not so much.

With all that in mind, I eagerly booked tickets for Christopher Nolan's film version of The Odyssey, in all its stunning IMAX glory.

One episode in Odysseus's epic journey home especially struck me. The sirens bit. You know, those beautiful creatures who sang a song so alluring that passing sailors were drawn to shore, where their ships were promptly dashed on the rocks.

Odysseus desperately wanted to hear the sirens' song, but he didn't especially want to be shipwrecked. The solution? He had his crew stop their ears with wax and had himself lashed to the ship's mast. That way, he could hear the song but wasn't able to grab the tiller and send his ship careering towards the rocks. Clever, eh?

It worked. When they were safely out of earshot, Odysseus was set free, and the crew removed the wax from their lugholes. In the film version, our hero explains to his curious shipmates what the Sirens' song was all about:

"It was all the things you wanted it to be… then, all the things you wished you'd never wished for.... It told you what you most want is what you most can't have. And what you most can't have is what you already had and lost. It was the song of all the promises I failed to keep. And it told me I don't really want to go home."

You won't find a song like that on Spotify. It speaks of the restless longing of the human heart.

In the end, the pull of home won out for Odysseus. He risked all to get to his island kingdom of Ithaca and his beloved Penelope, who awaited him there.

On the Sunday after watching The Odyssey, we sang a song in church that was, to my mind, more wonderful than that of Homer's sirens:

There is a hope that lifts my weary head,

A consolation strong against despair,

That when the world has plunged me in its deepest pit,

I find the Saviour there!

Through present sufferings, future’s fear,

He whispers ‘courage’ in my ear.

For I am safe in everlasting arms,

And they will lead me home.

— Stuart Townend

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Andrew Davies, A Personal Tribute

Andrew Davies 

I was sad to hear of the recent death of Andrew Davies. I first encountered him when I was a student at the London Theological Seminary, where I trained for the ministry from 1988–90. Andrew was the church history lecturer during the first year of the course. The church history syllabus was spread over two years, and both year groups studied together. Which meant that for our intake, the first year of the church history course began in the seventeenth century and concluded in the twentieth. We covered the period from the Early Church until the Reformation in the second year.

Andrew Davies was a member of the original faculty when the seminary was founded in 1977. We got to hear him lecturing on the Puritan era and the early years of the eighteenth century. But Andrew stood down as church history lecturer during my first year and was soon replaced by Robert Oliver of Bradford on Avon.

The first time I heard Andrew speak was when he preached to the student body. I had never experienced anything like it in my life. He had an incredible speaking voice, so rich and deep. But beyond that, Andrew was given to speak with great passion and heaven-sent authority. His text on this occasion was 2 Peter 1:13, on how preachers were to stir up their hearers by reminding them of essential gospel truths. He related the words of a medical doctor he knew: “The trouble with you Christians is that you don’t believe what you believe.” In other words, we are not gripped by the truths we profess.

Andrew’s church history lectures would sometimes morph into preaching, especially one on “Word and Spirit in Puritanism”. He concluded the talk by echoing the words of Thomas Goodwin, urging us to “sue the Lord” for the witness of the Spirit in full assurance of salvation. His lecture on the Moravian Revival was deeply moving, as Andrew told of how Moravian believers sold themselves into slavery in order to evangelise enslaved people.

Although a powerful preacher and lecturer, Andrew was a gracious and humble brother in his personal dealings with people. But he didn’t suffer fools gladly. In one lecture, some students were messing around rather than paying attention. He soundly rebuked them, saying that preachers of the gospel “are not funny men trying to be serious, but serious men who know when to laugh.”

Andrew preached at my Induction Service at Providence Baptist Church in November 2003. His text was Colossians 1:28, “Him [Christ] we preach”. I will never forget the emphasis he put on Him with his deep and powerful voice reverberating around the Chapel. I have certainly endeavoured to do as I was bidden.

Our paths crossed at various conferences where Andrew was among the speakers, and also when he became pastor of Kensit Evangelical Church, where my wife’s family were in membership. He  presided at the funeral of my father-in-law, Peter Hughes.

Whenever we chatted, Andrew was always warm and friendly, never failing to ask after my family and the church I pastor. He was a man of God, a true pastor and teacher who modelled Spirit-empowered, Christ-centred preaching. 

