Month: August 2026

I took an easier run this morning, almost a minute slower than. yesterday. Hot breakfast, shower, Morning Prayer, public office hours at R&R, work on Sunday’s sermon, back home to have a bite before an afternoon funeral.

A good run, best time but one since late April, then coffee and fruit, shower, Morning Prayer, more work on the Almanac (matching memorials to calendars, encountering some mystery benefactors). One of the non-mysterious memorialised forebears in faith is Geoffrey Barbour, for whom a brass is dedicated.

Not only did Bailiff Barbour go partners in building the bridge over the Thames, he left generous provision for the town clergy of Abingdon (in 1417, the Abbey was doing very well for itself). ‘He gave unto a priest ten pounds, thirteen shillings, and fourpence to go on pilgrimage to Roome, and procession there to make at twelve several times, and also to celebrate there six masses at the altar of St. Gregory, six masses at Scala Cæli, for his soul and the soul of Joan his wife, and for the souls of his parents and all the faithful deceased. Also, he gave four hundred pounds to hire and procure priests, as long as that would last, who should say Mass in the Church of St. Helen’s, in Abingdon, for his soul & the souls of all the faithful departed; except 2 priests that should say Mass in the Church of St. Nicholas, who should receive either of them for his yearly stipend 8 marks.’ (Francis Little, A Monument of Christian Munificence, ed. Cobham (Parker and Co., 1871), pp. 7-8.) They don’t make legacies like they used to…

Then in the evening, I had a bespoke online Marriage Preparation session with a couple whose wedding will be held at St Helen’s. Another day, another adventure in pastoral ministry.

I took a determined run this morning, pushing through the joint and muscle stiffness and the hay fever itchy eyes and gasping, but I shaved a half minute to get closer to an old plateau. Then coffee and fruit, a shower, Morning Prayer, then back to the house for another cup and some toast. Rest of the day, working on a St Helen’s Almanac with the Sanctoral Calendar and dates of Departed parishioners memorialised in the church.

Hot day, back into the 30s.

A few years ago, somebody with the email address ‘geneeques@yahoo.ca’ left a comment here about my relatives, the Adams (not ‘Adamses’, although the vagaries of spelling may have blurred the lines between Adams and Adamses around the seventeenth century) of Boghouse and Bowfield. If anyone knows how to get in touch with that person (the email address gets no response) or anything about the Adams of Boghouse or Bowfield (or both!), please send me a line.

Here I am, back in Abingdon, feeling mostly back in church mode. I ran this morning, coming in at a time below my five-day rolling average. I’m stiff in odd joints and muscles, presumably from walking up and down Durham (my phone gave me credit for climbing 31 flights of stairs Friday. I doubt it was that many, but the phone may have been counting flight-equivalent changes in altitude.

Yesterday’s train travel went very smoothly. At the platform, I had a good old catch-up conversation with Mikeal Parsons (we had seen each other on and off throughout the conference, but hadn’t recognised one another; Mikel noted that he had repeatedly spotted a distinguished-looking gentleman’, but of course that couldn’t have been me). We recalled old days when we were the threats to the nature of meaning and the practice of responsible exegesis. We especially rejoiced at the reception given Michal Beth Dinkler’s plenary paper. (Mikeal had done some work with her in the past, whereas I knew her only literarily.) Chatted with David Horrell at the station. too, and in the days before leaving had been hanging out with the Garrick Allen-Kelsie Rodenbiker Axis, meeting various colleagues for the first time, greeting again longer-term friends. The ‘Beyond “Within Judaism”’ Seminar had a particularly strong series of papers, from Ruben Bühner on ‘prophetic othering’ in 1 Thes (response from Matt Novenson), Nathanel Vette on Mark’s Judaism (response from his approving Doktormutter Helen Bond; Nathanel’s usage of ‘Mark’s Judaism’ so as to avoid the implication of ‘coming from outside’ that ‘within’ implies, and thereby also emphasising the elasticity and variegated capaciousness of 1stC Judaism met with general affirmation), and Hugo Méndez — branching out from his provocative extended argument that the Johannine corpus is pseudonymous through and through — on Revelation (response by Lynn Huber). On the first evening, Margaret Aymer Oget and I had a welcome long conversation. And others, too, through the conference (Clarissa Breu! Beverly and Bill Gaventa! Mark Goodacre, Jamie Davies, Paula Fredriksen, Crispin Fletcher-Louis, Madison Pierce! Nathanael! Loveday and Philip Alexander, Sanuel and Judith Lieu, Markus Bockmuehl, Peter Head, Paul Anderson): a splendid time was had with all. But where was Paul Middleton? It hardly counts as a conference without him.

Then before the last item on the timetable, the closing banquet, I was delighted that my schedule placed me at the Cathedral Church of Christ, Blessed Mary the Virgin and St Cuthbert of Durham to hear the choir of Trinity Episcopal Cathedral of Portland OR lead Evensong. After the service, I had the chance for an all-too-quick visit with the Almost Very Revd (Subdean) Shana McCauley, one of my wonderful former students from Seabury days. And at the banquet I was sat with Greg Sterling, the Dean of Yale Divinity, to whom I enthused about his exceptional faculty (singling out especially Willie Jennings).

With all that socialising, I slept like an innocent while I was in Durham, and felt zombified by the time I got home. But as Continuing Ministerial Development goes, it was smashing.

Breakfast this morning, then I board the train back from Durham to Oxford. I had a chance to chat with Seabury graduate the almost-Very Revd Shana McCauley (Subdean of Trinity Episcopal Cathedral in Portland, OR) at Evensong last… evening, a delicious, carefully-wrought dinner (vegetarian, while avoiding my tomato allergy) on the concluding night of the SNTS conference, and another good night’s sleep.

Yesterday Flora had more teeth extracted, and Margaret brought her home soporific and miserable, poor dear (Flora, not Margaret).

But this afternoon, I rejoin Margaret at home and (like Odysseus) sleep in my own bed. Not sure what I’m going to do about any suitors, especially without any of my progeny about to serve as accomplices.