Dear friends,
Once again, we find ourselves in the midst of Lent, despite the fact Christmas still feels like yesterday. Yet here we are, our thoughts turning to reflection, quietness, and the slow unfurling of hope. And, as I write this, I notice that the snowdrops have appeared—delicate, determined, as if they just couldn’t wait to remind us that winter never has the final word.
I think there is something beautifully reassuring about snowdrops. Long before the daffodils spill out their sunshine-yellow joy, before the hedgerows thicken, before the clocks spring forward, these tiny white lanterns push through the cold hard ground and whisper a gentle truth: new life is already on its way. Even when the air is sharp and the skies undecided, snowdrops bloom anyway. What better companions for Lent could we ask for?
Lent itself is often described as a season of stripping back, of travelling light, of letting go of what we no longer need. The snowdrop embodies this simplicity. No fuss, or flourish, just a slender green stem holding a fragile white. It doesn’t seem to demand attention, yet it draws the eye. It doesn’t seem to shout for recognition, yet it brings a smile. It reminds us that beauty often begins quietly.
Some people call snowdrops “Candlemas bells,” because they typically bloom around the time we celebrate Christ as the Light of the World. Others call them “February fairmaids.” Whatever name you prefer, they have a habit of appearing right when our spirits need lifting. Perhaps we might find ourselves pausing on a morning walks to admire them. I always think their gentle glow give me a feeling of hope.
Snowdrops can offer us a kind of spiritual invitation. They ask us to notice the small things, the subtle gifts, the understated graces that God scatters throughout our days. We often look for God in loud miracles or dramatic moments, but Lent teaches us that holiness is just as present in the quiet corners of our lives. A cup of tea shared. A kind word. A moment of stillness. The snowdrop-sized mercies that keep us going.
As we journey through these forty days, I invite you to take the snowdrop as your seasonal teacher. Here are just a few of its lessons:
Perseverance doesn’t need to be loud.
Snowdrops push through cold ground and frost without complaint. They remind us that strength can be gentle, resilient, and quietly faithful. Lent invites us to grow in this same steady way—not through dramatic resolutions, but through daily, simple acts of trust.
Light finds a way.
Even on grey days, snowdrops seem to glow from within. They reflect the truth that Christ’s light has a habit of reaching into even the chilliest corners of our lives. In Lent, we make space for that light, letting it warm us slowly but surely.
New beginnings often start small.
A blanket of snowdrops begins with a single bud. Likewise, renewal in our lives rarely arrives all at once. It begins with small choices: a prayer, a moment of honesty, a gentle turning back toward God. Lent encourages us to start with what we can manage, trusting that growth will follow.
Vulnerability is not weakness.
A snowdrop’s petals look fragile, yet they withstand winter winds. Their strength lies not in armour, but in design. Lent invites us to bring our authentic selves before God—fears, doubts, hopes and all—trusting that we are held securely in divine love.
Snowdrops also remind us to lift our heads. Although, their blossoms hang downwards, if you have ever lifted a single bloom you know the beauty hidden within. Lent calls us to do the same: to gently lift our gaze, to look for signs of grace, to notice where God is already at work in and around us. Sometimes we need only tilt our perspective a little to see what has been shining beneath the surface all along.
As the weeks of Lent unfold, more signs of spring will join the snowdrops—daffodils, blackbirds, lighter evenings, the first hints of warmth. But there is something particularly special about these early white flowers. They bloom before conditions are right, before the world looks ready, and before most other things dare to grow. They bloom on trust.
May this Lent bring you snowdrop moments—tiny bursts of courage, pockets of unexpected peace, and the quiet assurance that God is gently bringing new life to every part of your journey. May you feel held, guided, and encouraged as you walk through this beautiful season of hope.
Go well
Karen

