Amlwch, Llanerchymedd, Moelfre, Llanwenwyllfo....ac mwy

Parting is difficult. I loved my time as the Vicar of Holy Island, and lets face it @holyislandvicar is perhaps one of the most cool twitter handles in the entirety of Christendom.

Here I am, I am about to become the Vicar of Bro Eleth, a geographical area that covers a lot of northern Ynys Mon (Anglesey).

It is a challenge.

I am a Sheffield boy. Sheffield is northern England's premier city. (You all know that this is true). I am now in an area where I am more likely to encounter sheep in the road than wait for a considerable time at a roundabout.

I am from the wrong side of the dyke (Offa's that is). I am an Englishman, although with a Yorkshire prefix. I have been learning Welsh attentively for under 3 years and here I am about to be incumbent in a place where Welsh is the first language of many.

And, yet it seems right in its glorious inconsistency.

Tomorrow evening at about 19:50yh/pm, I will cease to be the Vicar of Holy Island and I will slip metaphorically through the wardrobe into an entirely different world

To split or not to split

Evangelical Anglicans comes in many different guises. Sooner or later we are faced with the question posed decades ago by The Doctor (Martyn Lloyd-Jones of Westminster Chapel) as to whether or not we should leave Anglican structures and join forces with our evangelical friends in non-conformist churches and chapels. There is today intriguingly another possibility to seek episcopal oversight from elsewhere. In the CofE, there is sort of a precedent with flying bishops, sort of.

Lloyd-Jones was answered firmly and robustly by John Stott, Rector of All Souls Langham Place. In rebuffing the Doctor's overtures, Stott, with others, set in process a chain of engagement that has seen evangelicals become quite influential within the Provinces of Canterbury and York.

One of the first 'theological' books I read was a dialogue between Stott and then then Dean of Southwark, David Edwards. It is called Essentials. What marks out the book is not only the inevitable courtesy that they display to each other, inspite of vehement disagreement, but it speaks of an age where difference was embraced and respected.

In our fast moving world which is hyper connected, we appear to have lost the art of cultivating this respect: a 140 character tweet can be used to hector a position rather than investing in time that could allow a relationship to flourish and someone else to be understood and embraced.

We perhaps do not need another Stott, although I still listen to his biblical exposition, but we do need people with the capacity to see people who hold different to them as followers of Christ. We need to hear Stott's call to remain and engage once more, so that we might discern whether this is still what the Spirit is saying to the church. I believe it is.

Unity as well as Truth are fundamental to Christian discipleship.

22 years onward: grief acknowledged

I miss him to this day. He died on Sunday 23 July at about 3pm as his Parish Priest, the Revd Athol Thomson read the Nunc Dimitis; or so I am told. I was not there. I regret that still. I should have been a little stronger and I might have been.

He never saw me get my PhD, although he delighted in my academic achievements. He never saw me ordained. He never met any of his grandchildren, including my son. I was proud of him. I never said it enough.

He was an electrician, a television engineer for Trident, Telefusion. He loved his job. He worked hard. He was brilliantly creative, whether in the garden... and on paper writing plays and pantos... and just outside my study is a framed picture by him of the canal near Rotherham. It is not artistically brilliant, but he enjoyed being there, and I love it and remember and cherish it.

He was a Christian gentleman. He was a man of his time. He was not my friend, although he was. I miss him, he was and still is my Dad: mentor, role model, friend and teacher of the faith.

moving is about being still

Moving is about stillness

I think that is why I am not that brilliant at it. I don't mean the unpacking of boxes and exploring new areas in which to walk Samwise the brave and Tad Ted. Moving involves letting go before you immerse yourself in something new. This might be more acutely the case when you are only 20ish miles down the road, even if that road is not always straight.

Moving is about being still.

One of my favourite spots in Trearddur was by the Haunted House, and more particularly the 'beach' just before it. Often in the early mornings, you could see a heron standing waiting to move. The heron would be still... attentively still....

Why not be a little still this day.

No longer Holy Island Vicar

It has been a blast. I hope mostly in a positive way.

In many ways it has been the best time of my ministry amongst wonderful people and in brilliant churches.

Following in the footsteps of saint of old, with the opportunity to write something new in the annals of the history of Holy Island. In the end, I did not do that, although as my wife has just pointed out, that is for others to judge.

I did infuriate some people, as has been said to me a number of occasions, 'it took me a while to get used to you...'.

I made some people laugh and cry... I encouraged others to doubt and also believe, reminding people that the two, faith and doubt are siblings.

I convinced people that things were possible and that they as people made in the image of God were able to do wonderful things... and they did... and will do so.

They have blessed me, and this afternoon I blessed my people as their vicar for the last time.

Keep safe, my friends

#holyislandvicarout #micdrop #smile

for everything there is a time

This coming Sunday (9 July) at 4pm will be my last service as vicar, in Bro Cybi (Holy Island). You are more than welcome to come and join in worshipping God with me and some of my friends.

Holy Island is a fabulous place, encompassing Holyhead, which is the UK's second busiest port, as well as places with their own wonderful identities: Trearddur, Rhoscolyn, Four Mile Bridge.

It is called Holy Island and Holyhead used to be called Holyhead because its story is interwoven with the saints of old. Holyhead used to be one of the major places of pilgrimage, as pilgrims journeyed far and wide to see Cybi, a celtic monk and bishop. The Welsh name for Holyhead is Caergybi, meaning Cybi's fort.

It is not just Cybi, there are stories of Gwenfaen and Ffraid and others who are not known.

I hope you might consider joining me. Get to know the story of this beautiful place. I will alsways love Holy Island and its people as I learn new stories and songs of different saints on the north side of the Island, as well as writing my own stories as I worship alongside the saints of old.

step by step

It was my last service at Ysgol y Parchedig Thomas Ellis yesterday. I confess that I had a little moment, when tears could have flowed. It is a brilliant school with an exceptional headteacher. It is closing and merging to become part of Ysgol Cybi; so that lessons the sadness that I will not be going back there to Thomas Ellis, no one will.

Life has been full of goodbyes over the last few weeks. They are about to reach a crescendo.

This picture is taken near Caerlaverock, quite close to the wildfowl and wetlands centre (http://www.wwt.org.uk/wetland-centres/caerlaverock/). Whilst is a still picture, there is much happening, the light interacting with the water, the sun and the river... There needs to be sometimes lots of activity to create a moment of peace.

Similarly, it is also true for the sadness to come, there must have been much contentment and joy.

Time to move on.