The Christian faith declares that “in him all things hold together” (Colossians 1:17), and modern physics unwittingly testifies to this truth. Matter is far stranger than it appears, with atoms mostly empty space and subatomic particles held together by forces calibrated with breathtaking precision. Science can describe this fine-tuning but cannot explain why it holds. Scripture can: the universe coheres because Christ sustains it by the word of his power.
When Jesus invited people to “come and see,” He offered no programme, no strategy document, and no measurable outcomes beyond the transformation of human hearts. In three simple words, Christ extended an invitation that has echoed through twenty centuries of Christian witness. Perhaps the modern Church, with all its well-intentioned structures and initiatives, needs to recover something of this radical simplicity. What might it mean for our congregations to strip back the layers of institutional complexity and simply invite people to encounter the living Christ, just as Andrew and John did on that first extraordinary afternoon?
It feels very much as we move into 2026 that the debates about parallel dimensions have finally moved out of late-night chatroom sessions straight into the boardroom (or at least over a coffee before a big meeting!) which, if we are honest, was probably not on our bingo cards. When we talk about dimensions we aren’t just talking about science fiction anymore; we’re talking about empirical reality. This shift has been driven by the sheer, staggering performance of the latest quantum processors, like Google’s Willow chip.
It does seem that in the last year or so the landscape of AI-enabled Christian technology has shifted significantly from experimental early adoption to widespread integration into daily spiritual life and church operations. How should we as Christians approach this rising tide of technology, how do we manage the tension between studying to learn and simply prompting for answers?
One can sense even more so as we sit here in 2025, a deep longing for peace, a hushed expectancy in homes and churches across the land, an excitement that finds its focus in a single point in human history where a child in a manger in Bethlehem (the ‘House of Bread’) born to die, bears the weight of humanity’s sin.
Often at this time of year, we may find ourselves thinking about grace and about the disciple who betrayed Jesus, the one who is a byword for disloyalty and duplicitous two-faced behaviour — Judas.
As the days grow short and the year turns towards its end, our thoughts and our liturgies naturally and inevitably drift towards that small Judean town whose name echoes through the centuries. We picture a stable, a star, a mother and her child. Yet within that familiar scene lies a deeper, more nourishing narrative waiting to be traced, a trail of meaning that leads from ancient grain fields to the very heart of our worship.
Ultimately, that’s the problem with power – those who seek to keep it shall lose it either by their own doing or that of a wiser/stronger person but ultimately because The Lord wills it.
The Twelve Days of Christmas is far more than a familiar seasonal refrain; it is a sophisticated mnemonic that conveys core Christian teachings through symbolic imagery. Rooted in centuries of tradition—and shaped during periods of religious tension—the carol offers a structured journey through foundational doctrines, reminding us of faith’s resilience and the enduring value of cultural memory. As modern life accelerates, its quiet wisdom invites a renewed appreciation of heritage, meaning and continuity.
The Laodicean context of tepid self-reliance finds its direct parallel in the modern church’s temptation to measure its vitality by cultural influence, financial security, and numerical growth rather than by the fiery, refining work of the Spirit in the heart of the believer. The transaction when we dig deeper is therefore one of faith itself – a relinquishing of our own metrics of “success” to receive from Christ a success, a wealth that is purified through trial and anchored in eternity.