On the Incarnation by Athanasius was written during a time of empire, conflict, and theological crisis. This reflection explores how the early Church understood the incarnation as God entering human history to heal decay, defeat death, and restore humanity. Grounded in the Christmas story, it reframes salvation not as escape from the world, but as its renewal from within.

God did not save the world from a distance. He entered it. In Jesus, God stepped into human flesh, shared our ground, and began the long work of reconciling all things from within. Awe, in the Christian story, is not about spectacle but about nearness.

We often ask wounded people to behave like healed ones. This reflection explores why Jesus restores before he commands, how trauma and shame distort obedience, and why true transformation begins with healing, not pressure.

I do not usually read with lists in mind. I read slowly, often distractedly, sometimes devotionally, sometimes just to survive a season. But looking back over this year, a handful of books stand out not because they impressed me intellectually, but because they helped to form me. They changed the way I noticed the world. They softened me. They reoriented my imagination toward God.

Most Protestants do not realise the early Church read a wider Bible than the one we inherited. Books like Wisdom, Sirach, Baruch, Tobit, and the Maccabees shaped the world of Jesus and the imagination of the first Christians. These writings deepen our understanding of mercy, judgment, hope, and the spiritual life. Recovering them is not about changing doctrine but about regaining the texture and depth that once formed the Church’s faith. They remind us that God’s story has always been richer and wider than our tradition often remembers.

Advent is usually framed as our waiting for Christ to come, but what if Christ is already here and we are the ones catching up? This reflection explores Advent as awakening, formation, and learning to recognise the presence of Christ in our midst.

Masculinity is either idolised or dismissed, but rarely redeemed. Men do not need more stereotypes. They need initiation, healing, responsibility, and a return to Christlike humanity.

If the church drifted into quiet heresy by losing its wonder, then the way back to orthodoxy is through beauty and transcendence. This reflection explores how the recovery of awe, sacrament and imagination can restore depth to our faith, drawing on voices like Lewis, Tolkien, Schmemann and Balthasar. Beauty is not decoration. It is the path home to God.

Orthodoxy remained, but the world around us lost its depth. This reflection explores how the Western church held onto its doctrines yet drifted into a thin and disenchanted faith, drawing on voices like Charles Taylor, Underhill and James K A Smith. It is a call to recognise the ache beneath our modern Christianity and remember that the world was once alive with God - and can be again.

Halloween is not a night to fear but a sacred evening to remember. The Celts called it Samhain, a time when the veil between worlds grew thin. For Christians, it became All Hallows Eve, a night to honour the saints and the dead. In the quiet dark we remember that the light makes its home in the night, and even here, God is near.

When William Paul Young wrote The Shack, he was not trying to explain why terrible things happen. He was writing his way through sorrow. Like Job, he sat among the ashes, surrounded by questions that would not rest. Out of that ache came a story. Not a sermon, but a parable about the God who meets us in our broken places.

he gospel is not a private escape plan but a royal announcement: God reigns. From the first garden to the new creation, Scripture tells the story of heaven and earth uniting under His care. The Kin…

8Jesus said,my yoke is easy, my burden is light.I want to believe him,but most daysthe burden feels like stone. The burden of anxiety,the burden of belief,the burden of trying to be humanwhen I am tired,so tired. If this is light,what does heavy feel like? And yet,he keeps whispering, "Come, walk with me,

Every Elder Scrolls player knows the lore contradicts itself — Altmer, Nords, Khajiit, Dunmer, Imperials all tell creation differently. But what if those contradictions aren’t flaws, but the heart of Tamriel’s theology? Part I explores myth, paradox, and truth.

The image of God runs like a golden thread from Genesis to Revelation. Humanity was created as living icons in God’s cosmic temple, called to serve as royal priests who reflect his presence into creation. Though the image was fractured by sin and distorted by idolatry, it is restored in Christ, the true image of God, and fulfilled in the new creation where God dwells with his people and humanity reigns with him forever.

Faith does not erase suffering. Part II explores how hope lingers even in silence, how scars can bear witness to healing, and how new creation breaks in slowly, tenderly, like dawn after a long night.

The gospel does not begin with sin but with wonder. Creation was spoken into being within God’s presence, every breath sustained by Him. The fall fractured our communion, yet God’s presence remains. A contemplative gospel invites us to see creation as sacrament and to awaken to the breath of God still holding us.

Words are more than sound. They can corrode or create, curse or bless. Ephesians 4:29 calls us to speak life, to echo the God who spoke creation into being. Every word is seed, doorway, prayer.

Genesis 1 to 11 is more than a story of beginnings. It is a mirror of our own ache, our exile east of Eden, and God’s relentless pursuit. These seed-stories speak of hiding and blame, yet also of covering and promise. At the heart of it all stands the God who was there in the beginning, the ground of all being, still whispering us toward new creation.

Faith is not loud or obvious. It is the quiet pulse beneath the skin, the unseen thread that carried those before us into deserts, storms, and promises not yet fulfilled. Their stories still breathe around us, urging us to run with our eyes fixed on Jesus.

Faith and mental health do not meet in quick fixes. They meet in the ache, in the silence, and in the long nights when prayer feels impossible. And you are allowed to bring all of it to God

Faith is the quiet pulse that carries us forward, unseen yet certain. Surrounded by a great cloud of witnesses, we run with endurance, eyes fixed on Jesus the one who begins and completes our faith.