A Snow bunting and other interuptions

Over the past few days, we celebrated my son Jake’s 10th birthday three times! On Saturday, one of the celebrations was a treasure hunt around Hamworthy, including the beautiful Hamworthy Park. While the boys raced off to find their first clue, I noticed a group of people with big cameras near the promenade. Curious, I walked over and saw that they were all focused on a small bird hopping around in the sand. It was about the size of a sparrow, with soft brown and white feathers. I took a little photo too. Later, I learned it was called a "snow bunting."

Snow buntings aren’t usually found on English beaches. They’re winter birds, often seen in much colder places. Seeing one here felt like such a special moment—a little piece of beauty where I didn’t expect it. It made me think about how life can surprise us with moments of wonder, just like this bird. Sometimes, things we didn’t plan for turn out to be just what we need.

That snow bunting made me think about the New Year. A new year can be like that bird—an invitation to pause, notice, and enjoy what’s around us. It’s easy to get caught up in plans and rushing through life, but what if we slowed down and looked for the small, surprising blessings in our days? What if we spent this year keeping an eye out for those special little moments, like snow buntings?

The Bible shows us that God often uses interruptions to teach us something important or to guide us in new ways. Think about Jonah, whose plans were interrupted by a big storm and a giant fish, or Mary, who was visited by an angel and given news that changed her life forever. These interruptions weren’t easy, but they became opportunities to grow, obey, and see God working in bigger ways. When interruptions happen, instead of feeling frustrated or afraid, we can ask, “What is God trying to show me here? How is this moment shaping me or leading me into something new?”

There’s a verse in the Bible from Lamentations that says, “The steadfast love of the Lord never ceases; his mercies never come to an end; they are new every morning” (Lamentations 3:22-23). This reminds me that every day is a new start, full of fresh chances and kindness from God. We don’t have to wait for something big to happen to feel hopeful. Instead, we can look for the good in each day, even if it’s something small, like seeing a bird on the beach.

So here’s my challenge for the New Year: look for the snow buntings in your life. Pay attention to the little joys and surprises that pop up. These moments remind us that we’re part of something much bigger. And as we notice these things, let’s make space in our lives for wonder, thankfulness, and the kind of grace that shows up fresh every single morning.

Christmas through the back door

Christmas often feels like a warm invitation to the front porch—a lit tree in the window, carols spilling out into the cold night. But the story of Jesus' birth in Luke 2 flips this image upside down. This isn’t a tale about grandeur; it’s a story of God slipping quietly into the world through the back door.

The main stage of Luke’s narrative isn’t just the humble manger scene—it’s the shadow of the empire looming over it. The chapter begins with Caesar Augustus, the emperor who commanded the known world. He was the son of God in his day, hailed as the savior who brought peace—the Pax Romana. His reign was announced with “good news” (euangelion)—a term we’ve come to associate with Jesus, but which was originally used to declare Caesar’s victories and his divine favor.

Luke’s story isn’t just a sweet moment in a stable. It’s a direct challenge to the empire's narrative. Caesar claimed to be the bringer of peace, but his peace was built on violence and domination. His good news wasn’t for shepherds in fields or peasants on the margins. And yet, the angel in Luke 2 delivers euangelion—“good news of great joy for all people.” All people, not just the elite or the powerful.

The subversion doesn’t stop there. When the angel says that a Savior has been born, it’s a direct echo of Caesar’s title. The early Christians took the language of the empire—son of God, savior, gospel, peace—and applied it to Jesus. But in doing so, they didn’t simply copy it; they redefined it. Jesus’ peace isn’t enforced with armies. His good news doesn’t come with a sword. His kingdom, born in a back alley, exposes the emptiness of empire and invites us into a new way of life.

At Christmas, we often focus on the cozy, the nostalgic. But the story of Jesus' birth asks us to look deeper. Who holds power today? Who claims to bring peace, but at what cost? Who declares good news, but for whose benefit?

And then, where is Jesus showing up? He’s still entering through the back door, among the forgotten and the overlooked. He’s still subverting the narratives of power with a quiet but profound invitation to a different kind of kingdom.

This Christmas, as we gather around familiar traditions, let’s remember the radical truth at the heart of the story. It’s not Caesar’s world we live in. It’s God’s. And this God doesn’t need the front door.