Dear friends,
It’s been a funny old Christmas this year for me. One bogged down with sickness and weariness. And then suddenly I find myself on the cusp of the New year and preparing to visit a friend in Sri Lanka, to celebrate his induction as principal of the Theological College of Lanka. And as we step across the threshold of another year, I also find myself, strangely, thinking about doorways. Doorways are such ordinary things, hinges, frames, handles, but they remind us that life is full of crossings. We move from what has been into what will be, often carrying a jumble of all kinds of emotions. Hope and uncertainty. Gratitude and weariness. Longing and determination. A bit of everything, really.
Many of us arrive at January with mixed feelings. Some of us are glad to see the back of a difficult year. Some of us hold precious memories from the last twelve months that we’re not quite ready to let go of. And some of us are somewhere in the middle, walking slowly, holding both joy and heartache at the same time. The good news of the Gospel, is that God, thankfully, receives us just as we are. We don’t need a New Year’s resolution or a perfect faith to cross over into the new year. What we need most is honesty. And God meets honest hearts with gentle grace.
At the start of the year, we can often feel pressure to “begin again” with energy and enthusiasm. In church tradition, however, beginning again is not a matter of willpower but a matter of grace. John Wesley knew this when he invited early Methodist societies to renew their covenant with God. He understood that faith is less about promising God what we will do for God, and more about remembering what God has promised to do for us. The Covenant Service reminds us that our lives are held in hands far more faithful than our own: “I am no longer my own but yours.” We recommit, not because we are strong, but because God is steady, reliable and totally trustworthy.
As a church family, we step into the new year shaped by our shared story, our prayers, our losses, our worship, our laughter in the school room after services, the quiet ministries that few ever see, and the ordinary kindnesses that build the Kingdom one small act at a time. Our story is still being written. And as we move forward, we do so with the assurance that Christ is the Light who walks ahead of us, behind us, and beside us.
New Year is also a moment to reflect on the kind of community we want to be. In a world that often feels fractured, hurried, and anxious, perhaps our calling is to continue to be a place of listening. A place where people are not rushed or labelled but given room to breathe. A place where stories are honoured and where questions are welcomed. A place where people of all ages are encouraged and cherished, and where the lonely are noticed. A place where we forgive each other easily, because we know how much we ourselves depend on mercy.
This year, may we continue to be a community who practices small, faithful acts of love. May we continue to check in on those who are struggling. May that cup of tea we offer become a moment of presence. May we practice patience in conversations where we disagree. May we continue to pray for one another not only when crisis strikes but as part of the rhythm of our everyday faith. These things may seem small, but they echo the heart of Christ, who spoke of mustard seeds and tiny lamps that can still light a whole room.
The world around us remains uncertain. Many things we hoped would be resolved are still unresolved. Yet Scripture reminds us that hope is not optimism, it’s pure trust. Trust that God is moving even in hidden places. Trust that nothing is wasted in God’s hands. Trust that resurrection is still God’s language. As we step into the months ahead, may we keep our eyes open for signs of that hope: a child’s laughter, a stranger’s kindness, a shared prayer, a quiet moment of peace when we least expect it. These are small sacraments of God’s presence.
So, as we enter this new year, may we do so not with fear but with faith. Not with pressure but with promise. Not alone, but together. May we hold one another gently, encourage one another boldly, and remind one another often that the Light shines in the darkness, and the darkness has not (and never will) overcome it.
I look forward to seeing you all when I return from Sri Lanka with, hopefully, many stories of faith to share. But in the meantime, may the peace of Christ guide our steps, steady our breathing, and fill our hearts with courage for the year to come.
God of beginnings and endings,
God of thresholds and turning days,
we bring you this new year--
its open hands, its closed fists,
its promises, its fears.
Bless us in the crossing.
Where we are hopeful, steady us.
Where we are hurting, hold us.
Where we are lost, find us again.
Teach us to be people of small mercies:
slow to judge, quick to forgive,
gentle with one another,
gentle with ourselves.
Open our eyes to the light that has not left us.
Open our ears to the stories that need hearing.
Open our hearts to the quiet work of your grace
moving beneath everything.
And when the road is long,
walk it with us--
ahead of us, behind us, beside us--
until we recognise your companionship
in our ordinary days.
In this new year,
make us brave in hope,
honest in prayer,
and faithful in love.
Amen.
 