I think the last time I heard him speak was during the Covid-19 pandemic. We kept our local Ministers’ Fraternal going by meeting online. In 2020, Andrew gave a talk on Zoom to commemorate the voyage of the Pilgrim Fathers to the New World aboard the Mayflower in 1620. Very good it was, too.

My thoughts and prayers are with Andrew’s widow, Pam, and the family at this time.

Grace and peace.

Hebrews 13:7–8

To begin at the beginning

So begins Under Milk Wood, by Dylan Thomas. But beginning at the beginning isn't original to Thomas. Whether consciously or not, the playwright and poet seemed to be echoing the opening sentence of the first book in the Bible, 'In the beginning God created the heavens and the earth.' (Genesis 1:1). Interesting, that.

For until the middle of the 20th century, the scientific consensus was that there was no beginning. The universe, it was held, has always existed because matter is eternal. Not much need for a Creator, then. That consensus was shattered when scientists teased out the logical implications of Einstein's Theory of Relativity. Real world evidence that the universe had a beginning came from the discovery of cosmic microwave background radiation, a lingering trace of the 'Big Bang'.

But as the old saying goes, 'nothing comes of nothing'. That presumably means the universe could not have created itself. Created itself from what, exactly? And so we're back to Genesis 1:1. Astrophysicist Robert Jastrow reflected his book, God and the Astronomers, "For a scientist who lives by faith in reason, discovering the universe's origin ends like a 'bad dream'. They have climbed the mountains of ignorance, but as they pull themselves over the final rock, they find a band of theologians and philosophers who have been sitting there for centuries."

That's the thing. Begin at the beginning, and you are confronted by an all-powerful, wise, and good Creator who exists outside of time and space. In other words, God. But how could we know such a transcendent being? Well, we could if he was pleased to reveal himself to us. Which is where Jesus comes in.

John opens his Gospel with these words, 'In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God. Through him, all things were made.' (John 1:1-2). Then John says, ‘And the Word became flesh and dwelt among us’ (John 1:14). He through whom the word was made entered his creation as man to bring us back to God by his sin-atoning death and mighty resurrection. The Bible begins at the beginning and concludes with Jesus, 'the Beginning and the End'.

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A ripe old age

 

It was bad enough when a woman of a certain age complimented me for looking 'dapper'. I thought only snappily dressed elderly gents were called that. Now people I haven't seen for a while ask me if I have already retired, or when I'm going to. For the record, I'm still the right side of 60 (just), and don't intend to stop working anytime soon. Nonetheless, I seem to have crossed an invisible line and suddenly become an older man. At least in the eyes of others.

This was exacerbated the other week when my boy racerish Vauxhall Corsa developed a fault, and the repair garage gave me an ‘vintage’ Honda Jazz as a courtesy car. Twice on a short journey, I was cut up at roundabouts. Other drivers obviously thought it would take an age for me to get anywhere near them, so they chanced it. The cheek.

Nothing against older people, of course. I just didn’t expect to become one quite so soon. But the prospect of ageing doesn't mean it's all downhill from now on. Yes, a certain amount of physical and even mental deterioration can be expected with the advancing years, but old age can still be a time of spiritual growth and ripening fruitfulness.

I have known believers who became frail and housebound in old age, yet even with the advancing years they were full of faith, hope, and love. Spending time with them put me in mind of words found in one of the psalms, 

 The righteous will still bear fruit in old age,                                                                                                  they will stay fresh and green,                                                                                                                        proclaiming, ‘The Lord is upright;                                                                                                                    he is my Rock, and there is no wickedness in him.’                                                                                     (Psalm 92:14-15)

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The shame of it

‘What will the neighbours say?’ worries Mrs Waldo in Under Milk Wood by Dylan Thomas. Her husband’s much gossiped about behaviour was tarnishing the family name. Thomas’s play for voices was the product of 1950s Britain when the fear of being shamed in the eyes of one’s local community helped to keep people in order. Although that didn’t quite work in the case of Mr Waldo.

 

The idea of being shamed by what anyone else may think of us seems a little quaint now. Self-expression trumps the censure of society. Who cares what the neighbours say? But perhaps good old-fashioned shame has nothing to be ashamed of. Even in our shameless times. Think of the habitual shoplifters who fear neither the opprobrium of society nor the sanctions of the law. The Old Testament prophet Jeremiah bemoaned the spiritually broken times in which he lived,  “they were not at all ashamed; they did not know how to blush”.

