Thought for the Day

Good morning. Over New Year, two elite Premier League clubs decided being in the top six wasn’t good enough, and they needed a new manager. One of them, Chelsea, has appointed the man currently in charge of Strasbourg, Liam Rosenior. Rosenior becomes one of only two Black managers among the 20 Premier League clubs—making him one of just 12 Black individuals to hold a managerial position in the Premier League since Ruud Gullit's appointment in 1996. 43 per cent of Premier League players are black. Yet a contrasting 97 per cent of their exec and non-exec leaders are white. Rosenior’s demeanour taking up the role has been gracious. Unusually, he gave a press conference at the club he’s left, thanking them for the opportunity and expressing his affection for the team. He has a history of writing a column for a national newspaper and raising issues of race and justice. Wayne Rooney’s among those who’ve lauded his coaching style. I have a friend who, when he married a white woman, had to wait six years before he was welcomed in her parents’ home. But I’ve never heard him utter a word of reproach or introduce race as a reason for any denial of opportunities elsewhere. By contrast I have another black friend who’s repeatedly been subject to projections about her volatility, unreliability and lack of organisation, whereas I’ve always found her meticulously well prepared and even-tempered. We’ve often spoken about whether making a formal complaint would be wise or counterproductive. Last week the Australian cricketer Usman Khawaja, announcing his retirement, looked back over his 88-test career. He said, ‘I had to work harder than everyone else, score more runs than the rest, and make sure I didn't give them any excuse not to pick me.’ Like my two friends, Liam Rosenior and Usman Khawaja have had to choose when to fight and call out, and when to put their head down and trust their own ability and the goodness of the system they’re in. Jesus did both. He certainly preached humble faithfulness and self-denying sacrifice. But if that’s all he’d said, he’d never have been crucified. He was crucified because he told the political and religious leaders of his time they were wrong about truth, about justice, and about God, and because he proclaimed and modelled a society where everyone belonged with one another and with him. For him, social change was about setting an outstanding example, but also taking the risk of directly and unflinchingly highlighting where that ideal was being blocked or subtly subverted. Two thousand years later, nothing much has changed.

The Bible doesn’t call them kings, nor that there were three of them. But tradition has come to call them kings, with their famous three gifts - gold for wealth, frankincense for divinity, myrrh for death. And there are other kings in the story. Herod is the tyrant king, the might is right king, the king who will do anything to retain power. And Bethlehem, where all the action takes place, is the City of King David, the harking back to the glory days king. And then there is the child in a stable king, the one who will be crowned with thorns, the one to whom the so-called three kings bow down. Epiphany is a reflection on what makes for a good king. It’s an interesting coincidence that the feast of the Epiphany, on the 6th January, is also the date of that attempted insurrection in Washington DC, where thousands stormed the Capital building to try and overturn the results of the 2020 election. And last year the No Kings demonstrations brought millions of people out onto the streets in protest. American independence was gained by throwing off the authority of George III, which is why someone behaving like a king can feel like a threat to American identity. Back in Bethlehem two thousand years ago, a weak and pathetic baby gurgles in an out-house, surrounded by cattle. For Christians, this child is the presence of God Almighty, the king of kings. But he doesn’t look like a king. “Mild he lays his glory by” we sing. Power and wealth, typically defining qualities of kingly rule, seem to have been set aside by this strange monarch. In adult life he will come to speak about a kingdom, but one quite unlike the kingdoms of the earth. Here the first shall be last, the poor will be robed in ermine, here peace will have more effect than violence, where human love is the battle cry and strength is made perfect in weakness. It is a curious programme of political action – except that over the centuries billions have pledged their allegiance to it. And whilst some have argued that kings have some God given right to rule, others have referenced the kingdom Jesus spoke about as one to whom all, even monarchs, should pay homage. “No King but Jesus” was the revolutionary cry of the Parliamentarians as they sought to bring down the regime of Charles 1st. In that stable in Bethlehem, those three kings cast their crowns before the Christ child. This is the template for genuine Christian rule, an acknowledgement that all are subject to that other kingdom, however glamourous and mighty they might think of themselves. And as for that last gift of myrrh for death, it is a reminder that no kingly rule can last forever. In the end, Christians believe that we will all have to give an account of ourselves. And the mighty of this world will be judged accordingly.

