When I was in church the other day, someone paused beside the sanctuary and remarked on how beautiful the blue altar frontal looked. It was one of those simple observations that opens up a much bigger story. I found myself explaining that the blue was not chosen just because it looks nice, but because it reflects an old English tradition, with roots in something known as the Sarum Rite.

The Sarum Rite was a pattern of worship that developed around Salisbury Cathedral in the Middle Ages and, by the fifteenth century, was used in most English churches. Although many things changed over the centuries, some of its customs still influence how churches look and worship today. One of these is the use of blue in a few churches during Advent, the season that leads up to Christmas.

In many churches, purple is used during Advent as well as during Lent, the season before Easter. Using blue helps to show that these two seasons, while both thoughtful and reflective, are actually quite different. Lent is about penitence: facing uncomfortable truths, saying sorry, and preparing for the reality of the Cross. Advent, on the other hand, is about preparation and anticipation. It is a time of waiting, watching, and hoping, as we look towards the coming of Christ at Christmas.

It is important to remember that the colours used in church are not simply there for decoration. Like the changing colours of the natural world through the year — fresh greens in spring, bright summer hues, rich autumn tones, and the muted shades of winter — the Church also marks time with colour. These changes help to shape the atmosphere and underline what each season is about.

Green, used for much of the year, reflects growth and everyday life. White and gold are deployed at Christmas, Easter and on many Feast days expressing joy, celebration, and light. Red appears at Pentecost and on days remembering martyrs, pointing to the fire of the Holy Spirit and the courage of those who gave their lives for their faith. Purple speaks of penitence and solemn preparation in Lent and, in many places, Advent. And then there is rose’: worn by clergy on the Sundays of Gaudete in Advent and Laetare in Lent. That sudden softening of ' colour is deliberate; a visual sigh of relief, reminding us that joy is already breaking in, even as we wait or repent.

So when you notice the colours changing in church, you are seeing something more than fabric and furnishings. They are part of a visual language and theology woven into fabric helping to tell a story and invite us to step more fully into the season We are sharing.

With every blessing for a joyous Christmas and hope-filled New Year.

As we head towards the end of the year, many of us find ourselves looking back at all that has happened, and looking ahead to what may come. The Bible readings used at this time of year invite us to lift our eyes beyond the everyday and to reflect on the bigger picture of our lives and of the world. They speak honestly about uncertainty, change, and the passing of things we once thought permanent.

That may resonate with many of us. Our world today can feel restless and unsettled. We see conflict, division, and rapid change. Institutions we once relied upon seem less secure, and public conversations often feel more heated than helpful. It’s easy, in such a climate, to feel overwhelmed.

Yet in the midst of all this, the words of Scripture — and indeed the wisdom found in many traditions — offer something steady. They remind us that although life changes, and although the things we build do not last forever, we are not left without hope. Time and again we are encouraged not to be afraid, not to lose heart, and not to give up on doing what is good.

One of the most striking lines we hear at this time of year comes from St Paul: “Do not grow weary in doing what is right.” It is a reminder that even small acts of kindness, patience and courage matter deeply. When the world feels uncertain, these are the things that quietly keep communities strong. They are the gestures that tell another person, “You are not alone.”

Jesus’ message to his first followers was similar. He spoke honestly about troubling events, yet his purpose was not to frighten but to steady and encourage. He reminded people that fear is not a guide, and that goodness, compassion and faithfulness are never wasted — even when the world feels fragile.

As we move into Advent, we are invited once again to reflect on hope. Advent is a season that looks both backwards and forwards: back to the birth of Christ, and forward to the promise that renewal and healing are part of God’s purpose for the world. For believers, this is a source of great comfort; for anyone, it can be a reminder that the story of humanity is not simply one of decline, but also of restoration, rebuilding and new possibilities.

In the weeks ahead, may we each find moments of stillness in the busyness of December.
May we look for ways to encourage one another.
May we keep working for peace — in our homes, in our community, and in the Wider world.
And may we hold fast to the truth that, even when times feel uncertain, light continues to shine.

With every blessing for a hopeful and peaceful Advent season.