Vision

We have a dream for Ocean Church, and we think God has given us some big, exciting work to do. It’s simple, it’s inspiring, and it’s going to take a while. 

Our vision is this: to make church a living, breathing adventure.

When I was a kid, my parents told me that church wasn’t a building—it was the people. But let’s be honest: when most of us hear the word “church,” we still think of a building, some chairs, a talk, and maybe a few songs. Even after years of ministry, I catch myself doing it too. But what if church didn’t have to look like that? What if it didn’t have to happen in a building or even on a Sunday? What if church could be less like school and more like an adventure—something we live, explore, and experience together?

Here’s what I believe: God is the ultimate adventurer. He created the world and then stepped right into it as Jesus. That was risky, new, and full of possibilities. The Bible even calls Jesus the “pioneer” of our faith. He was the first to journey through death and come out the other side, blazing a trail for us to follow. When Jesus called his disciples, he didn’t just sit them in a classroom. He took them on an adventure. They followed him through cities, across lakes, into deserts, and up mountains. He sent them out to do the same. That’s what he’s asking us to do too.

The Bible tells us we can see God in the world around us. In Romans, it says: 

“Open your eyes and there it is! By taking a long and thoughtful look at what God has created, people have always been able to see what their eyes as such can’t see: eternal power, for instance, and the mystery of his divine being.” (Romans 1:20, MSG). 

I grew up believing that the main way to understand God was through reading the Bible. And while that’s true—(it’s the authority for how I want to live my life)—I’ve come to realize it’s not the whole picture. Limiting God to the pages of the Bible feels a bit like saying He only works within the walls of a church. What I’ve discovered is that the Bible itself invites us to look further, to see God at work in the world He created with his words as well as the ones that got written down.

The Oyster Catchers by the shore, the gentle flow of the River Stour, the black tongue fungi hidden in the woods—each of them whispers something about who God is and what He’s up to. They’re part of His great story, waiting to be noticed, if we’re willing to stop and take a second, deeper look.

Ocean Church is becoming a community of adventurers. We don’t just sit and listen—we hike, paddle, camp, and explore together. Adventure means trying something new, stepping into the unknown, and being ready for surprises. But it also means being prepared—packing well, knowing the route, and helping each other along the way. Here’s the amazing part: many of you are already doing this! You’re sea swimmers, wild campers, hikers, surfers, and mountain bikers. We’re not asking you to add more to your busy life. Instead, we’re asking this: 

How might God be using my adventures to display himself? And is there room for someone else to join in?

We imagine a future where Ocean Church becomes a “base camp” for spiritual adventures. Here’s what that might look like: Strong roots and identity in God and his word. A set of habits which shape the way we actually live. A  library where we can borrow gear from each other; a shared adventure fund to help people start new journeys; a place where we rest, refuel, and cheer each other on after we’ve been out exploring. 

After Christmas, we’ll gather to pray and listen for what God wants us to do next. For now, take a moment to pray about this vision. Does it spark something in your heart? How might God be inviting you to respond?

Kids, this is for you too. I’ve tried really hard to write this in a way you can understand because your voice is just as important as the grown-ups’. If you’ve got a minute, I’d love for you to read this or have someone read it with you. What do you think about the idea of church being an adventure?

Here’s the thing: we want you to have a say in what Ocean Church looks like and how we do things. Maybe you have ideas for adventures, places we could explore, or things you’d like to try. As we go forward, we’re going to find ways to make sure you get to share your ideas, make decisions, and help shape this community just as much as the adults do—because this is your adventure too. Let us know what’s on your mind, because your voice matters.

We think that God is beginning to stir something. Vision isnt held by one person or by a team, its held by a community of people. As Christmas approaches why dont you find a moment to be with God and ask him where you might be on this journey?

One roof: different beliefs. How to navigate tension with grace.

Living with someone who holds different beliefs can feel like walking a tightrope. On the one hand, you want harmony, but on the other, your values are so deeply personal that even small things can feel monumental. Whether it’s how you observe sacred days, how you find moments of reflection, or how you centre your life around your beliefs, these differences shape our everyday lives in ways we don’t always realize.

Take, for example, two people who practice different faith traditions under one roof. One may feel drawn to prayer five times a day, while the other seeks connection through silent meditation. I know couples where one follows a path of structured worship, while the other leans into a more organic, self-guided spiritual journey. Its common to find households where one person follows a faith and the other doesn’t. These differences can be subtle or pronounced, but they create moments of tension when two people are trying to honor their own practices while living alongside another’s.