06 JAN 26

05 JAN 26

03 JAN 26

Good morning. I have a sense today of a country in limbo, eking out the last days of holiday and anxious about what the new year will hold. All the hard things we face together are surely right there where we left them. We owe ourselves a pause, an opportunity to step off the treadmill of consumption that rushed us through preparation for Christmas, right into new years’ resolutions and worries about the future. The Christian practice of gratitude, properly understood, can help us find that pause, to feel better, and do better. For some people, the return to routine can’t come soon enough. Not all can afford time off work, and many suffer with closure of regular care or support services. Even those whose Christmas and New Year conformed to the popular script of family and feasting can end up feeling overwhelmed, weary, and out of pocket. Marketers amplify our moods - they know that my trousers are somewhat tighter now than last week, that I’m sick of London’s grey pavement and that the new stain on my carpet makes me ripe to be sold a new one. So it is out with TV ads about party food and perfume, in with cleaning products, diets, and package holidays. It is easy to believe I had no choice but to buy things to prepare and now more things to recover. If I’m not careful, I will have not only failed to ‘make memories,’ as the popular phrase has it, but also have missed out on appreciating things the first time around. Here is where the habit of gratitude, the habit of it, helps. It begins with being present in the moment, to look and see and feel. St Paul gave Christians the command to ‘give thanks in all circumstances’ to encourage people living with evil that God was not finished, not to say suffering was God’s will. It is not God’s will that anyone spent this holiday in a home that was unsafe, or lonely. A habit of thanksgiving is an antidote to denial as it names what’s good and puts it in the foreground AND EXPOSES bad things for what they are. Today, just as for Paul, gratitude refuses to let evil have all the airtime, even when it shouts the loudest. Today, gratitude might mean pausing to ask what has surprised me with joy? What has pricked my conscience, or broken my heart? What do I NOT need to pick up again in the new year? Then we can approach 2026 with truth telling, wonder and curiosity: then we can make resolutions that do more than loosen our tight waistbands. And good news: it costs us nothing.

T’was the week after Christmas, and all through the town People were taking their lights and trees down They’ve been up since November, no wonder we’re sick All of our homes must be wrestled back from St Nick. But now there is darkness where the bright tree once stood A space to be filled because we feel that we should. Never fear, for January is here to step into the gap A new year, a new us! How the gym owners clap. We’ll be better than before, all shiny and new. The lies that we tell, the plans we’ll never see through. It’s the bleak mid winter, when the holly wears a crown, This is the season for hunkering down. Save new commitments for spring, when things are less blue Christmas isn’t yet over, there is still work for it to do. Yes, it’s a new year but still the same old you. What’s needed right now is something more solid, more timeless and true. I have my faith, but I don’t always know what’s best to say. To deliver a Thought for the Year and not just a Day. Finding joy in January is hard, making it easier to doubt So what do we do when the lights all go out? It’s a challenge to remain hopeful when all around us is bare. But the eternal hope of Christmas is a truth for all to share. That shepherd’s watched while glory shone around Gives us hope for the weary, that the lost may still be found. That angels touched earth with their wings all unfurled Gives us strength to resist being dimmed by the world. In a year riven with anger, intolerance and hate. We must consciously keep light burning, lest shadows await. It’s a light that still shines, as fierce as can be It’s a stubborn little light that no one can see. It has the power to soften the heart and make it less numb. Darkness doesn’t vanquish the light, which can’t be overcome. The church are custodians of a story, of holy time and sacred place. We herald love coming down from heaven, to show us God’s face. This story remains true, long after the decorations are gone The Word is enthroned in flesh forever, and so the light shines on. So take down the lights and take down the tree But keep one light shining, all the year to see. For now, Christmas continues, ere it goes out of sight So: Happy new Year to all, let us be keepers of light.

