There is something rather strange about living in an interconnected world. A
conflict can be taking place thousands of miles away, and yet somehow it
manages to find its way into our own homes.
The Strait of Hormuz is a narrow stretch of water between Iran and the
Arabian Peninsula. It is not somewhere most of us will ever visit, and until
recently I suspect that many of us would have struggled to locate it on a map.
Yet it has become a familiar name. A very large proportion of the world’s oil
and gas passes through it, and disruption there quickly affects energy prices,
transport costs and, ultimately, the price of things we buy.
It is one of the uncomfortable realities of modern life: a decision made, or a
bomb dropped, on the other side of the world can affect what it costs us to fill
the car or heat the house. And there is an even more uncomfortable truth.
For us, the consequences may be measured in pounds and pence. For
people living in the midst of the conflict, they are measured in livelihoods lost,
homes destroyed, families separated and lives ended. The economic
statistics can make suffering sound remarkably tidy. “Inflationary pressures.”
“Supply disruption.” “Market volatility.” Behind each of those rather bloodless
expressions are human beings trying to feed their families and wondering what
tomorrow will bring.
The Christian response is not to imagine that we can solve problems which
are well beyond our control. Nor is it to pretend that complicated international
conflicts have simple answers. But neither should we allow distance to make
us indifferent.
Prayer does something rather important here. It refuses to allow other
people’s suffering to become merely an item in the news. When we pray for
peace in Iran, for people caught up in the fighting, for those whose livelihoods
are threatened, and for leaders who carry enormous responsibilities, we are
acknowledging that these people are not abstractions. They are our fellow
human beings. There is a wonderful phrase in the First Letter of John: “Let us
love, not in word or speech, but in truth and action.” Christian compassion has
always had to negotiate the awkward distance between what we feel and what
we do. Sometimes what we can do will seem very small. We can give. We
can pray. We can support those who are helping refugees and the victims of
war. We can be careful about the language we use about people with whom
we disagree. We can resist the temptation to turn complicated human
situations into simplistic stories about heroes and villains.
And we can perhaps learn to be a little more grateful for the things we too
easily take for granted.
The world may feel increasingly uncertain, but the Christian faith does not
ask us to live in fear. It asks us to live faithfully. We are not promised that
the world will always be peaceful or prosperous. We are promised
something rather different: that God has not abandoned his creation. That is
why the Church continues to pray for peace, even when peace seems
impossibly distant. We pray because hope is not optimism. Hope is the
stubborn Christian conviction that God is still at work, even when we cannot
see what he is doing. And perhaps, in a world in which events in a distant
strait can suddenly arrive on our doorstep, that is something worth
remembering.
We may not be able to control the course of events in Tehran, Washington,
Jerusalem or anywhere else. But we can decide what kind of people we will
be here in Northampton: people who are grateful rather than entitled,
compassionate rather than indifferent, prayerful rather than cynical, and
hopeful rather than despairing.
It is not everything. But it is a beginning.
Your sincere friend and parish priest,
Fr Nicholas
Dear Friends,
There is something quietly distinctive about September. The brilliance of high
summer begins almost imperceptibly to soften. The evenings draw in a little
earlier, the mornings carry a freshness that hints at the changing season, and
before long the first leaves will begin their annual transformation. It is a month
of transition, as families return from holidays, schools reopen, and familiar
rhythms of daily life are gently restored.
Yet if the natural world suggests that the year is beginning to turn, the life of
the Church often tells a rather different story. At St Matthew’s, September has
long felt less like an ending than a beginning. As daylight gradually
diminishes, our common life gathers renewed energy and purpose. Choir
returns to its stalls, Junior Church resumes, our uniformed organisations begin
another year together, and the familiar pattern of worship and fellowship is
restored. There is a quiet sense that we are setting out once again on the
journey of faith together.
Perhaps that is because September is, in many ways, the great festival month
of our parish. Within the space of little more than a week we celebrate our
Patronal Festival, the Feast of Our Lady of Walsingham, our Dedication
Festival and Michaelmas. At first sight they are very different occasions, yet
they are united by a single, joyful truth: each reminds us that God is not
distant, but wonderfully present among his people.
St Matthew reminds us that Christ still calls ordinary women and men to follow
him, just as he called the tax collector from his counting table two thousand
years ago. The Feast of Our Lady of Walsingham proclaims the mystery of
the Incarnation: that in Jesus Christ, God chose to dwell among us, sharing
our humanity that we might share his divine life. Our Dedication Festival gives
thanks for this beautiful church, set apart for God’s worship, whilst reminding
us that the true temple is the people whom Christ is continually building into
his living Body. Michaelmas, in turn, lifts our eyes beyond what we can see,
assuring us that our worship on earth is joined to that of angels and
archangels and all the company of heaven.
These festivals do more than commemorate events of the past. They remind
us who we are today. We are a people called by Christ, gathered around his
altar, strengthened by his sacraments and sent out into the world to bear
witness to his love. That calling belongs not only to previous generations,
whose faith established this parish, but to us who have inherited their
stewardship, and to those who will one day follow after us.
It is no coincidence, therefore, that September also brings opportunities for
new beginnings. In October Bishop Andrew Proud will visit us for our Parish
Confirmation, and I hope there may be those who feel that now is the right
moment to take that next step in their own Christian pilgrimage.
Confirmation is not the end of a journey but another beginning – a deeper
commitment to the life of Christ and his Church.
