Psalm 100v5 says, “the LORD is good and his love endures for ever; his faithfulness continues through all generations.” Our generation has experienced that faithfulness over the last thirty years, and we can testify that God is good all the time, and that his love goes on and on, despite challenging circumstances and making mistakes.

Often in those first years of Autumn Soul, when we were leading worship or bringing our youth group, or involved in prayer ministry, we became especially aware of God’s goodness and love. And so this evening, we would like to bless you – from one generation to another – for the glory of Jesus.

If you would like to receive this blessing, please open your hands as a sign to show your openness… If you are here as an older person, we invite you to join us in stretching out your hands, your arms of love and protection, over this gathering. Let’s start as we mean to go on – this is a Holy moment.

May you meet Jesus. As you encounter the one who gave his all for you, and who knows the number of hairs on your head, may you know you are deeply loved.

May you have fun. May first timers feel at home and included. May new friendships be made. May leaders and volunteers be full of energy and joy.

May you have freedom to worship with all your heart, where your voice and body and mind and soul combine to lift the name of Jesus high, and you draw near to God, as God draws near to you.

May you hear God speak in ways that change your life. May you say “yes” to God. May you go for prayer, have freedom to cry or to laugh, dance or be still, to speak or to be silent.

May your brokenness be made new as you fall into the arms of the one who puts the broken pieces back together and calls you beautiful.

May you be filled and go on being filled with the Spirit, filled with passion and a fire that revives your heart and spills out of here into churches, homes, schools and youth groups.

May you go from this place ready to follow Jesus with all that you are, walking with Jesus every day and learning to hear his voice. May you know the comfort of his presence on difficult days.

May you leave bursting to share the love of the Father, leading the lost to Jesus and joining with the Spirit to be bringers of justice, healing and hope.

May you be light in a dark world – not afraid of the darkness but trusting that God will not let you stumble and fall – knowing God’s protection from the evil one.

May you show us how to be God’s family, the church. May you teach us by your example of leadership, inspire us with your imagination and encourage us by your steady, joy-filled presence in this world.

May you have bold faith and be fearless and courageous. May you have courage to take more risks for the Kingdom than your parents.

May we go together into this weekend and the years to come with the God of the “immeasurably more” who will do more than we can ask or imagine according to his great power at work within us, giving all the glory to Him.

“Come, Holy Spirit. Help us to know your presence and power with us now, as we spend this time together with you. Amen.”

Friday 24 October 2025
East Belfast Mission

All of us have a particular orientation to time – of the nine personality types identified by the Enneagram, a third will tend to focus on the past, a third will be able to dwell most easily in the present, and another three will mainly be keeping their eyes on the future. For me, it’s the past. I love looking at photos of things we’ve done or seen, telling stories of experiences, looking back to try to make sense of the world.
I wonder about you? Do you find yourself mainly living in the past, the present or the future?
As I was thinking and praying about what to say today, the first time I’ve preached since Christmas Day, I realised my mind has been doing an awful lot of churning during these ten months, skipping between past, present and future, when I’m thinking and chatting, when I’m being absent-minded, even when I’m dreaming. I have been living in three tenses. Past, Present, Future.

Past

We’ve done a lot of clearing of boxes recently, papers and trinkets gathered over fifty years. I’ve been remembering student days, travelling experiences and the first years of marriage – a lot of fun, formation and fruitfulness. But also loss – of grandparents, of leaving my home church family to go on circuit, of the dream that Methodism would be revived in our youth. Turning 50 and thinking about all that’s happened in the decade since turning 40 has been challenging, where we had to make the best of every situation while the fear that Timothy might die was always lurking in the background. And then becoming those people who were living everyone else’s worst nightmare, burying our son.

Present

In the middle of all the grief and stress this year, God has been kind. In my Christmas day sermon I preached to myself as much as to anyone in the building: ‘Jesus is here’. I’ve had to take note in moments of anxiety and numbness that His kindness and presence has permeated through other people’s acts of service, hugs, prayers. I’ve decided to worship as wholeheartedly as I can – which is often stunted with pain – and seize the moment to go for prayer ministry where settings allow. I’ve been reminded of the beauty of creation – walking on the beach at White Park Bay, staring in awe at the scale of Austrian mountains and valleys, pausing for still sunsets at Castlewellan Lake, sneaking a glimpse of the Autumn sunlight on the beech trees in our garden, stopping to listen to birdsong in the Algarve. Even on the absolute awful days, the valley of the shadow of death days, I know that God is with me. His rod and staff – his presence and protection – they comfort me.