 

But it is sometimes recognised that shame may still serve a useful purpose. In a recent article in The Times the columnist James Marriott reflected on how we may cure people of their addiction to smartphones. He argued that the key thing is not so much the government clamping down on big tech, as socially stigmatising mindless scrolling, or using screens as a way of keeping the kids quiet. Oh, the shame of appearing to be a phone-addicted zombie.

 

Shame is the healthy, although uncomfortable feeling that arises when we are found out doing something wrong, or at least something that is frowned upon by society. It is a sign that our consciences are in good working order. Daniel (of the lion’s den fame) in the Bible confessed the failings of his fellow Jews who were exiled to Babylon in these terms, “To us, O Lord, belongs open shame…. because we have sinned against you.”

 

How can we hope to cover our shame and blot out the wrongdoing that caused it? Jesus came to deal with the guilt of our sin by dying on the cross for us. He faced the shame of public crucifixion as his enemies jeered at him, “If you are the Son of God, come down from the cross.” But it was precisely because he was the Son of God that he endured the cross, despising the shame. That is what it cost him to save us. By faith in Jesus we can know the forgiveness of our sins. Plus, the Scriptures assure us, “Everyone who believes in him will not be put to shame.” 

*For local parish magazines 

An idle tale

That's how early followers of Jesus reacted to emerging reports that he had risen from the dead. 

I mean, once you're dead, you're dead, right? Even Jesus couldn't defy that iron law. The story was easy to dismiss because it seemed so unlikely, but also because those who told it weren't regarded as reliable witnesses. Women, their testimony counted for nothing in those days.

But the last thing Jesus' female followers expected was to find him alive from the dead. Early on the first Easter Sunday morning Mary Magdalene, Mary the mother of James and Salome made their way to his tomb laden with spices to complete the process of laying Jesus' body to rest. They wondered how they were going to move the large stone that covered entrance to Jesus' tomb so they could go about their work. But they needn't have worried, for when they arrived at the tomb, they found that the stone had already been rolled way. They entered the tomb, but mystifyingly, the body of Jesus was nowhere to be found. 

Two men wearing clothes that gleamed like lightning explained all, “He is not here; he has risen!”. As the women went to tell the other disciples what they had seen, they encountered the risen Jesus for themselves. When the women excitedly told the others what they had seen and heard the response wasn’t one of ready faith. Hardly. As Luke says in his Gospel account, ’these words seemed to them an idle tale, and they did not believe them.’ 

Jesus appeared as a bodily presence to his other followers later that day. It was only then that they were convinced he had indeed been raised from the dead. What the women said was true. 

Jesus’ resurrection was the most momentous event in history. It means his death atoned for our sins. It means the power of death has been conquered that we may have the hope of eternal life by faith in him. It authenticates Jesus’ claim that he was the Son of God. 

Jesus is risen! Maybe not such an idle tale after all.

* For various local parish magazines 

The line separating good and evil

Alexander Solzhenitsyn

In July 2024 on BBC Question Time political commentator Andew Marr hailed the election of the new Labour government led by Sir Keir Stamer with these words, "For the first time in many of our lives, actually Britain looks like a little haven of peace and stability". With near constant speculation in the media over how much longer Starmer will occupy 10 Downing Street, Marr’s quote hasn’t aged well.

On being elected the Prime Minister pledged to clean up public life. Then In February 2025 he proceeded to appoint Peter Mandelson as UK Ambassador to the United States of America. Starmer was forced to sack him from that role some seven months later, once Mandelson's links to convicted sex offender Jeffrey Epstine were revealed. The scandal blew up again earlier this year when the publication of the Epstein files laid bare the full extent of the former ambassador’s relationship with the disgraced financier. Mandelson has since been questioned by the police, although he denies any criminal wrongdoing. Starmer is now under pressure again, as the process by which Mandelson was vetted for his ambassador role has come under intense scrutiny. 

My point isn’t a party political one. Politicians of all stripes have been involved scandals over the years. So have high up business people, figures from the church and members of the royal family. As the Soviet dissident Alexander Solzhenitsyn reflected,  “The line separating good and evil passes not through states, nor between classes, nor between political parties either—but right through every human heart". 