As I write, autumn is beginning to take hold - fields turning gold, the air cooler, and the evenings drawing in. It’s a season that always invites a moment of reflection and gratitude.

Our own plans for the late summer didn’t quite go as expected. Covid, forced us to cancel our much-anticipated trip to the Greek Islands. Instead, in a spur-of-the-moment decision, we found ourselves on a boat on the Norfolk Broads. And what a wonderful surprise it turned out to be. We spent the days moving slowly along the waterways, watching herons and swans, and mooring up in quiet villages. A few of the churches there even had their own moorings —— an unexpected delight, and an irresistible invitation to stop and step inside, and step back in time.

Each church we visited was preparing for its Harvest Festival. Their displays of fruit, flowers and grain told the same story We know so well here in Sidlesham: a community pausing to give thanks for the land, for those who work it, and for the simple gift of daily bread. Though we were miles from home, it felt instantly familiar — that same mix of gratitude, beauty, and belonging that marks harvest time wherever it’s celebrated. To make the world feel even smaller, it turned out that I even knew the parish priest of two of the churches we visited!

Our own Harvest Festival here was a fine celebration of that same spirit (I was sorry to miss it personally due to another virus and concussion - but that’s another story!) The church looked splendid in its autumn colours, and it was good to hear about how people gathered to give thanks and to enjoy food, drink and music across the weekend. My thanks go to everyone who helped make it happen — from those who decorated the church to those who quietly packed and delivered the gifts that followed. Donations of food and flowers were shared locally, with the remainder going to Stonepillow, supporting people facing homelessness across our area.

Harvest reminds us how deeply we are connected — to the land, to one another, and to the wider church family of which we’re part. Whether in Sidlesham or on the Norfolk Broads, the same prayers of gratitude rise up, giving voice to the truth that everything we have is a gift, and that we are called to share it generously.

With every blessing.

Last Sunday (14 September) we celebrated our Patronal Festival — the special day in the year when we give thanks for our church’s dedication to Mary, the Mother of Jesus. For us it isn’t just an excuse for a party (though cake is usually involved). It’s a chance to pause, to look back at our history, and to remember what our church means to the life of the village today.

One of the images I used in my sermon was of pilgrimage. Pilgrimage is about far more than long walks to distant shrines — it’s about stepping aside from ordinary routines, Walking together, and discovering something fresh that sends us home changed. In the Christian tradition, certain places have always felt “thin,” Wm? heaven and earth seem closer — like Lindisfarne or Walsingham. But actually, that sense of being on a journey is something we can all recognise.

Our church has a proud place in the story of pilgrimage. In medieval times, St Mary Our Lady was a stopping place for pilgrim travelling from Selsey to Chichester Cathedral. This ancient route is being rediscovered as part of the diocesan celebrations marking the 950th anniversary of Chichester Diocese — when the Cathedra (that is the official chair of the bishop) was moved from Selsey to Chichester. The other week, a group led by the Archdeacon of Brighton walked the path, stopping here for rest and refreshments. Afterwards, one of the pilgrims wrote to say how grateful they were for the welcome — proof that hospitality is still one of our parish’s great strengths!

We saw the same spirit again during the annual ‘Ride and Stride’; many churches simply open their doors, but here volunteers stayed all day, greeting visitors, offering water,‘ and of course a steady supply of cake. It was a simple thing, but it made all the difference. And is that not one of the things that a village community is all about: taking the time to welcome the stranger, to share food and drink, and to offer encouragement for the journey ahead?

This sense of welcome is also very fitting for our patron, Mary. Her own life was full of journeys — from Nazareth to Bethlehem for Jesus’ birth, to Jerusalem for the great festivals, and finally to the foot of the Cross. At each stage she trusted God afresh, saying ‘yes’ to what lay ahead. That single ‘yes’ — her fiat, ‘let it be to me according to your " word’ — made possible the birth of Christ.