Even when two people are on the same spiritual path, differences can emerge. One might find connection through attending services, while the other prefers to explore spirituality in nature or through personal study. These small tensions bubble up in daily life, revealing how deeply personal our practices are. I can sometimes find that a poorly timed joke can bring to light a tension that lurks just beneath the surface of our everyday rhythms.

But what often follows are the larger questions. We find ourselves asking: What does my faith mean in this moment? How much of my identity is tied to these practices? Am I open to change, or am I holding on because it’s comfortable? It’s these questions that arise out of the everyday tensions of living with someone whose spiritual journey is just a little different from ours.

Divergent Paths in Scripture: Stories We Don’t Often Talk About

The Bible is full of stories about people trying to live and work together despite their differences. Sometimes, these tensions lead to conflict, while other times, they open the door to reconciliation and growth. These stories offer surprising lessons for how we can live in harmony today, whether we share a belief system with those we live with or walk different paths altogether.

Take the story of Jacob and Esau, for example. Two brothers, born into the same family, but with wildly different approaches to their inheritance and blessing. Their relationship is marked by deception, rivalry, and deep-seated hurt. When they meet after years of estrangement, we see a moment of reconciliation where Esau embraces Jacob. This story reminds us that reconciliation is often more about the inner changes we make than the outward gestures we show. The reconciliation between them is seen not as a perfect resolution but rather as a complex process of growth and change, showing us that peace can take many forms, even when it’s imperfect​.

Another example is the relationship between Moses and Aaron. Even though they’re on the same mission, they have moments of disconnect—Moses as the idealist, while Aaron often handles the people’s frustrations. Their dynamic reflects how, even when we share the same faith or goal, our approaches can be vastly different. Yet, through their cooperation, they teach us that these differences don’t have to lead to division but can instead enhance the collective mission.

And then we have Paul and Barnabas, whose friendship was tested when they disagreed over John Mark’s role in their ministry. This led to them going separate ways for a time, illustrating how even among those with a shared purpose, tensions can create distance. Yet, their story reminds us that sometimes growth requires space and time to process these differences before we can come back together​.

Lessons from Nature: The Tension That Shapes Us

To take it further, when we look closely at the natural world, we see that tension is not something to be feared or avoided. In fact, it’s everywhere, and it’s often the driving force behind growth and renewal.

Take rivers, for example. Over time, rivers carve their way through mountains and valleys, sometimes causing destruction in the process—flooding, erosion, and the reshaping of entire landscapes. Yet, without this tension between water and rock, the land wouldn’t be as fertile, and ecosystems wouldn’t thrive. In much the same way, the tensions we experience in our relationships, whether between different beliefs or life paths, can ultimately shape us into something more resilient and fruitful.

Or consider forests, where trees and plants are in constant competition for sunlight, water, and nutrients. At first glance, it seems like a never-ending struggle for survival. But underneath the surface, trees are actually connected by underground fungal networks, known as mycorrhizal networks, where they share nutrients and support each other. What starts as competition often turns into cooperation—a reconciliation that strengthens the whole ecosystem. In relationships, too, we might begin in competition or conflict, but over time, we learn to give and take, to support and understand each other in ways we hadn’t expected.

Even the changing seasons offer a profound metaphor for tension and renewal. Winter brings the harshness of cold and dormancy, but it’s necessary for the rebirth of spring. Summer’s growth leads to autumn’s harvest. These cycles remind us that difficult seasons in our relationships aren’t permanent—they’re part of a greater rhythm of growth and change. Just as in nature, we need both the tension and the reconciliation for the fullness of life to emerge.

The Gift of Living in Tension

Living with tension isn’t easy, but what if it’s also a gift? What if these moments of friction—whether they’re about faith, values, or everyday life—are opportunities to grow, to understand ourselves more deeply, and to cultivate grace for others?

Just as in nature, where rivers carve new landscapes and trees learn to share resources, the tension in our relationships forces us to adapt, to stretch, and to become more resilient. When we face these moments of discomfort, we have the chance to ask ourselves important questions: What am I holding onto? Why does this matter so much to me? How can I find common ground without losing myself?