Future

I’m not the same person as a year ago. There’s a gap in my life that I’m still trying to understand and am not sure will ever be filled. I’m not the same minister as a year ago. I query song lyrics and theologies that in some way suggest God will always do what I want or even need. The future feels uncertain. I don’t know where we’ll be or what it holds. I trust that God is good but, like CS Lewis’ Aslan, I’m not convinced that he’s safe – there is danger and challenge in following Jesus. But when I sing to him and stretch out my hands to him, he ministers his peace to me. God is calling me onwards; my purpose is still to make more worshippers of Jesus; my household is called to share life together as family on mission; our mission as a Methodist people is to be living wholeheartedly as followers of Jesus, for the transformation of the world.

A Bible Passage Spanning a Decade

Within days of Timothy’s first hospital admission back in November 2016, I stumbled our reading for today from Colossians 1. It seemed relevant to look at it again nearly ten years later, and I discovered there is an element of past, present and future in verses 9-14, and I find them encouraging:

Past

v13-14 shows what God has already done for us in the past – ‘he has rescued us from the dominion of darkness and brought us into the kingdom of the Son he loves, in whom we have redemption, the forgiveness of sins’ – nomatter how dark things might appear around us in our lives and country and world, we are, right now, also standing in the Kingdom of light, in Jesus’ Kingdom, through whom our sins have been forgiven. And we have not been alone. v9 shows that Paul and his friends had heard about the church, and had been praying for them continually. There is always someone praying for you. Someone who has heard of you, seen your challenges and your steadfastness and has prayed for you. Maybe you are one of the pray-ers. Know that your prayer ministry has been effective in the past and is needed all the more now.

Present

The second half of v9 shows what Paul’s crew are actively praying for the church: continually asking God to ‘fill you with the knowledge of his will through all the wisdom and understanding that the Spirit gives.’ We are encouraged to ‘live in the moment’, in the present, and right here, right now, we need to be filled with the Holy Spirit. To know God’s will for the next step, to possess wisdom and understanding and so much more, we need to be filled with God’s Spirit, now.

Future

What is the prayed-for future of Colossians 1? It’s ‘that you may live a life worthy of the Lord and please him in every way’:

• ‘Bearing fruit in every good work’ – fruit of the Spirit, and reaping a harvest of souls
• ‘Growing in the knowledge of God’ – not simply knowledge about God, but knowing him more deeply
• ‘Being strengthened with all power according to his glorious might so that you might have great endurance and patience’ – the power to persevere, to keep standing despite all the knockbacks that the world will send
• ‘Giving joyful thanks to the Father, who has qualified you to share in the inheritance of his holy people in the kingdom of light.’ – a people who overflow with joy not because life is easy but because we are co-heirs with Jesus in God’s Kingdom.

An Invitation

It’s over 8 years since we moved to Dromore, who knows how much longer we’ll be allowed to stay with you (and we want to stay with you), but today this feels like a new beginning – a restart – and I want to invite you all to give your past, your present, your future, not to me nor to Dromore Methodist Church, but to Jesus, afresh, as Lord and Saviour, the one who sends us out onto the mission field of Dromore, not in our own strength but in the power of the Holy Spirit.

Hear Colossians 1:9-14 in Eugene Peterson’s Message voice now: “Be assured that from the first day we heard of you, we haven’t stopped praying for you, asking God to give you wise minds and spirits attuned to his will, and so acquire a thorough understanding of the ways in which God works. We pray that you’ll live well for the Master, making him proud of you as you work hard in his orchard. As you learn more and more how God works, you will learn how to do your work. We pray that you’ll have the strength to stick it out over the long haul—not the grim strength of gritting your teeth but the glory-strength God gives. It is strength that endures the unendurable and spills over into joy, thanking the Father who makes us strong enough to take part in everything bright and beautiful that he has for us. God rescued us from dead-end alleys and dark dungeons. He’s set us up in the kingdom of the Son he loves so much, the Son who got us out of the pit we were in, got rid of the sins we were doomed to keep repeating.”