That’s why -shrines dedicated to Mary, such as Walsingham (which I visit regularly) have always been places of prayer, renewal, and new beginnings. But shrines and festivals aren’t ends in themselves — they point us towards Jesus. And Mary’s advice at the wedding at Cana still rings true: ‘Do whatever he tells you.’ So as a village, whether we think of ourselves as pilgrims or not, we can all share in that same spirit: stepping aside now and then, welcoming others, and finding the courage to say ‘yes’ to the opportunities that lie ahead.

Keep Warm and dry as autumn fast approaches!

ln conversations with clergy colleagues and organisers in other walks of life, there seems to be a recurring challenge: finding people willing to volunteer their time and skills. Whether it’s helping at community events, supporting local initiatives, or sewing in church life, the refrain is often the same: ‘it’s hard to get helpers these days.’

That’s why I’m so pleased to say that this year’s Sidlesham Fete was a glorious exception. The response from both church members and the wider community was heart-warming and, if I’m honest, quite humbling. When we put out the call for help, whether to set up tents, run stalls, or clear up afterwards, people came. And without that generosity of time and effort, there simply wouldn’t have been a fete. By all accounts, the day itself was a great success. Crowds came, laughter was shared, and more than a few slices of cake were enjoyed! The traditional elements of the fete still hold a special charm, and it’s been encouraging to see newer features, such as live music and hot food in the evening, grow in popularity. As a happy by-product, we also raised a very welcome sum towards the mission and running ofthe church.

Of course, we could always use more help, and it raises the question: why is it so often difficult to find volunteers? Yes, people are busy, and modern life places many demands on all our time. Yet the value of volunteering, for both those who receive help and those who offer it, remains undiminished. There’s joy in being part of something bigger than ourselves. satisfaction in seeing a job well done, and the deep human connection that comes from working alongside others towards a shared goal.

I believe it’s vital to pass on a culture of volunteering to our younger generations - for their sake, and for the sake of the whole community. Encouragingly, the fete gave me a glimpse ofhow this might be done. I asked a few 12- and I3-year-olds if they would be interested in helping with a stall. I half-expected a polite decline, or perhaps just a shrug. Instead, their faces lit up. Why‘? Because l didn’t just ask them to ‘help out’, I invited them to run an X-Box Formula One simulation game. They had responsibility, the task matched their interests, and they could make it their own.

That experience has stayed with me. How often might we unlock people‘s energy and enthusiasm simply by being specific, offering genuine responsibility, and connecting the task to what excites them? lt’s a thought l shall ponder liuther in the months ahead.

For now, let me say a heartfelt thank you to everyone who helped in any way to make the fete such a great success. And if you missed the opportunity to be involved, well, there's always next year!

Withe blessings for the remainder of the season.

A Week in the Life of a Parish Priest... at Family Camp

As some of you will know, the past few weeks have seen a good deal of my time and energy focused on helping to plan and deliver this year’s Family Camp — and I’m delighted to report that all the hard work paid off. From Friday llth to Sunday ‘ 13th July, families from across the Diocese gathered at the beautiful Stedham Campsite, near Midhurst, nestled in the heart of the South Downs National Park. The weekend was part of the Diocesan Celebrating Faith programme and was shaped around three key themes: Fun, Worship, and Family Time. It was an extraordinary weekend — joyful, exhausting, and very rewarding. And I thought I’d share a little of what went on behind the scenes.

Things kicked off in earnest on Wednesday 9th July, when Sam and I collected a hire van and began a grand tour of Sussex, to Haywards Heath, Hassocks, Barcombe and back home to Sidlesham to collect some of the essential kit we were going to need: gazebos, marquees, games, and other equipment. By the time Wednesday was over the van was full of tents, signage, candles, bean bags. communion wine, loo roll, and more.

Thursday began with the unenviable task of navigating Goodwood Festival of Speed traffic with a heavily laden van. Once on site, the first thing to do was to put up the ‘Welcome’ sign, set up the camp hub, and, in the blazing heat, assemble the worship tent with Bishop Will and other volunteers. I then constructed a makeshift altar from an old door and a flat-pack consort table. That night, Carolyn and I were the only ones staying on site — a quiet moment together and a well-earned takeaway from Midhurst.

