From Beaulieu Abbey Church, I can see the Beaulieu River.
It is one of those views which, however familiar, never seems quite the same twice. The light changes, the tide turns, boats come and go, and the banks are continually being revealed and concealed.
Perhaps that is why I have been thinking about water so much lately. Water lies at the heart of our faith. Water of baptism. Water of new life. Water of blessing, forgiveness, and hope.
Over the past two years, our riverbanks have become places of worship as well as places of work and play. We have gathered here for services, including our increasingly popular Easter sunrise service. There is something deeply moving about standing beside the river as the first light comes up on Easter morning and proclaiming the resurrection. Water, light and new life seem to belong together.
Every Sunday, our parish worship begins at 8am at Buckler’s Hard. As I say a quiet opening prayer, I look out at the river. Whatever the weather, it is a reminder that while we pause, the river continues. It has its own rhythm, its own time. Always present. In ebb or flow.
And perhaps that is something we need to recover in our own lives: the wisdom of not expecting everything to remain still.
As Chaplain of the Beaulieu River Sailing Club, one of the great joys of this summer has been watching our young sailors during Juniors Week. Their delight is infectious — the excitement of getting out on the water, learning to read the wind and tide, gaining confidence and discovering the sheer joy of river life. Watching them reminds me that loving a place is one of the ways we learn to care for it. I hope they will carry their love of this river with them for many years to come.
Another highlight this summer has been our Sea Sunday service at Beaulieu Marina, when I was delighted to welcome Port Chaplain Kate Powell, Lead Chaplain to the Mission to Seafarers. It was a wonderful opportunity to remember that this apparently small and sheltered river is connected to a much larger world. Behind every journey by sea are people — families, seafarers, fishermen, sailors and all those whose livelihoods depend upon the water. The river leads us outwards and connects us with the whole world.
The Christian story, too, is full of water. Creation begins with the waters. The Israelites cross the Red Sea. Naaman is healed in the Jordan. Jesus is baptised in its waters, calls fishermen from its shores and stills a storm. In Revelation, the final vision is of the river of the water of life.
Water is never merely water in Scripture. It can mean danger and deliverance, death and life, ending and beginning. That feels particularly true of a tidal river.
John Betjeman understood this. In Youth and Age on Beaulieu River, he begins with the beauty of morning:
“Early sun on Beaulieu water
Lights the undersides of oaks.”
But his poem becomes a meditation on the passing of time. The tide turns. The shining water gives way to mud. What was visible disappears; what was hidden is revealed.
There is something rather profound in that.
We tend to think of change as something that happens to us — something we resist, or something we endure. Yet the river suggests another way of seeing it. Its ebb and flow is not a problem to be solved. It is simply the nature of the river.
Perhaps the same might be true of us.
There are seasons when life feels full, and seasons when it feels strangely empty. There are people and things we have to let go of. There are times when the way ahead is clear, and others when we have to wait. The temptation is always to cling to what we know. But the river keeps moving.
The Cistercian monks who founded Beaulieu Abbey understood something of this too. Their lives were ordered by prayer, work and the seasons, within a landscape shaped by water. They knew that we are not masters of creation but participants within it.
Perhaps that is what I find most moving about the Beaulieu River. It does not offer us certainty. It offers us perspective.
It reminds us that we are part of something older and bigger than ourselves; that life has tides as well as seasons; that an ebb is not necessarily an ending; and that sometimes we have to allow the water to recede before we can see what has been hidden beneath it.
So when I stand beside the river, whether at Easter sunrise, at the beginning of our Sunday worship, watching our young sailors set out, or praying for those who make their living on the sea, I find myself asking the same question:
What might God be asking us to let go of, and where might the next tide be taking us?
Perhaps the water has been quietly asking that question all along.
Over the past forty days, we have entered once more the gentle, searching season of Lent. I began, in my Homiles in Church, by reflecting on the habits we so often adopt for Lent - the giving up of wine or chocolate, or other small comforts. These sacrifices are not without value, however, I challenged us that the call of this season is not simply to go without, but to go within.
To make space—not merely in our cupboards, but in our hearts, and minds and spirits. The Psalmist writes, “Be still, and know that I am God” (Psalm 46:10). Perhaps this is the truest Lenten discipline: not striving, but surrendering; not subtracting, but attending. Making time to be still with our God.
I challenged us, instead of giving something up, what if we took something up? A quiet ten minutes each day. A walk in prayerful awareness amongst the beauty of our parish. A willingness to simply be with God, without agenda or anxiety.
The poet George Herbert (1593-1633) captures something of this sacred turning:
“Who goeth in the way which Christ hath gone,
Is much more sure to meet with Him, than one
That travelleth by-ways.”
Huge thanks to Jane, our LLM who has taken up my challenge to write reflections for our BEEB WhatsApp group. (Beaulieu, Exbury and East Boldre - aka BEEB). They have been truly inspiring and have encouraged us to steer our gaze towards this Lent being less about absence, and more about presence.
It has also been lovely to have Julie, an Ordinand from St Winn’s, Totton, on placement with us. It’s been great to get to know her and for her to travel with us at this sacred time. We wish all every blessing as she prepares for her Ordination in June.