These are not easy questions, but they are vital ones. And in asking them, we find that tension can be a tool for transformation. It’s through these struggles that we learn patience, humility, and the art of compromise. It’s where we discover that even when we disagree, we can still build something beautiful together.

This is the gift of tension: it sharpens us, teaches us, and ultimately deepens our relationships. It helps us see that we are not here to live in perfect harmony all the time, but to learn how to grow through the imperfections, to find the grace that allows us to live with our differences.

Hardwired to React? How to move beyond a reactive spirituality

If you head over to this page on the Ocean Church website, you’ll find a short quiz—about ten questions—before you can join our WhatsApp group. It’s partly so we can get to know you a little better. But it’s also because we want you to take a moment to think about your spirituality. How you’ve grown (or haven’t), what you’ve chosen to keep or let go of, and how you feel religion interacts with your inner life. One question that fascinates me in particular is a simple one:

Are you proactive or reactive in your spiritual journey?

So far, no one who has taken the quiz has said they’re proactive. Not a single person. I find this fascinating. Some, like me, would argue that the Christian faith, in its organized form, is deeply tied to one’s spiritual walk, and yet even then, we say we’re not proactive about it. The quiz has been taken by people who regularly attend yoga retreats, wellbeing events, people who pray and even those who are part of consistent faith communities.

Now, I understand the limitations of the question. What does it really mean to be proactive or reactive? Maybe you were actively seeking answers last week, last year, or during a significant life event, like the loss of a loved one or at certain times of the year when reflection feels natural.

But even so… why aren’t we more proactive? Is spirituality just not that important? Is it something we consider an “extra,” something to grasp only when it’s convenient or when life forces it upon us? Do we experience moments of deep spiritual connection but let them fade without chasing after more?

These are the kinds of questions that challenge us to dig deeper. Because if spirituality is truly central to who we are, why are so many of us living reactively rather than with intention?

Reactive Spirituality: Drifting Through the Currents

The word reactive has latin origins. Re is “back” or “again” and Agere means “to do” or “to act”. So when you put them together you have “to do again” or “acting back”. There are a couple of easy implications to see here. Firstly, if you have a reactive spirituality, your soul is simply responding to something that has already happened rather than preparing for something which has not. Secondly, if you are reactive then you need something outside of yourself to help nurture your soul as opposed to having the internal resources to initiate it yourself. 

So what are we waiting for? Do we pray when trouble comes, or when we are grieving or in need? Do we talk about God when something complex or paradoxical has come our way? Do we need to come to the end of ourselves before we admit we need some other resource?

It’s not that reactive spirituality is inherently bad—it’s human. We all respond to life’s pressures in this way sometimes. In fact, research by Tearfund shows that 51% of UK adults pray, with 20% of non-religious Britons admitting they turn to prayer in moments of personal crisis. This highlights how, for many, spirituality becomes more relevant during life’s storms than in calmer times​.

Interestingly, this pattern isn’t limited to those who are unaffiliated with faith communities. Even within organised religious settings, many people in the UK experience a reactive relationship with their spirituality. During the COVID-19 pandemic, Tearfund found that a third of UK adults (33%) prayed, and 24% engaged with religious services online—especially younger adults aged 18–34. This surge in spiritual activity during the lockdown reveals how spirituality often acts as a coping mechanism in response to crisis, rather than an ongoing practice.

This reactive approach leaves many feeling ungrounded and spiritually disconnected. Life happens to us, and spirituality becomes an occasional response rather than a continuous relationship. A significant proportion of those surveyed admitted that they pray when facing a personal crisis, such as family illness or uncertainty​. These moments of reactive spirituality might bring temporary comfort, but they don’t offer the lasting depth that comes with a proactive spiritual practice.

Why is this the case? Perhaps it’s because many of us view spirituality as an “extra,” something we turn to when we need comfort or direction, but not integrated into our everyday lives. We react to spiritual moments instead of actively seeking them out. In doing so, we miss the opportunity to build a spiritual foundation that isn’t easily shaken by life’s inevitable storms. All this is strange to me becuase a human being is mind, body and soul. Soul work has to be the most important surely because all our motivations, behavious, hopes and identify flow from our north star. Our soul.

But here’s the thing—this isn’t just a personal issue. It reflects a wider cultural shift in the UK towards a “crisis-driven” spirituality. The challenge for us, then, is learning how to flip the script—how to move from reacting to life’s storms to actively seeking depth and meaning, even when the waters are calm.