Go well
Karen
 

Autumn is my favourite time of year. The fields are gathered in, the hedgerows are bursting with berries, and churches are decorated with apples, squashes, wheatsheaves, and jars of homemade jam. In the rhythm of the year, Harvest is one of the most beloved festivals: a moment of thanksgiving, community, and generosity. It is also a chance to pause and remember the story we are part of, and the song we are called to sing as God’s people.
This year in the Methodist Church, we are guided by the theme “Our Story, Our Song.” It is a call to look back at the story of faith that has shaped us, to give thanks for the story God is still writing among us today, and to find our voice in the song of praise, justice, and hope that carries us forward. Harvest could not be a better moment to reflect on this theme.
Every ear of wheat, every apple tree, every jar of chutney tells a story. Food does not appear by magic; it’s the result of sowing and growing, of rain and sunshine, of patient tending, of hands that harvest and carry and bake and share.
Behind every meal lies the story of the land, the farmers, the transporters, the shopkeepers, the cooks. Some of those stories are full of joy: the satisfaction of a good crop, the pride of a baker pulling golden loaves from the oven, the delight of a child biting into a fresh pear. But other stories are harder: drought and flood, unfair wages, hunger and poverty, the loneliness of eating alone.
When we bring our gifts to Harvest festivals, we are gathering up all these stories. We are saying: God, you are the giver of every good thing. We thank you for the abundance of creation. And we remember those whose stories are marked by struggle or scarcity.
The Bible is full of harvest stories. From the manna in the wilderness, to Ruth gleaning in the fields, to Jesus’ parables of sowers, vineyards, and mustard seeds, God’s people have always recognised the deep link between food and faith. These stories remind us that harvest is never just about personal gain: it is about sharing, about care for the stranger, about recognising God’s faithfulness in every season.
If harvest is about story, it is also about song. We sing our gratitude in hymns old and new: “Come, ye thankful people, come” or “For the fruits of all creation.” Music gives us words when our own feel too small; it lifts our hearts and unites our voices.
Singing together at harvest reminds us that faith is not just an individual matter—it is communal. When we sing, we breathe together, we listen to each other, we carry the melody for those who can’t quite reach the notes. In song, we practise what it means to be the Body of Christ: many voices, one harmony.
As Methodists we are a people born in song. Charles Wesley’s hymns carried the gospel across the world; choirs and bands have lifted spirits and brought hope; and even today, in chapels large and small, we find courage and joy as we raise our voices together.
At harvest, our song is one of thanksgiving. But it is also a song of challenge. Our songs call us to action. To share our abundance, to work for justice in the food system, to care for the earth.
The Methodist presidential theme this year invites us to reflect on how our own life stories, and our own voices, fit into God’s great song.
At harvest, we are reminded that our story is connected to the land. Whether we grew up in the countryside or the city, whether we are skilled gardeners or find it hard to keep a houseplant alive, all of us depend daily on God’s creation. This story ties us back to Genesis: humanity formed from the dust of the earth, called to tend and keep the garden.
We are also reminded that our story is bound up with others. When we bring our offering for harvest, or, share a meal at the Harvest Supper, we are weaving our own small story into the larger story of compassion. Our Methodist story has always been one of connection: circuits, societies, fellowships. None of us lives the faith alone.
And finally, we remember that our story is part of God’s song. Each act of generosity, each prayer whispered, each hymn sung, is a note in the music of God’s kingdom. Sometimes we may feel our note is small or faltering. But together, it joins the great harmony of saints and angels, the “song of heaven” that never ceases.
Harvest thanksgiving is not only a time to celebrate—it is also a time to ask hard questions.
How do we treat the earth? Climate change is making harvests less predictable, both here and around the world. Drought, flood, and extreme heat threaten the food security of millions. Our story of faith calls us to care for creation, to live more simply, and to press for justice.
In Britain today, more families than ever depend on foodbanks and food pantries.  Around the world, conflicts and inequality mean that children still go to bed without enough to eat. What part can we play in changing that story?
Harvest is a time to review how we give and share. Do we offer our best, or just our spare? Do we treat generosity as a seasonal duty, or a way of life?
These questions may be uncomfortable, but they are also an invitation. For the story of God is always a story of hope, and the song of God is always one of renewal.
As we bring this newsletter to a close, may these words be our prayer:

God of harvest,  You are the giver of seed and sun, of rain and earth, of hands that work and hearts that share.
We thank you for the story of your love, written in creation and in our lives.
We thank you for the song of your kingdom, sung by prophets and disciples, echoed in our hymns and in our deeds.
Bless us this Harvest season.
Make us grateful people, make us generous people, make us singing people.
And as we go out into the world, may our story and our song join with yours,
until all creation is gathered in and your kingdom comes.
Amen.
 
Go well
Karen

Dear Friends
Summer is upon us. I hope there is some time for rest and relaxation for you. Summer is a time to re-charge and re-energise. A time for journeys, followed by stories of those journeys, whether far or near. Life around the church is often quieter during the summer, giving an opportunity to pause and reflect on holy living.
The Methodist movement holds holy living at its heart. In the eighteenth century, two Anglican priests and brothers, John and Charles Wesley, came together with like-minded friends in Oxford to meet regularly for prayer, Bible study and Holy Communion, and to visit prisons and workhouses. They earned themselves the nick name ‘Methodist’s’ because of the very methodical way they approached prayer and bible study. This group was also called the Holy Club.
This longing for holiness was not about wanting to be 'holier than thou'. It was more about wanting the love of God to infuse all of life, and for that love to be shown through their lives to other people.
The third person of the Trinity, The Holy Spirit, comes to us as gift from God. When we respond to that gift, there is no limit to what the grace of God is able to do in a human life. John Wesley taught about 'Christian perfection.' He believed that a mature Christian can reach a state where the love of God reigns supreme in our heart. Of course we can't be perfect in an absolute way, as God is. But we can be made perfect in love.
John Wesley was keen to point out, we do not become holy all on our own. He coined the phrase: 'social holiness'. What he meant by this is: we cannot be lone Christians. It is vital to meet, study and worship with other Christians in order to grow in the Christian life and to understand what is God's will for us and for our community. All that said, holiness is not just about personal spirituality and prayer. It is also expressed through a commitment to social justice (working for fair distribution of wealth, opportunities and privileges within society) and to enabling others to find themselves within the family of God.  
So, this summer, may you find the time to reflect on what holy living might look like for you, so that God’s love may be more deeply known and grown in you and through you others.
Go well
Karen
​

Dear Friends
 
On June 8th we celebrate Pentecost, the day when the Holy Spirit came like a rushing wind and set the early followers of Jesus on fire—not with destruction, but with love, courage, and peace. That moment changed everything. It turned a small, frightened group of disciples into bold messengers who shared Jesus’ message with the whole world.
 
But Pentecost isn’t just something that happened long ago. It still matters today—especially in a world filled with war, hatred, and injustice. When we look at the news, when we hear stories of people suffering, or when we experience conflict in our own lives, we might wonder: Can anything really bring peace? The message of Pentecost answers with a bold yes.
 
Pentecost is a message for all People. One of the most powerful parts of the Pentecost story is how people from many different countries and languages all heard the message of Jesus in their own language. God didn’t force everyone to speak the same way— God helped everyone understand each other. That’s what peace is really about. Peace isn’t about making everyone the same. It’s about learning to listen and care for one another, even when we’re different. The Holy Spirit brings that kind of peace—the kind that makes strangers into friends and enemies into family.
 
Real Peace Starts with the Spirit. It doesn’t just mean “no fighting.” Real peace, the kind the Bible calls shalom, means wholeness. It means justice, safety, health, and joy for everyone. It means people being treated fairly, children growing up with hope, and communities working together.
 