Even as you read this bullet-pointed version of a sermon, it’s possible that God is at work. I invite you to ask the Holy Spirit to minister to you now, whether that’s sealing something in your soul that God wants you to remember, or placing someone on your heart that needs God’s help or salvation, or doing some rewiring in your mind, or transforming your circumstances in some way. He knows what you need, and he loves you.

God loves us, and longs for us to place our past, our present, our future into his loving hands. Jesus is Lord. Come, Holy Spirit.

On Tuesday 30 December 2025, Timothy died.

Even as I type those words, my brain kicks immediately into action, wrapping me in cotton wool, to protect me from feeling them. Maybe it’s too early to write about him. But I have a desire to create, to use words to communicate something of my experience, our experience as a family, even while I remain on leave from work and my usual ways of expressing truth, belief and beauty – pastoral conversations and Sunday services – are currently beyond my reach.

A gentle warning – this post could upset you, and if you don’t need that right now just move on, it’s okay.

Just over a year ago we heard the scary news that Timothy’s leukaemia had relapsed. It had happened before, several times, over the nine years since his first diagnosis. But there was always a resolution, an answer to prayer, that saw him move into remission – ie, no more nasties in his blood or bone marrow – and then gradual recovery of health and strength. He experienced a near-catastrophic pulmonary embolism at the end of December 2023, which really unsettled him and brought great anxiety to his daily life for much of 2024, so he was determined to not let a wee thing like another relapse derail his life again in 2025, although it did spell the end of his academic journey – A-levels were not his top priority!

He needed regular transfusions of blood and platelets in the Spring of 2025, initially weekly but sometimes twice a week as his bone marrow continued to fail. An extreme anaphylactic reaction to one particular platelets transfusion was an eventful interlude to these routine clinic appointments. Gradually the blast count started to rise, and there were no more options left. We tried going back to the treatment he’d been receiving pre-relapse, and were encouraged (/astonished) when it was effective again. The blast count reduced, the transfusions stopped, and he was back in remission.

Timothy spent the next six months getting out and about as much as possible, visiting friends, attending events, participating in Exodus Lisburn programmes, as well as working his way through Netflix series and playing FC25. He passed his driving test and got a wee red car through Motability, putting over 8000 miles on the clock. He auditioned for and was accepted into the IMYC Events Band, singing at Soul Mates and Autumn Soul. His newly-acquired adult status led him to taking control of most aspects of his life, quickly becoming an independent young man who made some mistakes along the way, learned from them, resisted parental control or wisdom but was quick to apologise, and always came home at night to tell us he loved us. Timothy’s friends were his life, but his family was his launching-pad, and times with his brothers at Castlewellan Holiday Week, the Big Church Festival, daily dinners, watching movies and Marvel at home, and visits to grandparents, uncles, aunties and cousins were deeply significant to him.

Everything was going so well. I think in all our heads, and particularly in his, Timothy’s story was going to be one of medical challenges frequently overcome, of new treatments and eventually a cure becoming available, one step at a time. So at the end of November, it was a scary evening when one side of his body became numb for a while, leading to an overnight trip to the Emergency Department with Kathryn to rule out a stroke. But I didn’t panic, wasn’t it just another episode of ‘all’s okay in the end’? However, the week that followed saw headaches develop, a growing sensitivity to light and a quieter Timothy resting in the living room in the dark.

When the pain increased and became persistent it was time to return to the hospital with Kathryn, and later he and I became residents of the Children’s Cancer Unit once more. His symptoms worsened, tests were undertaken and after a few days the crushing news arrived that the leukaemia had found its way into his Central Nervous System, with blast cells in his spinal fluid and lesions on his brain. His eyes were under pressure and in danger. Our prayer movement kicked into gear again, and my calm-loving mind hoped all would be well. Lumbar punctures and injections of chemotherapy directly into his spinal fluid brought some relief and, we rejoiced, cleared the blast cells to near zero! The symptoms pulled back a bit. We got home.