Friday was full-on from the start. The core team arrived, and the site buzzed with last-minute preparations — pitching gazebos, putting out chairs, tables and signage, briefing the worship band. Our first act of worship commenced in a beautiful woodland clearing, followed by a candle-lit procession -to the main worship tent. The evening ended with hot chocolate and informal conversations around a campfire.

Saturday started early with Morning Prayer and a simple Eucharist. The day was full of activities: craft, music, games, a scavenger hunt. I found myself painting children’s faces — who knew that my Spiderman and Batman would be such hits? Certainly not I! The afternoon brought time for families to enjoy time together, and for us to catch our breaths, before an early dinner and the lively evening worship which ended with prayer and healing ministries — a quieter, more reflective time that many found moving. My day ended with other campers around the fire and, while they enjoyed hot chocolate and marshmallows, I indulged in a G&T, whilst chatting with families about faith, life, and camping mishaps!

Sunday began with Morning Prayer and setting up for the main act of worship, followed by a very welcome bacon bap. The final joyful Eucharist, celebrated by Bishop Will, included active participation from children who carried the cross, led the prayers and read with great confidence. After fond farewells, we began the big pack-down: dismantling tents, clearing rubbish, and cleaning the toilet block! As I waited for the last campers to pack up and leave, I reflected how I had once again been the first to arrive and the last to leave — a pattern which applies to much of my parochial ministry.

Monday involved retuming equipment across Sussex and Tuesday a trip to the tip with the smelly rubbish — the glamorous side of ministry! And now, finally, I sit down to write this letter.

Was it exhausting? Yes.

Was it worth it? Absolutely.

Would I do it again? Of course, it was a privilege to be part of something so full of faith, joy and community.

I look forward to seeing many of you at the Sidlesham Fete!

What makes a church truly alive? This is a question I’ve found myself returning to recently, not in search of a grand theological answer, but something more grounded, more rooted in the day-to-day life of our church and village.

Is it the number of people on a Sunday morning? The age and historic significance of the building? The music, the liturgy, the events? These all have their place, of course. But I’ve come to realise that the signs of life in a church often show themselves in much quieter ways.

As I approach the three-year anniversary of my licensing as Parish Priest here at St Mary’s, I’ve been reflecting on what I’ve seen in that time, and what I’ve come to treasure. There are the prayers whispered during a weekday visit to church. The quiet help offered to a neighbour. The warm chats over tea and cake at Mary’s Place. The folk who go about their faithful tasks: welcoming, arranging flowers, cleaning, printing rotas, tidying up, gardening — without fuss or fanfare. All of it, signs of life. There are four inter-related words which keep coming back to me: people, prayer, welcome, and mission.

People are the heart of it all. It’s not the age of the building that gives it life, but the people within (and around) and the lives they lead beyond it. Each one of you brings something unique to the life of our community. Whether you’ve lived in the village your whole life or just arrived, whether you come to church every week or only occasionally, our community is richer for your presence.

Prayer is the breath of the Church. It doesn’t have to be eloquent or even spoken aloud. It might be a moment of silence in the churchyard, a name remembered at bedtime, or a candle quietly lit. It’s in these small, sincere offerings that we stay connected with God, and with one another. Welcome is more than having the church door open. It’s a spirit of hospitality that says, “you belong here,” even if you’re not quite sure where you fit yet. Whether you're full of faith, full of questions, or simply curious, there is space for you here.

And mission, that’s simply love made visible. As I know all too well from my other ‘job’, it’s not always grand projects; sometimes it’s dropping in on someone who’s been unwell, supporting a local cause, or just offering a listening ear. A church that is alive is one that looks outward as well as inward.

The 5th of July will mark my 10th year as a priest. It’s been ajourney full of grace, challenge, learning, and deep joy in a variety of contrasting contexts; I am grateful that in this chapter of my ministry I am walking it with you in Sidlesham. And as the fields around us continue to grow green and full of life, I wonder if we might each take a moment to ask ourselves: how might I be part of the life of this church and community? Not out of any sense of obligation, but out of joy.

Because when each of us brings what we can, whether that’s time, prayer, presence, kindness (or all the above!) we don’t just keep a church going, we help it to flourish.

With my continued prayers for you all.

Father Chris