When the Holy Spirit came at Pentecost, it didn’t just give the disciples new languages. It gave them new hearts. Suddenly they were sharing everything they had, feeding the hungry, caring for widows and orphans, and loving people they used to ignore or avoid. That’s what the Spirit does—it changes us from the inside out.
 
So what about today? The world we live in has many of the same problems as the world the early Christians faced. There’s still poverty, war, racism, greed, and loneliness. People are still divided by politics, class, and fear.  But Pentecost reminds us that the Church, the people of God, was made for times like this. We’re not here to hide or escape the world’s problems. We’re here to face them with love, led by the Spirit. That means standing up for what’s right, helping those in need, forgiving others, and building bridges between people who don’t agree.
 
So what might it mean to be a “Pentecost Church” in today’s world? Maybe it means we try to be a place of peace—where everyone is welcome, where we listen more than we argue, and where we serve others instead of just thinking about ourselves. Maybe it means we speak up for people who are treated unfairly, even when it’s hard. Maybe it means we build friendships with people who are different from us—different races, cultures, incomes, or backgrounds. Maybe it means we care about people who are hurting, lonely, or forgotten. Maybe it means we pray not just for our own comfort, but for healing in our neighbourhoods, our country, and our world. And maybe we do all this not because we’re perfect or powerful, but because the Holy Spirit is with us—guiding us, comforting us, and giving us strength.
 
Real peace takes courage. It’s not always easy. Sometimes it’s easier to stay angry or silent. Sometimes it’s easier to avoid people who think differently from us. But the Spirit gives us courage—the same courage that helped Peter preach in front of a huge crowd. The same courage that helped the early Christians stand up to powerful leaders.
 
The peace Jesus brings is active. It means doing the hard work of forgiving, of listening, of standing up for justice, of simply just being kind in a very unkind world. That’s not weakness, that’s Spirit-powered strength. There’s a beautiful old idea that God’s name is as close as our breath. On Pentecost, the Spirit came like a mighty wind. Every time we take a breath; we’re reminded of that Spirit living inside us. When we’re angry, the Spirit helps us breathe and calm down. When we’re afraid, the Spirit gives us peace and confidence. When we’re unsure what to say, the Spirit gives us the right words. When the world seems hopeless, the Spirit reminds us of God’s promise to make all things new.
 
Pentecost isn’t just a holiday. It’s a way of life. Every time we choose peace over fighting, kindness over hate, hope over fear—we’re living out the message of Pentecost. We’re letting the Spirit shine through us. So let’s keep asking: What does the Spirit want to do through me today? How can I bring peace to someone’s life? Who can I listen to, forgive, or stand beside?
Because when the Church really lives in the Spirit, the world starts to change. So, may we breathe in that Spirit. May we live with that fire. May we be the Church the world needs—full of peace, full of love, full of God.
 
Go well
 
Karen
​

Dear Friends,
 
As we continue to navigate a world marked by uncertainty and challenge—be it conflict abroad, pressures at home, or quiet personal struggles—May arrives with its own quiet grace. In the Church calendar, we are journeying through the Easter season, still holding onto the hope of the Resurrection, and looking ahead to Pentecost. And in the world around us, signs of new life are everywhere.
 
Here in the UK, May brings us longer days, blooming gardens, and the gentle hum of life returning to the land. Buebells carpet our woods, birdsong fills the early mornings, and everything seems to whisper a message we so need to hear: life endures, and God is still at work.
 
It’s a month rich in tradition—beginning with May Day, historically a time of celebrating the land and its rhythms, and marked today by rest, reflection, and a pause from our daily routines. There are two Bank Holidays offering moments to breathe, to gather, and to reconnect.
 
In many communities, this is also the season for community gatherings—fairs, teas, and garden openings. These moments, though small, carry great significance. They are acts of faith in their own way: expressions of fellowship, hospitality, and shared joy. After all, Jesus often chose the ordinary, a shared meal, a walk through the fields, a conversation by a well, to reveal something extraordinary.
 
