It’s wonderful to be with you today as we celebrate the Patronal Festival of this church. A Patronal Festival is a bit like a birthday and like any birthday, it’s a chance to look back, give thanks, and ask what the future might look like.
And what a gift we have in St Teilo.
When we hear his name, it’s easy to picture a saint frozen in stained glass - serene, still, and safely tucked away in the past. But from what we know, the real Teilo was anything but static. He was a man on the move, a man whose life says something urgent and hopeful about God.
Teilo lived in a world that felt fragile - a world of sickness, conflict, and uncertainty. It might sound strangely familiar perhaps? And yet, instead of hiding away, he stepped out. He travelled across Wales, Cornwall, and Brittany, planting communities of faith wherever he went. He didn’t build an empire; he built belonging. He created places where people discovered hope, healing, and purpose.
And one of those places is right here - Llantilio Pertholey. We don’t know exactly what he did here, but we know he left a mark. This community carries his name because his ministry mattered.
And what kind of ministry was it? Not one of power or prestige. Not the “look at me, I’m the main man” kind of ministry. Teilo lived with a deep conviction that God’s love is far too good to keep still or quiet.
In that sense, he lived out the vision we heard in Ezekiel (34:11-16), where God promises to seek the lost, bind up the injured, and strengthen the weak. Teilo’s ministry echoed that shepherding heart of God - God who refuses to abandon people in their fear or fragility.
When plague swept across Wales, Teilo didn’t run for safety. He gathered his people, cared for the sick, and when danger grew too great, he led a community into exile – He didn’t do that to escape, but to protect.
I sometimes think saints must look at us and wonder how we complicate things. We worry about whether we’re doing enough, saying enough, organising enough… Meanwhile Teilo was probably thinking, “Just love people — it’s not that hard!”
His leadership wasn’t heroic in the Hollywood sense. But it was faithful and it was compassionate. It was a living reminder that God does not abandon us in times of fear, or ever!
Teilo was known as a healer - not just of bodies, but of relationships and communities. Wherever he went, people found reconciliation. They found peace. They found a new beginning. His ministry echoed the ministry of Jesus, who healed not only wounds but hearts.
And Teilo never travelled alone. He journeyed with others because he knew that faith is shared, not private. And that reminds us that mission is something we do together. It’s the same spirit we hear in the 1st letter of Peter (5:1-4), where the early church is urged to shepherd one another willingly, eagerly, and gently - not lording it over others, but leading by example. Teilo lived that kind of leadership long before it was written down.
So, what does his life say to us today?
It says that faith is movement - not static, not stuck, but always reaching out.
It says the gospel is not a museum piece - it’s alive, powerful, and needed now more than ever.
It says God’s love crosses borders, heals wounds, and builds communities of hope. And what an important message that is in a world full of mistrust, division, fear, anger.
Teilo’s life invites us to ask a simple but searching question: If Teilo planted places of welcome in his time, how might we plant them in ours?
Maybe that welcome looks like kindness – the sort of kindness that interrupts someone’s loneliness or grief or illness or other struggle.
Maybe it’s courage that speaks peace into conflict.
Maybe it’s creating spaces - in our homes, churches, schools - where people feel seen, valued, and loved.
Sometimes it’s easy to admire the Saints of the past and talk about them in glowing and not very realistic terms, but St Teilo’s legacy isn’t meant to be admired like a museum piece. It’s meant to be continued. God who moved through him is moving still - calling us to be people of welcome, people of healing, people of hope – people who share good news!
I saw an advert this week that ended with the phrase “making hope normal.” What a thought. Hope - not the exception, but the expectation - for all.
And as we celebrate this Patronal Festival - this birthday - we reflect on our own life as a church. Birthdays sometimes make us think about what we’ve done, what we’ve become, and what we dream of next.
And in the Church, that reflection is not just allowed - it’s essential.
Christian service is often misunderstood in a world that is often obsessed with wealth, success, and who can shout the loudest. Jesus didn’t “make it” by any of those standards. He served. He loved. He gave his life for all.
And that is what the Church must do today… We debate many things - sometimes loudly, sometimes badly - but the most important thing must always be Jesus. And sadly, that’s not always what the world sees.
Jesus didn’t come shouting. He didn’t have political power or wealth. He didn’t manipulate or force opinions. He loved. He showed compassion. He defended the vulnerable. He offered hope.
And today’s Church has a wonderful opportunity to do the same. It seems to me that in many places, people are crying out for something better, something different - something real.
It’s the same cry that led Christians to fight child labour, abolish slavery, challenge poverty, and work for peace. I recently heard a presentation about Street Pastors - people who go out late at night as pubs and clubs are busy, not to preach, but to love, to care, to help. That is the Church on the street.
The preacher George MacLeod once wrote:
“I simply argue that the cross be raised again at the centre of the marketplace… Jesus was not crucified in a cathedral between two candles, but on a cross between two thieves… at a crossroads so cosmopolitan they had to write his title in Hebrew, Latin and Greek.”
In other words: if you’re looking for Jesus, don’t just look up — look around.
Church structures are useful, but sometimes they can confuse us and make faith feel too formal. And love can never be formalised. Love is spontaneous, courageous, determined.
We have some beautiful church buildings - and thank God for them and this is one of them - but sometimes it can be too easy to admire the architecture more than the Architect of our faith.
There was a Prayer Book written 400 years ago that was once considered too modern. Now some people want it back because it’s beautifully old. Times change. Language changes. But the gospel doesn’t. Our task is to make Jesus known in ways people understand - not watering down the message but speaking it in the language of today.
The Church must reflect Jesus - his love, his compassion, his call to follow him. We must show the world the joy, the responsibility, and the privilege of being his disciples.
And that brings us back to John (21:15-17), where Jesus asks Peter three times, “Do you love me?” and each time Jesus gives him the same answer: feed my sheep. That is the heart of Christian ministry. Not status. Not success. Love - expressed in words and service.
Teilo lived that calling. And now it is ours.
Let me finish with a story… A father wanted to read his newspaper, but his young daughter kept interrupting. So, he tore out a page with a map of the world on it, ripped it into pieces, and said, “See if you can put this together.”
A few minutes later she returned with the map perfectly assembled.
“How did you do that so quickly?” he asked.
“Oh,” she said, “on the other side was a picture of Jesus. When I got Jesus in the right place, the world came out all right.”
May we, like Teilo, carry the gospel not as a theory but as a way of life. May Jesus be found in our words, our actions, and our love.
And may this church - bearing Teilo’s name - shine with the same courage, compassion and missionary zeal that shaped his ministry. Amen.
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