Alongside these larger celebrations, the quieter rhythms of parish life
continue faithfully: our Healing Mass, the ministry of prayer and anointing,
House Group, and the countless acts of kindness, generosity and friendship
that often pass unnoticed but are no less signs of God’s grace at work
among us. It is in these ordinary moments, of alongside-ness, as much as
in the great festivals, that Christ continues to make himself known.
As September unfolds, the days may gradually become shorter, but the light
of Christ does not diminish. Indeed, the Church has always known that his
light shines most clearly when it is received, cherished and reflected by his
people. For well over a century that light has burned brightly at St
Matthew’s, passed faithfully from one generation to another. It is now our
privilege to receive it afresh, to rejoice in it together, and, by God’s grace, to
carry it into the lives of those around us.
May this new season bring to each of us a renewed sense of God’s
presence, a deeper love for his Church, and fresh confidence in the hope to
which he calls us.
Your sincere friend and parish priest,
Fr Nicholas
Some of you may know that my paid job is as a Bar Manager and one of my other
voluntary interests is as a Pub Liaison Officer for the Campaign for Real Ale.
This involves visiting pubs and drinking beer! I’m often asked how I reconcile
these with my church life as many people see them as being poles apart.
However, this is not the case.
Historically, the relationship between the church and brewing was shaped by the
social, economic, and devotional functions of ecclesiastical institutions. In
medieval Europe, monasteries were significant centres of production and
hospitality and brewing formed part of their wider responsibility to sustain
religious communities, receive travellers and pilgrims, and provide charity to the
poor. In regions where grain-based drinks were more practical than wine, beer
and ale occupied an important place in monastic and communal life. Monastic
record-keeping and regulated production also contributed to the standardisation
and refinement of brewing practices.
The connection between ecclesiastical life and brewing extended beyond
monasteries into the parish economy. In late medieval and early modern Britain,
‘church ales’ functioned as communal fundraising events, with the sale or
distribution of ale helping to finance church repairs, parish expenses, and
charitable activities. Such practices indicate that brewing was embedded within
local systems of sociability and obligation, rather than existing solely as a
commercial or recreational activity.
From the early modern period onward, this relationship became increasingly
ambivalent. As brewing developed into a more commercialised industry and
alehouses became prominent spaces of popular sociability, church authorities
often distinguished between legitimate production and the moral dangers
associated with excessive drinking, disorder, and neglect of religious duties. This
distinction became more pronounced in the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries,
when evangelical reform and temperance movements encouraged many
Christian groups to adopt a more critical stance toward alcohol consumption.
Consequently, the church’s historical relationship with brewers should not be
understood as uniformly supportive or oppositional. Rather, it evolved in
response to changing institutional priorities, economic structures, and moral
concerns. The church could act as producer, patron, regulator, critic, and
reforming voice, reflecting the broader place of alcohol within religious and social
history.
Our connection with brewers here at St Matthew’s is that our building was a gift
from the family of Sir Pickering Phipps, a local brewer.
This year marks the 20th anniversary of the rebuilding of the grand Walker
Organ in St Matthew’s.
It is well documented that the instrument, considered a masterpiece of
Walker’s work and of international significance due to its largely original
specification and unaltered pipework, was by the early 2000s starting to
become unreliable and difficult to maintain due to age and component
parts simply having worn out. The organ needed a major rebuild, and the
Vicar and PCC at the time saw fit to invest some £360,000 into its complete renovation. The organ underwent major ‘surgery’ in 2005/2006 and
was ultimately restored, rebuilt and rededicated at the Dedication Festival
in September 2006.
To mark this 20 year milestone, we are planning a number of events and
recitals this year to showcase the organ, and to give those who have an
interest in the instrument an education in how the instrument works, how
the pipes make sound, and to show you around the instrument into parts of
the organ that you never see from your seats in the nave. It is a fascinat-
ing instrument and can very easily be taken for granted each time we come
for services where the organ is in use. We expect to be able to turn it on,
for the organist to sit at it, and for music to come out; but its unbelievably
complicated systems mean that it is a pure wonder that such a thing ever
makes the beautiful sounds we hear and appreciate each week.
The celebration of this organ which St Matthew’s and its people should feel
so rightly proud of will initially take on the form of a series of recitals by organists who have a connection to St Matthew’s, which will take place on
certain Sunday evenings after Choral Evensongs. Later in the year, we
are planning a ‘meet the organ’ event and, at St Matthew-tide, a silent
movie will be presented where the organ will be used to accompany a film
on a big screen. Keep an eye out for dates being released soon.
Some of St Matthew's services (most Sunday mornings and some special services) are live-streamed or recorded for those who cannot attend church in person. Under GDPR, the church must gain the consent of anyone whose image may be captured, as this constitutes collection of "personal data". This includes clergy, readers/intercessors, musicians and congregation.
Whilst every attempt is made not to capture the faces of members of the congregation, this may occasionally happen if people turn around or move around the church during the service. The exception is communion, when the congregation is not filmed. The side aisles and back of the nave are so far as possible film-free areas not covered by the camera. Anyone whose personal data is collected must give their consent. Consent forms are available in church and online . The full policy can be read on our parish website or on the noticeboards in church.
Please read Our Privacy Policy - Filming & Photography and if you are happy to, give your consent by downloading, printing, signing, and handing in the form to a church representative or the Parish Office on your next visit. The consent form can be found at the bottom of the page.


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