Come and join us for the most magical time of the year in our three beautiful church buildings.
Saturday, 16th December
6pm: Duke of Lancaster’s Regiment Band Concert @ St. Chad’s
Sunday, 17th December
6pm: St. Andrew’s Carol Service
6.30pm: St. Chad’s Carols by Candlelight
6.30pm: St. Martin’s Carols by Candlelight
Christmas Eve, Sunday, 24th December
9.30am: Eucharist @ St. Martin’s
11am: Eucharists @ St. Chad’s & St. Andrew’s
4pm: Crib Services @ St. Chad’s & St. Andrew’s
4.30pm: Christingle & Crib Service @ St. Martin’s
11pm: 1st Communion of Christmas @ St. Andrew’s
11.30pm: 1st Communion of Christmas @ St. Chad’s & St. Martin’s
10am: Christmas Communion @ St. Chad’s & St. Martin’s
10.30am: Christmas Communion @ St. Andrew’s
In the past couple of weeks, we have welcome two new staff members to the Kirkby Team. Rev. Anne Lawlor has begun as the Team Vicar for St. Andrew’s Tower Hill and Mission Enabler for the Parish, and Rev. Alan Beahan has become part time Interim Minister at St. Chad’s, covering Rev. Philippa Lea’s maternity leave.
We’re currently in the process of moving and updating our website, which should make it much more up to date and responsive. Unfortunately, many of the links and images are now broken. I’m working to update this as quickly as possible. I’ll take this post down when it’s sorted.
Light, limiting our horizons,
reducing our world
creating the terror of the dark,
closing in around us.
Light, missing, losing the path, hiding the way.
Light falling away quickly
Watching the lights disappear,
leaving behind an emptiness
a hole where they once were
and the darkness encroaching
drawing closer and stronger.
Lights, burnt into our retina, leaving the impossible shadows
that continue to appear in our vision, long after they’ve gone.
Longed for light, that can resolve the phantoms of the darkness
Darkness that came with the extinguishing of the light.
Blackening the world, and leaving only the memory of the light
Hope that the light will return
hope that the dawn will transform the landscape
lighting the path, banishing darkness
and resolving the shapes that terrify.
Hope – but for now, darkness.
The light is going, has gone.
But still, we hope.
Thunder, distant in the air, warning of storms.
Thunder, drawing closer, counting the gap after the flash.
Thunder, cracking overhead in time with the lightning.
A voice, calling out in the air,
with distant rumble that carries power and menace
and speaks of untold and unknown strengths
that terrify and frighten.
Glad that the distant thunder is not immediate.
Sound that we hear but never fully comprehend.
The voice of God, speaking to the world that he created,
speaking of power, strength, unknown and untold in its majesty.
A voice, thundering, speaking truth,
drowning out the clamour and squabble of
differing opinions and voices here,
shouting to have their opinions heard,
their moment in the feeble glow of our attention.
God’s voice thunders, flashes across the world
speaking of his power, his calling of Jesus.
‘I have glorified it, and I will glorify it again.’
The voice that speaks of our place in this world,
of our own insignificance
and the futile attempt to match our power with God’s.
Thunder, calling to us across the world
speaking of the power of creation
and of the Creator.
A single grain of wheat. Something tiny and insignificant.
Is this how Jesus saw himself?
We see a giant striding across history,
founding a movement that changed humanity forever.
But a seed, something so tiny?
Something that only has worth when part of a huge flood of them?
Something that achieves almost nothing?
It’s easy to forget, sometimes, how obscure Jesus really was.
A backwater teacher in a backwater country.
Never travelling, never visiting Athens or Rome or Alexandria.
Never having an audience with the Emperor.
Refusing titles, honours, dignity.
The only people lower than him
were the ones he kept table with.
Jesus almost becomes a warrior king.
Jesus almost founds a huge church.
Jesus almost has crowds doing everything he asks.
Instead, he denounces violence.
He drives followers away by the impossibility of his demands.
He hides from the crowds.
A single grain of wheat, cast upon the ground, swallowed up by the dirt.
A grain of wheat, seemingly like thousands or millions just the same.
A death, an execution, like thousands carried out by the Romans
time and time again.
A death, almost forgotten,
an obscure footnote in history, if that.
St. Andrew's, St. Chad's, St. Mark's and St. Martin's Churches, Kirkby.