Sharing some thoughts

  A long time back, I read the story of a twelve year old boy who was born without an immune system, and it has stayed with me ever since. Because even the most ordinary germs could kill him, he spent his entire life inside a sterile plastic bubble. There were no hugs, no handshakes, no human touch at all. Before he underwent a bonemarrow transplant that might finally allow him to live outside that bubble, someone asked him what he most wanted to do if the operation succeeded. His answer was simple but incredibly powerful: “I want to walk barefoot on grass and touch my mother’s hand.” Small things can mean so much. A touch, a hand held, a moment of tenderness. Today’s readings remind us how powerful such care can be, and how love, for all its beauty, can also bring deep pain. And on Mothering Sunday, those emotions sit very close to the surface. For some, today is a day of uncomplicated joy. For others, it is a day that stirs grief, longing, or complicated memories. Our reading...

Today we celebrate St David’s Day, the Patron Saint of Wales, and also the patronal festival here. A double celebration, which surely gives us permission for at least one joke. So, I’ll begin with the wellknown story of the referee who arrived in heaven. He was met by the man in charge, who said, “Welcome. Before you enter Heaven, is there anything you’d like to confess?” The referee shuffled awkwardly. “Well… yes. In an England–Wales international, I gave Wales a penalty that won them the match. I saw the replay afterwards and… it wasn’t a penalty. It’s been on my conscience ever since.” “You don’t need to worry, my son,” said the gatekeeper. “You made the correct decision.” “Oh, thank you, St Peter,” said the referee, relieved. “Oh,” said the gatekeeper, “it’s St Peter’s day off. I’m St David.” Moving swiftly on… It feels particularly appropriate that this year St David’s Day falls in Lent, because David’s life was famously simple, disciplined, and—if we’re honest—probably rather mor...