Authentic spirituality: Grounded in Community, Rooted in Proactivity

The key lies in grounding ourselves within a community. Authentic faith is not cultivated in isolation. It grows when we engage with others who hold us accountable, challenge us to go deeper, and provide a space where we can be both vulnerable and supported. In the context of liquid modernity, where everything is fluid and fleeting, community provides the stability we need to anchor our spiritual lives.

I’m loving the story of the daughters of Zelophehad (Numbers 27:1-11). These five sisters—Mahlah, Noah, Hoglah, Milcah, and Tirzah—lived in a time when women had no right to inherit property. Yet when their father died, leaving no male heirs, they took the courageous step of approaching Moses to request their father’s inheritance. They weren’t just concerned with their own welfare; they were fighting for justice within their community, seeking to preserve their family’s place within Israel.

What’s remarkable is that God not only approved of their boldness, but through their action, He changed the inheritance laws for all of Israel. We’re talking here about hundreds of thousands of households. These women didn’t wait passively for someone else to act. They proactively sought justice, and their faith was made more authentic through their engagement with their community’s future.

And this is where we find the heart of proactive, authentic faith—it’s lived out in community, rooted in relationships that challenge and sustain us. The daughters of Zelophehad weren’t just concerned with their own spiritual journey; they took responsibility for their entire community, ensuring that future generations would benefit from their proactive stance. Their story reminds us that authentic faith requires us to step beyond individualism and consider how our actions impact the greater whole.

When we live disconnected from others, it’s easy for faith to become reactive, something we turn to only when we feel lost or overwhelmed. But when we commit to a community, we are drawn into regular rhythms of worship, prayer, and reflection—practices that help us develop a proactive faith. Community encourages us to move beyond the spiritual consumerism of liquid modernity, where we pick and choose what feels good in the moment, and into something more grounded.

Three reasons you can’t trust yourself when it comes to the spiritual life

If you, like me, consider yourself to be spiritual but not religious, you’re probably on a quest for the fullest, most meaningful life possible—a life that engages your mind, nourishes your body, and feeds your soul. But here’s the tricky part: when it comes to navigating our inner journeys, it’s easy to assume that we’re in total control, that we get to call the shots. We often think that our intuition, our gut feelings, and our personal experiences are infallible guides to spiritual truth.

But I don’t think that’s always the case. What if our spiritual compasses are sometimes off? What if they lead us astray rather than closer to the truth? The reality is, as humans, we’re not always the best judges of spiritual matters. Our minds are intense and powerful, but they’re also prone to making mistakes—especially when it comes to interpreting the deeper, more mysterious aspects of life. 

We Are Meaning-Making Machines

All human beings are hardwired to make meaning from almost anything. We can look at a coincidence during the day and convince ourselves to make an important decision about a job. We can see patterns in random events and string them together in a way that suits our next move. We’re hardwired to seek out patterns and assign meaning to them.

Mark Manson has a great illustration of this in his book. He says: “Try this: take a random person and put them in a room with some buttons to push. Then tell them that if they do something specific—some undefined something that they have to figure out—a light will flash on, indicating that they’ve won a point. Then tell them how many points they can win within a 30-minute period.

When psychologists have done this, what happens is what you might expect. People sit down and start mashing buttons until eventually the light comes on to tell them they got a point. Logically, they then try repeating whatever they were doing to get more points. Except now the light’s not coming on. So they start experimenting with more complicated sequences—press this button three times, then this button once, then wait five seconds—and ding, another point.

But eventually theat stops working. Perhaps it doesn’t have to do with buttons at all, they think. Perhaps it has to do with how I’m sitting. Or what I’m touching. Maybe it has to do with my feet. Ding! Another point….

But here’s the funny part: the points really are random. There’s no sequence, there’s no pattern. Just a light that keeps coming on with a ding, and people doing cartwheels, thinking that what they’re doing is giving them points. Sadism aside, the point of the experiment is to show how quickly the human mind is capable of coming up with and believing in a bunch of rubbish that isn’t real. And it turns out, we’re all really good at it.”

This ability has been crucial for our survival for a long time. Finding meaning in the rustle of leaves or the stars in the sky helped us to navigate the world as early humans, or alert us to danger. However, this same ability can become a double-edged sword when it comes to spirituality. If we interpret random events, thoughts, or feelings as divine signs or spiritual truths, it can be a powerful experience, but it can also be misleading, causing us to place significance on things that don’t warrant it.

