Like many of you, I spend the first week of the New Year going through my diary, trying to anticipate some of the challenges and opportunities the next twelve months will bring.

Many positive things can be said about the benefits of online education. While in-person classes were largely suspended over the last two years because of the pandemic, students did not have to suspend their lives or learning. Wycliffe students were still able to proceed in their programs.

Do you, like me, have a complicated relationship with the news?

Do you, like me, have a complicated relationship with the news? I find it almost magnetic—I want to know “what is going on,” to think myself part of current social dramas. I also find the news disorienting and discomfiting—it depicts a world out of control.

My dad was a “there-are-no-strangers-but-only-friends-I-haven’t-met-yet” kind of guy. He was disarmingly affable and could size up a situation that was full of flaws and point out what was good about it.

Just when we thought that we were about to survive the coronapocalypse, the Omicron variant appeared from the viral swamp and, like the tail of the Balrog, swept us from the victory podium.

There’s a growing ache at the heart of many of our western societies. Its name is loneliness. And a stream of actors has been calling it out of late: psychologists, pastors, pandemistas, even politicians.

People think about theological colleges in different ways. To most, perhaps, they are simply schools, maybe professional schools, like the faculties of medicine or law or music.

Names are important in the Bible. From the time Adam named the animals in the creation story, to the revelation of God’s name in the Sinai desert, to the angelic naming of the holy child who is our Saviour. Names identify. Names personify. Names are intimate. Names awaken memory.

Today marks the centenary of the birth of John R.W. Stott (1921-2011). Identified by Time magazine in 2005 as one of the world’s “100 Most Influential People,” John R.W. Stott was a legendary figure in the modern global evangelical movement.

“Stuck at home”

stuck: “mired, glued, compelled, resolutely adhered, halted, saddled disagreeably”

home: “one’s place of residence, domicile, habitat”

How very good and pleasant it is

Have you ever seen so many people so anxious to put something behind them? “Good riddance!” we exclaim to a year that saw 80 million people infected by a lethal virus that was the cause of widespread unemployment, isolation, and unprecedented governmental largesse.

We’ve all had enough, it seems. And yet we only want more. Shoulders curled forward, phones in our hands, eyes fixed to the screen, our brains wired to thumb endlessly deeper into the digital matrix: this is becoming the posture of humanity.

Why is it that Christians—particularly evangelical Christians—are increasingly seen as the enemy of the common good?  A Google search for “evangelical” in The New York Times quickly locates numerous articles about the evils of Christian evangelicals.

THE NEW NORMAL IS NOT NORMAL. So read a sign held aloft by a protester who appears regularly on the north side of Queen’s Park.

We are in a season of ordinations. In January, we witnessed the ordinations of Logan Hurst, Alison Hari-Singh and Alexandra Pohlod, to mention three Wycliffe students. And soon Philip Gearing and Orvin Lao will present themselves to the bishop for the laying on of hands. There are more to come.

Jesus talked a lot about money. Though I haven’t done the accounting, I suspect that money is one of his primary topics. Think of Jesus’ parables: the lost coin, the two debtors, the rich man and Lazarus, the Pharisee and the tax collector, the talents, and so on.

When the announcement was made in 2012 that the then-Bishop of Durham, Justin Welby, was to be made the 105th Archbishop of Canterbury, those who knew him praised the decision, heralding him as a peace-maker at a time of deep division in the Church and in the world.

I found Jesus a seven-minute walk from Wycliffe College. At first, I could not quite recognize him. Lying on a park bench, thickly covered with an old blanket, he was layered with snow. As I sat down on the bench beside him, though, I noticed his feet.