Members of Synod, sisters and brothers in Christ,

Grace to you and peace from God our Father and the Lord Jesus Christ.

I joined you at St Erme a year ago – during that time between the announcement that I was to be the Bishop of Truro and my welcome in Truro last May.   This is the third time I have spoken at the start of a Synod in Diocese of Truro (Bishop Hugh spoke in November).  In June following 17 days of walking as part of Thy Kingdom Come.  What I experienced then of “ordinary people doing extraordinary things”, the hallmark of the Christian community has continued to be amplified over the last nine months.

In September celebrating Holy Cross Day I spoke from the theme “To stand at the foot of the Cross is to see that there is no person, no community, no corner of creation, beyond the reach of God’s redeeming love.”

I spoke of prayer as the first and essential calling of the Church; of Mission as the triangulation of beauty, justice, and evangelism – a framework that holds together aesthetic, ethical, and evangelical dimensions of God’s redemptive activity.  I continue to aspire to explore with you.

  • Prayer as the foundation of all ministry
  • Deep listening, presence, and relationship-building
  • Holistic mission combining worship, justice, and evangelism
  • Valuing ordinary Christian discipleship and local leadership

I want to begin with a simple observation, one that is both ordinary and profound: across our diocese, the parish church still stands. In city streets and market towns, in coastal communities and rural hamlets, the church building remains, often ancient, sometimes fragile, always significant.

I have visited over 200 of the 305 Church of England Churches in Cornwall, the Isles of Scilly (and am due to visit Virginstow and St Giles in April).

The first bishop of Truro visited all the churches of his diocese on horseback.  The rise of Cornish Nationalism contributed to the creation of the Diocese e of Truro in 1875.  As the bishop travelled the length and breadth of Cornwall he started recording the stories of the saints of Cornwall.  A list of 140 Cornish saints (and the related 152 holy wells we know off) form part of the spiritual heritage, the Christian story of Cornwall.

Two days ago I conducted a Confirmation Service In St Agnes for 16 men and women between the ages of 12 and 80+.  The youngest of whom has been leading our worship this morning.  When you walk into St Agnes (as with many of our Churches) you are caught by surprise.   Around the walls are the stations of the Cross brought from Oberammergau – taking us to Jerusalem and to the that journey of death and resurrection that lies at the heart of our own Christian faith.  But of course sacred ground is the story of 16 women and men who have encountered God in Jesus and were making their baptismal vows.

This week, as indeed has every week that I have been in office, has shown me that “Growing Younger” is not just an aspiration.

From Saltash to Penwith, from the East to the West we are beginning to see signs of young people responding in faith – in schools and in churches.

I think of Bishop Bronscombe School with its amazing year 6 worship committee, taking the lead in collective worship.  Their teacher speaking of the worship songs that are shaping the values and life of the school.  Of small confirmation group meeting in Costa Coffee after school.

We had hoped that Andrew Rumsey, Bishop of Ramsbury would be able to be here today.  But he is also conducting a Confirmation Service in Salisbury today. Andrew Rumsey, Bishop of Ramsbury, came to address a study day in Romsey for me in 2023.  He spoke of how a “nowhere place becomes a somewhere place”.  He amplified what you might call a “theology of place” drawing on the story of Bethel and Peniel in the book of Genesis.

A Theology of Place Based on Jacob’s Prayers at Bethel and Peniel

The book of Genesis presents place not as a neutral backdrop for divine action, but as an active participant in the unfolding relationship between God and humanity. Jacob’s prayers and encounters at Bethel (Genesis 28; 35) and Peniel (Genesis 32) offer a rich foundation for a theology of place. These narratives show that God chooses particular locations to reveal divine presence, shape human identity, and bring transformation. Place becomes the locus where heaven and earth meet, where struggle gives way to blessing, and where memory anchors faith across time.

Heaven touches Earth: Bethel

Jacob’s encounter at Bethel occurs while he is fleeing from his brother Esau. The location is ordinary and unnamed, a temporary resting place. Yet in this vulnerable setting, Jacob dreams of a stairway connecting heaven and earth, with angels ascending and descending and the Lord standing above it. Upon waking, Jacob declares, “Surely the LORD is in this place, and I did not know it” (Genesis 28:16).