If we overextend meaning-making, we risk seeing connections and significance where none exist. Nobody wants to misinterpret everyday occurrences as spiritual signs or messages. We don’t want to look foolish, and we don’t want to skew our understanding of reality.

The other tricky thing is that this over-interpretation might morph into superstition, where we start to believe that certain objects or actions have inherent spiritual power or meaning. This can create a reliance on rituals or symbols that may distract from deeper, more substantial spiritual practices.

Confirmation Bias

Another small internal issue that we have is what’s called confirmation bias. This is when we try to search for, interpret, and remember information in a way that confirms what we already believe, while ignoring or discounting any evidence to the contrary.

In 1917, three young shepherd children in Fatima, Portugal, reported that the Virgin Mary appeared to them multiple times. They claimed that on October 13th, a miracle would occur. Tens of thousands of people gathered to witness the event. On the day of the predicted miracle, many people in the crowd said that the sun danced in the sky, changed colours, and even plunged towards the earth before returning to its normal place. This event is now known as the Miracle of the Sun, and it’s considered a divine sign by many devout Catholics.

Those who believed in the children’s prophecy were more likely to interpret any unusual solar activity as a miraculous event. There are different reports, with some saying nothing at all happened, which would suggest that those who were expecting a miracle were ready to see one. The event has been used to reinforce the Catholic faith for many believers. Even though scientists have explained away the phenomenon as an illusion caused by staring too hard at the sun, some devout followers often dismiss these explanations and choose to see it as a divine miracle.

So, here’s the problem: when a spiritual seeker only pays attention to experiences or teachings that confirm their existing beliefs, they miss opportunities to grow and transform. This stagnation can prevent them from exploring deeper or more challenging aspects of spirituality that may lead to a wiser, more profound life. Even within my own faith tradition, there are some who prefer not to explore wider ideas from different streams even within Christianity.

In fact, a large chunk of the Gospels shows Jesus confronting confirmation bias in different ways. In Jesus’ day, the Pharisees were deeply entrenched in the belief that strict adherence to the Law was the path to righteousness. So, in Matthew 23:23-24, for example, Jesus confronts them and says: “Woe to you, teachers of the law and Pharisees, you hypocrites! You give a tenth of your spices—mint, dill, and cumin—but you have neglected the more important matters of the law—justice, mercy, and faithfulness. You should have practised the latter without neglecting the former. You blind guides! You strain out a gnat but swallow a camel.”

What’s happening here is Jesus exposing the Pharisees’ confirmation bias by pointing out their obsession with minor legalistic details while ignoring the more significant aspects of God’s law. They were so focused on their interpretation of righteousness that they missed the heart of God’s message. Confirmation bias exists in everyone regardless of what we believe and it acts as a great set of blinkers on the mind and the Soul. 

Memory

I’m not sure I trust my own memory. Do you?

When I was a teenager, I loved to skateboard. One evening, just before my church youth group, I was trying for the first time to boardslide a handrail next to Asda in Southampton city centre. I tried a heap of times with no success. Then, eventually, I really went for it—the board slid out, and I ended up folded like a pita bread on the rail. It was a mess. I was in so much pain that my friends took me across the road to the youth group. My youth leaders asked me what was wrong before getting me into a car and taking me to A&E. When I was assessed, it was found that I had internal bleeding—not too severe, but enough to warrant some pills.

The strange thing is, I’m not sure if I invented some of the pain. I mean, it definitely would have hurt, but now, some 20 years later, I’m just not sure how much. Did I keep the drama going after my friends helped me off the rail just so I could get some attention? Did I want some kind of medal of valour for giving the rail a go, even if I couldn’t actually do it? Did I even need to go to hospital? I’m not actually sure…

In the spiritual life, memory plays a crucial part in shaping our beliefs and experiences. We stand on our recollection of past events, insights, and teachings to guide us on our way forward. But memory isn’t a CCTV camera where we can ask for the footage to be given back to us when we need it. Memory is a reconstructive process, meaning that every time we recall an event, we are essentially rebuilding it in our minds. It’s pretty common for people to recall powerful spiritual experiences from years ago, but for the actual events to have changed, become embellished, merged with other memories, or even been influenced by current emotions and beliefs. Our minds are full of shifting sands, so standing on individual memory alone is difficult. Memories that are tied to strong emotions are often remembered more vividly, but this vividness isn’t the same thing as accuracy. The memories of childhood, difficulty, or happiness that we cling to might be more vibrant and filled with colour, but that doesn’t make them more true. Worse still, it’s easier to forget memories that lacked emotional impact for us.