Sooner than we know, New Year’s Eve has come round again. Will you be making the same old resolutions to make yourself feel better? Or could this be the year to rethink the ritual by looking outwards? To be specific, rather than agonising about reinventing yourself, should you instead discover the rewards of selfless service … service to one person, one family or even an entire community? In the depths of World War 2, C.S. Lewis went to the heart of the matter when he wrote: “Next to the Blessed Sacrament itself, your neighbour is the holiest object presented to your senses.” But what, exactly, does it take to be able to serve selflessly? The answer lies not in tedious aspirations to some kind of perfection, but in building on your strengths, making the best of what you already have. “Start from where you stand.” I first heard those words 35 years ago at World Youth Day in Kraków, the home ground of Pope John Paul II. I had the chance to talk to him about Christian values, such as humility, and their role in service. Though already working on Wall Street, I still felt a calling to the priesthood, and ventured to ask the Holy Father for his thoughts. He looked me straight in the face and said: “You will have greater impact outside the Church. Be guided by your faith and do God’s will ... Start from where you stand. You are an original, and you must encourage others to be originals. That changes things.” We all have it in us to be an original. After all, no one else in the world has exactly the same beliefs, passions and talents as you do. You can seek advice from people you trust, but in the end it’s for you to determine just how you use your time, not in serving yourself, but in serving other people.Starting from where you stand, you can be an original in your own, quiet, honest way. The scope of your ambitions does not have to be radical. Just look around you. In the words of Romans 15, verse 2: “Each of us should please our neighbours for their good, to build them up.” Resolutions come and resolutions go. But your life, like other people’s lives, can be transformed if you take concrete action – even in a small way – for the common good. Never mind that idealised list of personal goals. Start now and prepare for the multiplier effect. You will see how the waves of generosity will ripple outward, growing to reshape your life in 2026.

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Good morning. ‘Her own thoughts and reflections were habitually her best companions.’ So says Jane Austen of Fanny Price in Mansfield Park. But she could equally have said it of herself. Jane Austen’s 250th birthday this week is being widely celebrated on this network. She was swathed in the practice of faith: her father and two of her brothers were ordained, and two visits to church on Sunday were her lifelong pattern. She certainly knew the shortcomings of religion: parodying the servility and self-importance of the parson Mr Collins, she says he ‘was not a sensible man, and the deficiency of nature had been but little assisted by education or society.’ Her gift is to turn the interactions of family and community, and especially the elaborate dance and fragility of finding a marriage partner, into a whole moral universe. Her characters transcend their surroundings. One, Mr Bennet, says laconically, ‘For what do we live, but to make sport for our neighbours, and laugh at them in our turn?’ Another, Mr Knightley, says poignantly to Emma Woodhouse, ‘If I loved you less, I might be able to talk about it more.’ It's a truth universally acknowledged that it’s never been clear what it actually means to be a Christian. Some insist on adherence to specific doctrines. Others on obedience to identifiable moral codes. Others point to formation in a traditional culture. A woman of her time, Jane Austen’s participation in worship and devotion was socially conventional. But she has her own answers to this perennial question. If she were to identify a favourite parable, my guess is she’d choose the story of the two sons, one of whom refused his father’s request to go into the vineyard, but did; while his brother said, ‘I will,’ but didn’t. For Austen, Christianity’s about actions not words. ‘Christian’ is more of a verb than a noun. The many suitors are sifted out not by their protestations of love, but by their true character. Of Fanny Price, we’re told, ‘She made herself indispensable to those she loved.’ Which connects Jane Austen in a significant way to Christmas. For the Christmas story’s not about what God says. It’s about what God does. In Northanger Abbey, Isabella Thorpe exclaims, ‘There’s nothing I would not do for those who are really my friends. I have no notion of loving people by halves. It’s not my nature.’ Coming in person as a vulnerable baby is communicating by action rather than by word. Maybe Jane Austen knew exactly what she thought being a Christian meant. It meant not loving by halves. Perhaps she’s more of a theologian than she’s usually given credit for.