May is also traditionally the month of Mary in many Christian traditions, especially in Catholic and Anglican churches. She is honoured not just as the mother of Jesus, but as a symbol of quiet strength, faithfulness, and hope. In Mary, we see the beauty of a life attuned to God’s purposes, even when the path is uncertain.
 
In these troubled times, May invites us to remember who we are as Easter people.
People of hope. People of light. People rooted in the truth that Christ is risen, and that even the darkest seasons are not the end of the story. Just as the land revives, so can our spirits. Just as nature blooms again, so too can our faith be renewed.
 
May we see this month as a time to pray, to rest, to reach out to those who are struggling, and to take joy in the gifts God is still giving each day. May we trust that even when we cannot see the whole path ahead, the One who made the seasons is still guiding our steps.
 
Go well
 
Karen

Dear Friends
 
As we continue through our Lenten journey and into Easter, the Methodist theme for Lent and Easter, Soul Food, continues to offer us new insights and food for thought. Soul food has been the overarching focus, with each week having a particular theme. So far, we’ve covered, soul food, soul shelter, soul rest and soul repair. But we still have a few weeks left, so I thought I would just spend some time here mulling over the themes for the remailing weeks up to and including Easter.
 
 
Week 5. Soul Mates
Have you ever met someone, and it felt you had known them all your life? Almost like the universe had engineered your meeting long before you even arrived at this moment. I think maybe this is the essence of soul mates—those people who come into our lives not just by chance, but by some kind of cosmic design.
 
Soul mates aren’t just romantic partners; they are the friends, family members, mentors, and even fleeting strangers who leave an indelible mark on our lives. Sometimes, they mirror our strengths, challenge our weaknesses, and often, even remind us of who we are. Some stay for our whole lifetime, while others stay just for a season, offering us the lessons we need to change and grow before gracefully exiting. But no matter how long they walk with us, their presence shapes our journey in profound ways. May we thank God for Soul mates, whoever and whatever shape or form they take.
 
Week 6. Soul Songs
If soul mates are the people who shape us, soul songs are the tunes and melodies that guide us. We all have songs that resonate with something deep inside us, a vibrational match to the emotions we sometimes struggle to name. Whether it’s a popular love song that mirrors our longing, a ballad of heartbreak, or a classical anthem of empowerment, music is, as the saying goes, ‘food for the soul.’
 
I wonder what your soul song is. That one piece of music that, when you hear it played, reminds you of your essence, your purpose and your journey? It will no doubt change over time because we are all evolving and changing too, but there is usually, always a song or piece of music that speaks to our current experiences. Sometimes, these songs come to us just when we need them most, almost like a Godly whisper reminding us that we are not alone, or, that someone, somewhere, has felt exactly what we are feeling in that moment. And when that happens, music is much more than sound, it’s pure connection. May we thank God for the soul songs that resonate and reverberate, bringing healing hope and peace when we need it most.
 
Good Friday - Soul Support
In the vast, intricate web of human connection, soul support is the invisible chord that holds us all together. It’s the gentle voice of a friend when our own inner dialogue isn’t being very kind. It’s the unexpected kindness of a stranger when we are having a really bad day. It’s that one person who believes in us when we are struggling to see our own worth.
 
Soul support usually isn’t very loud. Sometimes it can even be a silent presence, an unspoken understanding, a moment of being truly seen and heard. In truth, we are both givers and receivers of this sacred energy. Have you ever considered how you support those around you with a kind word, a listening ear, or a simple smile? All of these are small gestures, but they have the power to ripple, like a pebble in a pond, through the universe in ways we may never fully comprehend. May we thank God for soul support and may we always seek to be a soul support for others.
 
Easter Day - Soul Stories
Every unique soul carries a story—a history of love and loss, joy and sorrow, triumph and transformation. Some stories are told in words, others in the way we walk, the way we laugh and the way we love. And all our stories weave together, to create the beautifully diverse tapestry of human experience.
 
