It was in St Paul’s cathedral last year that I learnt something about myself: I’m scared of heights! Climbing the stairs to take in the view from the dome at the top I began to feel dizzy. Then, stepping out onto the balcony I wondered how on earth what we were doing was supposed to be fun. And, despite my best efforts to the contrary, my fear was obvious to my wife. The classic advice, of course, is “don’t look down”. The poet Hugo Williams puts it this as, “Don’t look down,

E. L. Mascall (1905–1993) is a hidden gem of twentieth-century British Anglican theology. By “hidden” I mean unfashionable: he did not seek prominence, avoided popularism and rhetorical sparkle in his writing, and—particularly in later assessments—failed to fit neatly into any prevailing theological narrative. He is remembered as neither a prophet, like Karl Barth, nor a storyteller, like C.S. Lewis. None of this, of course, counts against him—quite the opposite. Mascall was

Change used to come slowly in our area but in the past year or two hardly a Sunday has gone by without at least one visitor to church on a Sunday. I am pleased to report that the church family did well in meeting, greeting and welcoming our guests. Christmas of course brings more visitors to church than usual, and for a wider variety of reasons: some who attend occasionally during the year make a point of coming at Christmas; others in the local area come regularly at Christm