Good Morning, ‘Hark!’ ‘Do you hear what I hear?’ ‘They said there’d be snow this Christmas; they said there’d be peace on earth’ ‘Do they know it’s Christmas?’ ‘I pray God it’s our last!’ Throughout the land the lyrics of Christmas songs are being piped in shopping centres and pubs and, loved or loathed, we sing along. This year’s official Christmas No1 will be decided on Friday. Current favourite is Kylie, with oldies from George Michael and Slade chasing hard. As Slade’s Noddy Holder sings; ‘Does your granny always tell ya that the old songs are the best.’ Then, in a tradition begun by Lennon and taken up by Rage Against The Machine, there are the Christmas protest songs. This year’s from Brian Eno and Peter Gabriel with ‘Lullaby’, a song for Gaza, and Billy Bragg’s ‘Put Christ Back Into Christmas’, with Bragg asking us ‘to stand with those who need the most’ and reminding us that Christmas celebrates the birth of a refugee. It seems very British to me that we are free to mix protest in with sentimentality and silliness. The Christmas story is spacious enough to contain all our hopes and fears, our joy and praise, our rage and indifference. Even our scrooge-iest revulsion. For I contend that the birth of Christ is itself a kind of cosmic protest song. The original Christmas No.1 was after all sung by angels to people at the margins of society: the young Mary and Shepherds, those far from the corridors of power and status; a startling song that announces a change to the status quo, a tune sweeter and louder than the prevailing mood music of despair, the monotonous dirge of violence and oppressive power, of one bad thing after another: ‘Do not be afraid’ it declares. ‘There will be peace on earth.’ It’s arguable that we might never have heard this story had the message not been sung to people who were immediately in tune with it, and able to sing back in words of astonished wonder and praise: ‘he has scattered the proud, put down the mighty, exalted those of lowly degree.’ Or ‘My eyes have seen your salvation.’ Once you’ve ‘hailed the incarnate deity’; or seen the Godhead veiled in flesh, the chances are you’re going to sing about it. Christmas invites the world to sing a different tune. I’d even suggest that part of the reason we still sing about it – even if we stray into sentiment - is that its core melody is like a pop tune or great carol you can’t help but sing along with. ‘No. I can’t get you out of my head; because God and sinners are reconciled; because mild he lays his glory by; the hopes and fears of all the years are met in thee; And so this is Christmas.’

Good morning. This year, for the first time, I've bought a real, 6-foot Christmas tree - and I hit the shops in search of baubles and tinsel.The only problem? Fashions have changed. I want the kind of tree I remember from the 80s: a multicoloured glitter bomb that looks like a dozen boxes of quality street.Alas, things have gone posh. It's all pink and white now, or cold blue; coordinated and minimalist. As if decorating a hotel foyer. I stared for days at my naked tree, preferring that to the retail option, and wondering why I was so bothered.Well, trees clearly do still matter because people are furious that a public tree was cut down at Shotton Colliery in County Durham, a green spruce the village planted over a decade ago in remembrance of the dead from two world wars. . It reminded me of the grief that was felt when the Sycamore Gap tree was butchered in 2023.Christmas trees are far more than decoration. One legend has it, that they were introduced by Martin Luther, when he was out walking one winter night and saw the stars twinkling around the top of a fir. He put a tree hung with candles in his home, to remind onlookers that Jesus came from Heaven. This German tradition was imported to Britain by Queen Charlotte, who, in 1800, decorated the first known royal tree at Windsor - with fruits, toys, raisins and candles.It was already custom here to hang greenery indoors, probably to cheer us up while, in a colder age, the view outside the window was barren and white. To this pagan-ish spirit was added a Christian spin, the sparkling Christmas tree, like Christ, suggests light in the darkness and the promise of new life. For nature this comes with spring. For human beings, with resurrection.Faith, far from being at odds with the tangible world of nature, sacramentalises it. In psalm 96, "the trees of the forest" are ordered to "sing for joy" in praise of God. The author of the Old English poem The Dream of the Rood encounters a talking tree that provided the wood for Christ's cross, bedecked with gold and gems. This fits with my instinct that Christmas trees should be sparkly and bright, so bright that when the lights are switched on they’re visible from space.A wise friend pointed out that most Christmas decorations are not bought in one go, but accumulated over a lifetime. When they’re taken out of the attic and hung from the tree, the odds and ends are a trip down memory lane. Christmas trees invite wonder. Adults, I suspect, think of childhoods past. The tree connects us to mysteries of time and nature and promise.

15 DEC 25