Believing that your political cause is more virtuous than the other lot is no bulwark against moral compromise. It only serves to make the hypocrisy worse when self-regarding politicians are caught out doing themselves what they decried in their opponents. As Tim Shipman, political editor at the Spectator points out, "Sanctimony in politics usually comes back to bite the sanctimonious. When those concerned hold themselves in as high esteem as Starmer does, the fall is even further. Believing you are good does not insulate you from behaving badly." (The Spectator's Evening Blend email, 17 April 2026)

Recent events are a stark reminder of our fallen humanity. No matter how high we may rise, there is something within us that brings us back to earth with a bump. The Bible calls that something ‘sin’. Our political leaders have no answer to this problem, for they like us are part of the problem. But God has an answer, and his answer is Jesus. The Son of God came into the world to save us by dying on the cross for our sins. By faith in him we may be forgiven and be put right with God. That's good news not only for public figures engulfed by scandal, but you and me. 

* For various local parish magazines 

A Christian Country?

Some local councils (not ours, thankfully) have changed their Christmas Festivals into Winter Festivals. On seeing that people often roll their eyes and mutter, ‘Isn’t Britain meant to be a Christian country?’ It depends on what you mean by that.

Has the Christian faith had a massive effect on our country’s history and culture? Yes. Does Christianity have an official role in the political constitution of our land? Again, yes. The King is also supreme governor of the Church of England. Anglican Bishops have seats in the House of Lords. The Monarch is crowned by the Archbishop of Canterbury. 

Does that mean that each individual citizen of the United Kingdom is therefore a follower of Jesus? Clearly not. According to the latest census, people identifying as Christian are now in a minority. We live in a society where people of many faiths and no religious faith manage to rub along together. A good thing too. 

As a Baptist I believe in the separation of Church and State. I don’t think that the monarch should be supreme governor of a branch of the church or that Anglican bishops should be appointed to the House of Lords ex officio. Yes, Christians may be involved in politics at a local or national level. It’s also right for individual believers to exercise influence on society, but of course people of other faiths or none are free to do the same. 

We can’t link Christianity and national citizenship because the church is composed of people ‘every nation, and tribe and tongue’. A Christian is a person who believes that Jesus Christ is the Son of God who died for our sins and rose again from the dead. A Christian acknowledges that Jesus is Lord of their lives. A church is a local gathering of believers who seek to bear witness to Jesus and serve him in their daily lives. No one can think themselves a Christian because of where they were born. What counts is whether they have been born again. 

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Christmas and a grace too powerful to name

Wikimedia Commons

The musical Hamilton has been a big hit, with acclaimed performances on Broadway and London’s West End. The Hamilton in question is Alexander Hamilton (circa 1755-1804). The American politician was involved in the Revolutionary War against the British and became the first US secretary to the treasury under George Washington. Hamilton helped to frame the constitution of the newly established republic. The life of Founding Father seems like an unlikely subject for an all singing, all dancing musical, but it works.

My wife and I recently saw the film version of a Broadway performance of the musical, released to mark the show’s tenth anniversary. We went in part to see what all the fuss was about and enjoyed it. Act II certainly packs an emotional punch. Without giving away too many spoilers, Hamilton becomes estranged from his wife, Eliza. A terrible tragedy then strikes their family, following which they are reconciled. The drama of the moment is carried forward by the song It’s Quiet Uptown.

In the song, a grieving Hamilton acknowledges that he is undeserving of his wife’s love. Surveying the scene, Eliza’s sister Angelica reflects, ‘there is a grace too powerful to name’. As the couple hold hands as a gesture of reconciliation the chorus sings, ‘forgiveness, can you imagine?’ Watching this unfold, I’m thinking, ‘Preach it. Amen to that!’

Better still, what happened at the first Christmas revealed that grace indeed has a name. In the New Testament Paul writes of God’s grace ‘which has now been manifested through the appearing of our Saviour, Christ Jesus.’

Grace is God’s love for underserving sinners, lavished upon us in Jesus. The Son of God came to die in our place that we may be reconciled to God and have our sins forgiven. Forgiveness, can you imagine? You can do more than imagine by receiving God’s gift of forgiveness by faith in Jesus. That’s the power of grace.

Providence Baptist Church Carol Service, Sunday 21 December, 10.30am - All welcome! 

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