What’s your soul’s story? Are you honouring it? More importantly, are you sharing it? There’s a great power in speaking our truth into the world. Our stories can heal not only ourselves but also those who need to hear them, those who seek meaning in shared experience.
 
So, as we continue to journey through the remainder of Lent and into the Resurrection hope of Easter, may we listen for our soul songs, embrace our soul mates, give and receive soul support, and fully embrace and honour the story our souls are writing. We are all threads in this vast, beautiful tapestry of existence, woven together by the unseen hands of the one who has ‘…woven us together in the depths of the earth…’ (Psalm 139, v15). The same one, who is creating something greater than we can ever fully understand.
 
Go well friends, for he his risen!
 
He is risen indeed!
 
Alleluia!
 
Peace
 
Karen
​

Dear Friends
As the season of Lent approaches, we are, once again, invited into a sacred journey—a path where the hunger of the soul meets the abundance of God’s grace. Life, in many ways, is a feast, yet how often do we find ourselves filling our plates with things that do not satisfy? This year's Methodist theme, "Soul Food," calls us to reflect on the nourishment our spirits really crave and the sustenance that only Christ can provide.
Lent is more than a time of sacrifice; it is an opportunity for transformation. Imagine yourself wandering through a vast desert, as Jesus did, each step feeling heavier than the last. The thirst is unrelenting, and the mirages of the world—wealth, status, comfort—promise some relief, yet they never actually deliver. Then, like an oasis in the wilderness, Christ holds out His hand, offering water that quenches eternally. The 40 days of Lent serve as a reminder to turn away from all worldly mirages and drink deeply from the well of God’s love. Through fasting, prayer, and service, we empty ourselves of all temporary things, in order to be filled with the eternal. Let’s look at those individually:
Prayer
Prayer is much more than just words offered to God. Prayer is the very rhythm of our spirits aligning with God’s heart. Prayer is the quiet, whispered conversation in the morning light and also the desperate cry in the dark of night. Prayer is the bread that sustains us through our joys and also through our desperations. This Lent, may we embrace prayer, not simply as something we feel we are meant to do, but as invitation, a moment to sit at God’s table and be nourished by the presence of the Divine.
“Give us this day our daily bread.” (Matthew 6:11)
Feasting
Imagine a banquet prepared with great love and care—a table overflowing with the yummiest of food.  This is what scripture offers: a feast for the soul, full of wisdom, hope, and the very essence of God’s voice. Yet, how often do we turn instead to the fast food of fleeting distractions? May we commit this Lent, to savour the richness of God’s word, allowing it to shape and strengthen us.
“Man shall not live by bread alone, but by every word that comes from the mouth of God.” (Matthew 4:4)
Serving
A meal is best enjoyed in community, and faith is no different. The abundance of Christ’s love is not meant to be hoarded but shared. Imagine a banquet where every seat is filled, where no one is left hungry or forgotten. This is God’s vision for each and every one of us, to serve one another, to feed the hungry, to extend the nourishment we have received to those in need.
“For I was hungry and you gave me something to eat.” (Matthew 25:35)
A Fasting and Feasting Challenge:
Rather than simply giving up a favourite treat, as we often do during Lent, maybe think of Lent as an opportunity to shift focus:
Fast from negativity – Feast on gratitude
Fast from busyness – Feast on stillness
Fast from selfishness – Feast on generosity
Fast from worry – Feast on trust in God
Each of us has a rich story, a testimony of how God has fed our weary souls. How has God provided for you in your moments of hunger? What has sustained you through trials? Who could you share your story with? It could well be the encouragement someone else needs.
As we walk the Lenten journey this year, may we remember, that true nourishment does not come from the fleeting offerings of the world, but from the abundant grace of God. May we feast on God’s presence, be filled with God’s Word, and share God’s love freely. Because, in Christ, our souls are fed, our thirst is quenched, and our spirits are renewed.
Go well
Karen 
​