But the headaches continued. His appetite was suppressed. His coordination was a bit off. Energy was low. Nausea was overwhelming at times. Though fear niggled at us, we hoped it was side effects of the chemo and the several new drugs that were introduced to help counteract one thing or another. Timothy heard a voice say, “the verse of the day” in the middle of the night when he was awake and frightened; the Bible app ‘verse of the day’ was Luke 2:8-12 in The Message version, the shepherds’ dramatic encounter with the angel of the Lord announcing Jesus’ birth. I prayed it over him. Christmas Eve brought vomiting and a return to the ward. We woke on Christmas morning to an unexpected Santa sack in the hospital room but he wasn’t especially excited. I went home to preach on that passage:

“You might feel terrified at the moment, but God’s message is, “Don’t be afraid. There is good news. Jesus is here.” In the middle of our dark and desperate moments, Jesus is here. In our pain, Jesus is here. In our grief and loss, Jesus is here. In our pride, Jesus is here. In our helplessness and despair, Jesus is here. A Saviour has been born, who is Messiah and Master… Jesus is here.”

In truth, I was preaching to myself. Timothy’s condition was unnerving and upsetting and I needed to be reminded of God’s presence in the middle of it. He got out of the ward for a few hours on Christmas night and Boxing Day, and then home overnight on the 27th. That evening, the six of us sat together in the tree-lit living room, the dog and cat present too, watching a Christmas movie, eating snacks, the fire blazing. However, the next morning Timothy was awoken by vomiting again and we returned quickly to the ward.

That Sunday was different. His strength was spent, the room was quiet as he slept during the day. He needed to be lifted from bed to wheelchair. Kathryn came in for the evening. When she left, he said his usual, “Night night, love you, see you in the morning” – his last words to her. He was fasting the next morning for the routine Monday lumbar puncture (in paediatrics done under general anaesthetic), not that he noticed the lack of food. We went together up to theatres, and when it was time for the procedure I held his hand as the gas and air began – unlike the normal routine, there was no singing to see how far through a song he could get before he succumbed – and he looked into my eyes as he fell asleep with the usual trust that we’d see each other again shortly.

I went back to the ward, had a late lunch, watched some TV, wrote in my journal. The wait seemed longer than usual. And then some news – Timothy wasn’t waking from his anaesthetic, and the team was becoming concerned. I should call Kathryn to come immediately. He was brought to have a CT scan and then to PICU (Paediatric Intensive Care Unit). I sent a brief, worried message to our prayer warriors. And then the worst conversation of our lives. The lesions on his brain had grown dramatically, and deep. The pressure in his head had become too much and all brain activity had stopped. He was still intubated post-procedure, as in, a small pump was keeping him breathing. We could spend as much time as we wanted with him, but he wasn’t going to wake up.

And everything within me said, “It can’t be true. This is the last great test. We will pray, and there will be a miracle, and Timothy will wake up.” And my gut said, “This is different. He’s gone.”

I called our parents, our brother and sisters, our closest friends, our minister. Over the hours that followed, they came to say goodbye, to hold his hand, to whisper, “In the name of Jesus, rise up and walk!” Kathryn and I sat with him through the wee hours of the night, telling him of our love, our remorse, assuring him of God’s presence, commanding even then his resurrection. But this time, the prayer was not answered the way we wanted. Several different people in the days to come would tell us that they were woken that night to pray for Timothy and us, and that they had images of warrior angels standing guard over him, ready to take him home.

Tuesday morning, Timothy was brought back to the Cancer ward, to a room specially prepared on the east side of the unit. The sun streamed through the window onto his face. We invited the staff team to join us, and we stood together in silence. I cut the ribbon holding his breathing tube in place, just as I had cut his umbilical cord nearly nineteen years earlier. A short while later, he was at rest, calm, peaceful.

…

On Tuesday 30 December 2025, Timothy died.

…

I don’t know why he had to deal with so many challenges in his life, why God brought him through so much and prolonged his life for so long, but for it to end now. Having said that, even at the end God was kind. It wasn’t the routine procedure that caused his death, it was the trauma that happened in his head, and if he hadn’t been under anaesthetic he would have left us very suddenly and without those beautiful moments in PICU and on the ward. The nurses and doctors who were with us gave him the most dignified and compassionate treatment. And Timothy didn’t die in the dark, which he was scared of, but in glorious sunlight.