Our minds are also capable of creating memories of events that never even happened. This might be through suggestion, repeated storytelling, or even our dreams. False memories can lead us on a spiritual journey built on experiences that never even happened. We have to proceed with caution. I don’t think our minds are out to get us, but if we want to call ourselves true spiritual seekers, then we should be mindful that our memory, while powerful, is far from infallible. We should also know that an individual memory is not as powerful as a collective one—that is, a memory shared by other people. Shared memory is powerful because it helps to establish and maintain traditions, convey values that belong to more than just you, and foster a sense of belonging in a community. In other words, remembering stuff you intend to stand on is best shared with other people.

So What?

Understanding this stuff is crucial because it shapes our spiritual journey in different ways. When we recognise our tendency to find meaning where there might be none, we become more discerning in our interpretations. When we acknowledge the power of confirmation bias, we open ourselves up to new perspectives, allowing our spirituality to become deeper and richer. And when we accept that our memory is not infallible, we approach our spiritual experiences with humility, knowing that our understanding is always evolving—and that it’s best done in community.

So, what if we sometimes get it wrong? That’s okay. Spirituality isn’t about perfection; it’s about connection—connection to the Divine, the world around us, each other, and ourselves. It’s about finding meaning in the messiness of life and embracing the beauty of the search. Don’t be confident about getting it all right—you won’t, whatever you believe. What’s exciting is opening your heart to seeing God in unexpected places.

Spirituality might be about letting go of our need for certainty, and even the need to trust ourselves fully. Instead, it invites us to trust the journey, to embrace the questions and uncertainties, and to find peace in the process. So, let’s walk this journey together—with humility, curiosity, and a deep sense of awe for the sacredness of the path we’re on.

Learning the names of nature

I was sat on a black metal bench with one of the children at the camp. We were talking. Suddenly, some kind of flying insect crashed into my elbow. This thing had not asked for permission to land. Will it sting me? Will it bite me? Nope. So then…

What is it?

It wasn’t a ladybird, or dragon fly. It wasn’t a moth. It wasn’t a wasp or a bee. I knew I was quickly exhausting my archive of small flying friends. I dont know what this is. I have felt this sinking feeling before; being slightly embarrassed at not being able to name a common animal, or rock, or leaf or shrub, or Aunty. 

We came up with a solution. Google lens will know what this is. Within seconds we had pointed my phone in its direction and discovered it was a Mayfly. We also found out that Mayflys were around before the dinosaurs, that there are more than 3000 types of Mayfly in the world and one of their uses is that it only survives around clean water. If there are no Mayflys near the water by you, then you know it’s polluted!

Just by finding out the name of the Mayfly, we instantly became more curious about what it does, where it might live, how many there are and what its role is in nature. This tiny discovery kind of began to wake us up to a whole new world. The world of Mayfly.

In the first chapter of the first book of the Bible, God is busy talking. He speaks and water divides from land, light divides from darkness and everything in our world is made from scratch. Then he does an amazing thing. He asks Adam, the first human being, to name everything he has made.  

“Now the Lord God had formed out of the ground all the wild animals and all the birds in the sky. He brought them to the man to see what he would name them; and whatever the man called each living creature, that was its name. So the man gave names to all the livestock, the birds in the sky and all the wild animals.” Genesis 2:19-20 (msg)

In the Hebrew world, names meant more than just labels.

Firstly, a name often signifies the essence or destiny of a person or thing. For instance, the name “Adam” is derived from “adamah,” meaning ground or earth, reflecting his creation from the dust of the ground and his role as the one who tills the earth. Similarly, “Eve” (Chava in Hebrew) means “living” or “life-giver,” reflecting her role as the mother of all living things.