I led two special Lenten Sessions. Firstly, welcoming back our dear friends Fiona and Elenor to Exbury Church for ‘Sounds of Healing’. Another beautiful opportunity to lie down on Holy Ground and be immersed in spirit filled sounds of Grace.
During ‘Words of Wisdom’ in Abbey Church, I led us through prayer, mindfulness and mediation techniques, centring around the words of Christ, with extracts from St Julian of Norwich, Meister Eckhart, Etty Hillesum, to name a few, and more immersive sounds from our sacred Angelus Bell.
Lent is an opportunity, less about denial, and more about discovery.
This Lent I have asked only one thing - to make time to just be with your God.
As Lent draws now to its close, we stand on the threshold of something extraordinary.
Ahead lies Palm Sunday, the solemn beauty of Holy Week, the stillness of the Triduum, and then—glorious and surprising—Easter, and the new life it brings to us all.
As we move from this season of quiet reflection into the unfolding mystery of Holy Week and the joy of Easter, may all that we have gently begun now continue to take root within us. May we continue to lean into our faith, making time to be still with God, not just in this season of Lent, but every season of our lives. Amen.
The light on this feast of Epiphany has been miraculous.
Sunrise on this Holy Day was a sight to behold, the palette of colours on the horizon a gift for those who took the opportunity to see.
I have had a joyous Christmas. My second as Rector, we saw record numbers at every service right across the Parish. From Candle-lit Carols in the Abbey, to ‘Dogs & Children too!’ in Exbury, to river bound ‘Carols on the way to the Pub’ at Buckler’s Hard, to Christingles full of delight in East Boldre, it was quite the adventure.
As we begin to take down the decorations, and get back into something vaguely resembling routine, I observe that we come away from this Christmas with a sense of transformation in the air.
Winter is the time for transformation. As the earth turns inward, so too are we designed to use this time of year for nourishment, for resting, for reflecting, and for gently growing into the people we have been made to be, once more.
The light since the equinox of the sun on December 21st has been exquisite.
The shortest day is now well behind us. As the earth begins to awaken from her seasonal respite, and as we turn back towards lighter, longer days, I pray we do so gently. Generously. Mindfully. Embracing what we have discovered in the nurturing of the Christmas Season.
This is the season of nurturing: of our communities; of ourselves; and of the adventure that is faith.
The light that Christ brings into the world is miraculous.
As we have once again celebrated God here on earth, as the Messiah, the Christ-child, we are reminded at Epiphany that that baby in the manager wasn’t born for the exclusive few, but for the inclusive many. That that inclusion, like Christ himself, breaks downs all human and earthly barriers, and acts as a bridge between all people. From all walks of life. From all nations.
The Magi knew that the bridge between heaven and earth was coming into the world and followed a star until they found it. This bridge was not in the form of a great warrior king, but a small innocent child.
The star, that auspicious exactitude of light, led the Magi to the manifestation of Divinity here on earth, whose life transformed the world.
There must have been a sense of transformation in the air on that Holy Night. That Holy Night when those who were wise knelt down before a tiny child, and knew that life would never be the same again. Their gifts of Gold, Frankincense and Myrrh, acting as a mystical insight into what was to come. Gold for Kingship, Frankincense for Divinity and Myrrh for Embalming.
Being together this Christmas has been a sight to behold. I pray that, like the Magi, we are inspired to journey on in our own quests of faith. I pray that we use the gifts of our Parish in this beautiful part of the world to see the signs of God’s presence here in creation. I pray that this winter, we continue to root down into the season and be nourished by the comfort that the light shines in the darkness, and the darkness does not over come it.
So as we begin to take down the decorations, why not leave a few of those evergreens indoors. For a while, maybe leave a branch - maybe leave the whole tree! The lights on the tree though, like so many stars, we could even keep them out all the year through.
But whatever we use as our reminder, I encourage us all to choose one thing that, when we see it, we take the opportunity to notice and experience The Light all around us. God’s Light, both Miraculous and Exquisite, and so much more. And there, transformational, nurturing, inspirational, for us all. Amen.
I share the news that in the wake of the Makin Report, The Archbishop of Canterbury Justin Welby has resigned from his role.
First and foremost, my thoughts and prayers are with the victims of John Symth, both in the UK and overseas, and all those impacted by safeguarding issues.
I want to personally assure everyone that I, and all the churches in our benefice, take safeguarding extremely seriously, and that we are here to support you if anyone has been affected by any of the issues around The Archbishop’s decision.
The following weeks will be a difficult time for The Church of England and The Anglican Communion.
Please be assured I’m keeping all of this and all our church life in my prayers. As I know you are too.
I have included some key safeguarding contacts underneath and a link to a letter to the diocese from Bishop Philip.
In the meantime, please do not hesitate to get in touch with me if you’d like to talk.
Love and prayers,
Rev Catherine
Beaulieu benefice safeguarding contacts: Sophie Burton
Email: This email address is being protected from spambots. You need JavaScript enabled to view it.
Winchester Diocese: 01962737317 This email address is being protected from spambots. You need JavaScript enabled to view it.
The Gospel speaks of welcome for all. Being faithful to this compels us to take with the utmost seriousness the challenge of preventing abuse from happening and responding well where it has.
For information, guidance & resources, please visit www.churchofengland.org/safeguarding. Further information is displayed on the notice boards in the Church porch.