As I write, it’s Ash Wednesday – the beginning of Lent, a time for lament and solemn reflection. This year, I bring Jesus my broken heart, and remember that death is an inescapable part of life, and sit in the tension of an unwanted ending with the hope of resurrection, and experience the reality of the beatitude as our loving, wide community surrounds us: blessed are those who mourn, for they will be comforted.

From the dust we came
To the dust we shall return
God everlasting, age unto age the same
We are a moment, then like a breath we fade

From the dust we came
To the dust we shall return
God everlasting, we are cut down as grass
Seeds in the morning, then by the night we pass

O Lord have mercy
O Lord have mercy
O Lord have mercy

_{Written by Paul Zach, Kate Bluett; Performed by Paul Zach and The Sing Team}

During the four-day event we sang a lot of psalms, hymns and spiritual songs, accompanied by grand pipe organ, full band, just a guitar or piano, or simply our voices. Music for a procession of presidents, music while we shared communion or received anointing, music that faded to silence. Sometimes, all that’s left to do is lift a hand high, declare ‘I love you Lord Jesus’, and wait in his presence.

At a different conference in November 2024, the 24-7prayer Gathering in Rotterdam, I was ‘just’ singing as part of the congregation, but found myself tearing up and/or unable to sing from time to time. I was overwhelmed by the passion and desire of the 1000+ people present to give their very best to Jesus in worship. Somewhere in there was also the crystallising of a calling that has been with me for over thirty years, to ‘make more worshippers of Jesus Christ’.

We’re still in the Christmas season, when we hear the angels sing to the shepherds, “Glory to God in the highest heaven, and on earth peace to those on whom his favour rests” – our work in heaven will include singing God’s praises; our job on earth is to be prepared for that role! An interesting thing to me is that often when Christians sing their hearts out in worship there is a moment when the music stops and there is simply: peace. This cycle of praise and peace is one I yearn to be part of forever, and long for as many people as possible to experience.

It’s been nearly twenty years since I led the Autumn Soul Band; nearly ten since Soul Purpose stepped down from playing at Castlewellan Holiday Week. But, Sunday by Sunday, for thirty years, I have helped to lead small groups of God’s people in praise and prayer, or tried to encourage those who are ministering. Kathryn has been doing the same, and it’s cool that our boys are joining in too! At the start of a new year, I’m looking forward to more occasions of leading and being led in worship, whether on my own in the car, with friends in Dromore, or joining with hundreds or even thousands of others who love Jesus.

There is nothing better.

PS This post on New Year’s Day 2025 is a nod to a nudge that I should try to create content in the middle of all the consuming that I do. More than two posts this year, I promise!

Anyway, here’s the file. Please do let me know if you find this helpful!

You can make your own ‘twelve stones/memories’ record for the year that’s past by picking some of the questions from this morning, or even create your own little family prayer and reflection time, using this document:

As it turned out, we weren’t able to be present for that event, but the concept of our brokenness being beautiful and helpful to others has remained with us. As the Covid pandemic stretched into the 2021 lockdown I could feel my own levels of anxiety grow and capacity shrink, and was struck that many people in our community might experience similar things in the coming months and years. I stumbled across Kintsugi Hope again and felt a nudge from God to start a group for the people of Dromore, which took place over Zoom in the Winter of 2021/2 in partnership with local Elim church leaders. Some of the tools for emotional health that we practiced then have continued to help me ever since.

With assistance from others, I’m looking forward to running another group soon ‘in-person’, offering a safe and supportive space for folks to flourish, whether or not they have a church connection (let me know if you’d like to join in, or even help).

Meanwhile, Patrick Regan has written a new book, “Brighter Days”, and we have the exciting privilege of hosting his launch tour on Saturday 14 October 2023 at 7pm at Dromore Methodist Church! The event promises music, inspirational stories, humour and practical tools to help us all look forward with hope to the future. Tickets (only a fiver) can be purchased beforehand – Brighter Days Dromore. Who do you think you could bring with you, for an encouraging evening together?

As we pass the solar equinox and head into literally darker days for a few months, it’s good to lift our hearts and our heads, reminded that brighter days will come again.