Names also indicate a relationship with God: Many Hebrew names, even those of natural elements, include elements of God’s name or attributes, indicating a relationship with Him. For example, the “cedars of Lebanon” (Erezim) are often associated with strength and majesty, qualities attributed to God. Another example is the “rock badger” (Shafan), mentioned in Proverbs 30:26, illustrating God’s provision and care for even the small and seemingly insignificant creatures. These names are like reminders of God’s presence and intervention in the natural world.

But it gets bigger. 

In the Bible every creature has a unique purpose and song of praise to God, and knowing their names helps us understand and join in this song together. I love reading what one of the Jewish Rabbis say about the book of Ecclesiastes 

“Every single blade of grass has a corresponding angel in Heaven that strikes it and tells it to grow” 

It’s like the stuff of earth is connected to the stuff of heaven. And each name is a chord played in both realms. Could you imagine if every twig, every bird and every cloud were like a chord in a song? Your name is part of that, and so is the Swallow, the Birch and the Great White. A cosmic symphony creating music beyond what we can imagine. So Adams task wasn’t merely about assigning labels; it was about recognising and understanding the intrinsic nature and destiny of each creature, participating in God’s creative work and stewardship of the whole world.

Science and the names of nature

So, who has this job now that we don’t have Adam and Eve to do it? For a long time, it has been science. Science has taken up the mantle of exploring, discovering, and naming the natural world, continuing the task that began with Adam and Eve. The process of scientific naming is also more than just assigning labels. Each name carries with it a wealth of information about the organism’s characteristics, relationships, and evolutionary history. For example, the scientific name for the Mayfly we discovered at camp, Ephemeroptera, hints at its ephemeral nature, as these insects live only for a short time. This naming system helps scientists communicate precisely about species, ensuring that everyone is speaking the same language when discussing biodiversity and conservation.

Also, the act of naming in science often leads to deeper curiosity and further discovery. When we identified the Mayfly, we not only learned its name but also discovered its ecological role and evolutionary history. This mirrors the biblical concept that knowing the name of something opens up a deeper understanding of its purpose and place in the world. Scientists today continue this tradition, using names as keys to unlock the mysteries of nature.

One fascinating aspect of naming things is how it connects us to the past and the future. Ancient scholars like Aristotle and Theophrastus began the work of classifying plants and animals, laying the groundwork for future discoveries. Today, with advanced tools like DNA sequencing, scientists uncover new species and reclassify old ones, constantly refining our understanding of the natural world. This process shows that the task of naming and understanding creation is ongoing, a continuous journey of discovery that we are all part of.

In the digital age, tools like Google Lens have democratized access to this knowledge, allowing anyone with a smartphone to identify and learn about the natural world around them. This technology bridges the gap between ancient wisdom and modern science, making it easier for us to fulfill the biblical mandate to know and care for creation.

Science, in taking up the mantle of naming and understanding nature, continues the sacred task given to Adam and Eve. It connects us to the divine through the intricate details of creation, helping us to see the world with wonder and respect. As we learn the names of clouds, plants, animals, insects, rocks, and sea creatures, we join in a tradition that spans millennia, participating in the stewardship and celebration of the natural world.

Learning the names of nature. Together.

So, how does all of this tie into our community at Ocean Church? The beauty of our faith calls us to be active participants in God’s creation. We aren’t spectators peering and commenting from the cheap seats. We aren’t consumers of it, only wanting to visit if there is something in it for us. The simple act of learning the names of nature is a way to honour that call to participate.

Imagine walking along the shore, the sound of the waves a gentle reminder of God’s majesty. You spot a bird diving into the ocean. Is it just a bird, or do you know it’s a common tern? Recognizing its name deepens your connection. You start to wonder about its journey and its place in God’s creation.

At Ocean Church, we’re blessed with a unique opportunity to be surrounded by the splendour of both land and sea. Learning and teaching the names of the species we encounter can foster a sense of wonder and respect for the natural world.

In our digital age, tools like Google Lens empower us to discover and learn. Encourage your household to use it on their walks, paddles, or even in your back garden. Learning names isn’t just about accumulating knowledge; it’s about fostering a relationship. It’s about seeing the divine fingerprint in the intricate details of a butterfly’s wings, the majestic flight of a hawk, or the steadfastness of an oak tree. It’s about joining in the cosmic symphony where every name is a note, every species a melody, and together we create a harmonious song of praise.

So, learning names isn’t a to-do list. It’s not about knowledge. It’s a sacrament. And a sacrament is what happens when something of earth touches something of heaven.