This confession is a foundational theological insight: holiness is not intrinsic to geography but arises from God’s gracious revealing of himself. Bethel becomes “the house of God” because God chooses to be present there. Jacob’s anointing of the stone and naming of the place changes as anonymous space into meaningful place, it becomes a site of covenant promise.

Place as Witness to Vow and Spiritual Formation

At Bethel, Jacob responds to God’s promise with a conditional vow, revealing a faith that is real but incomplete. The place thus witnesses both divine faithfulness and human immaturity. Jacob’s vow ties his future obedience to God’s provision, suggesting that places can hold unresolved prayers and tentative commitments.

When Jacob later returns to Bethel in Genesis 35, the place functions as a witness to transformation. God reaffirms Jacob’s new name, Israel, and renews the covenant promises. Bethel demonstrates that places are not static; they accumulate meaning across time. A theology of place must therefore account for memory, return, and growth. Places become spiritual markers that reveal who we were, who God has been, and who we are becoming.

Place as the Site of Struggle and Naming: Peniel

Jacob’s encounter at Peniel contrasts sharply with Bethel. There is no dream, no ladder, and no verbal prayer. Instead, Jacob wrestles through the night with a mysterious divine figure by the Jabbok River. This encounter is embodied, painful, and it changes Jacob. Jacob refuses to release his opponent until he receives a blessing.

After the struggle, Jacob names the place Peniel, saying, “For I have seen God face to face, and yet my life is preserved” (Genesis 32:30). Here, place becomes the site of costly encounter. Theology of place at Peniel emphasizes that God’s  presence is not always comforting – Jacob leaves limping, carrying the mark of the place in his body.

Place that is part of our identity.

At Peniel, Jacob receives a new name: Israel. At Bethel, that name is reaffirmed and embedded within a covenant. Place is not just a site for spiritual experiences but is part of shaping vocation and self-understanding.

Faith is formed not only through belief but through encounter in particular locations. Riverbanks, wells, stones, and nighttime spaces become instruments through which God forms a people.

Jacob’s prayers at Bethel and Peniel demonstrate that biblical faith is never placeless. God’s covenant unfolds through geography, memory, struggle, and return. Place matters not because God is confined to it, but because human beings encounter God as embodied creatures rooted in space and time. In Jacob’s story, place becomes prayer made visible, and theology takes shape upon the ground where God meets humanity.

Andrew Rumsey describes the parish church as a place that resists the reduction of church to a gathered interest group or a service provider for the like-minded. The parish church, he suggests, is not first defined by who turns up, but by who lives nearby. It exists not for a self-selecting congregation but for a given people, in a given place.

This challenges us — and rightly so. It reminds us that the Church of England’s parish system is not simply an inherited structure to be managed, but a theological conviction to be lived. The parish church embodies the Incarnation: God dwelling among a particular people, in a particular place, sharing their life.

Our church buildings express this theology in stone and timber. They are not simply venues for worship, though worship is at their heart. They are repositories of memory, holding the prayers of generations. They mark the seasons of human life — birth, marriage, death — often for those who may rarely cross the threshold otherwise. They proclaim, without words, that God has not given up on this place.

That is why the care of parish churches cannot be reduced to questions of cost alone, important though financial stewardship undoubtedly is. These buildings are not obstacles to mission; they are instruments of it. They root us visibly and sacramentally in the communities we serve.

Of course, this is not to romanticise the challenges we face. Many of our churches require urgent repair. Clergy and lay leaders are stretched. Patterns of attendance have changed, and expectations of church are different from previous generations. But if we lose confidence in the parish church as a sign of God’s faithful presence, we risk losing something essential to our calling.

The question before us is not whether the parish church still matters – it clearly does – but how we will re-imagine its life for this time.

Rumsey speaks of the parish church as a “house of prayer for all who live within earshot of its bells.” That phrase stays with me.

May God give us wisdom, courage, and generosity of spirit as we seek to sustain and renew this inheritance, not for our sake alone, but for the sake of those whom God already loves and calls home.

Thank you.