I wonder if you are like me. I am constantly trying to be better than myself. Yet I make the same mistakes, it seems, over and over again. I think most of us wake up each morning wanting to live a good life, wanting to behave in love to those around us. We don’t want to be a source of conflict or dissension. We want to be patient, loving, honest, generous, faithful. We want to be the best person we can possibly be. Yet, by the time our heads hit the pillow at night, most of us look back on our day and notice the gaps. We snapped at someone we love. We let anxiety dictate our choices. We stayed silent when we should have spoken up. You know the patterns in your own lives which seem to repeat ad nauseum.
If we feel this frustration, we are in good company. In our second reading today, the letter from Romans, Paul is clearly feeling this as well. He assesses himself honestly, and says: “For I do not do the good I want, but the evil I do not want is what I keep on doing”. He lays bare the raw, unfiltered reality of the human condition. He says that human willpower, and religious laws, on their own, cannot save us from our deeply ingrained habits. This is the universal human struggle. We know the right path, yet we constantly trip over our own feet. We make mistakes. We fall short. When we realize we are making mistakes, our natural instinct is to try harder. We make resolutions, year after year. We read self-help books. We rely on sheer willpower to “fix” ourselves. And that, perhaps, is where we go wrong. We are trying to rely on ourselves, not God. That is one of my bigger failings – I tend to try to fix things myself first. I hate asking for help. I was brought up to be self-reliant, and unfortunately, that self-reliance can become a matter of pride. Even when help would be good, I still fight against it.
Jesus looks at the crowds in today’s Gospel and sees exactly where that self-reliance leads. He compares the culture of his day to children playing a game where no one can win. The people listening don’t know what they want. John the Baptist is too strict – so much fasting! Jesus is too loose – too much partying! They are trying to meet the impossible standards laid down in the Jewish scriptures, and they are trapped in a exhausting cycle. When we try to cure our mistakes by just trying harder, we become like the people Jesus describes: weary and carrying heavy burdens. Willpower alone is not enough to change us, as much as we might like.
So, what do we do about it? Paul gives us the first clue at the very end of his confession. After crying out in frustration, asking who will rescue him from this cycle, he doesn’t say, “I just need to try harder tomorrow.” – sound familiar? Instead, he declares: “Thanks be to God through Jesus Christ our Lord!” He recognises that he cannot do this alone. The first step in dealing with our mistakes is to stop looking inward at our failures and start looking outward at God’s grace. We must accept that we cannot save ourselves. Mistakes are not a sign that you are a failure; they are a sign that you are human, and that you need a Saviour.
The second practical step comes from Jesus’ famous invitation: “Take my yoke upon you, and learn from me.” We are called to God, to walk with him. We are called to put his yoke upon us. In the ancient world, a yoke was a wooden beam placed over the necks of two oxen so they could pull a plough together. Typically, an older, stronger ox was paired with a younger, inexperienced one. The younger ox didn’t have to know exactly what to do; it just had to stay close and walk at the pace of the stronger leader. The purpose of a yoke is to make it easier to carry or pull a load. So if there is a burden to be carried, then it is easier done with a yoke than without. This is – I think – important to remember. Jesus does not promise we will not have burdens to carry – instead he promises that when we choose to walk with him, to carry his yoke, the burdens will be easier. A yoke in scripture is often used to signify submission to another person, or to a code of law. We are being asked to submit willingly to Jesus, and he will help us carry our load. We are asked to willingly take on the law which he proclaims – to love the Lord our God with all our heart, and mind, and soul, and to love our neighbours as ourselves.
Jesus is telling us that we are yoked to the wrong things. We are yoked to the expectations of the world, to our own perfectionism, and to our past guilt. He invites us to swap that heavy burden for His yoke. When we are told that in taking the yoke of Jesus upon us we will find rest for our souls, it isn’t talking about lying down and having an afternoon nap – wonderful though that might sound. The rest this passage speaks of is the Jewish concept of shalom – a peace within ourselves, a holistic awareness. I think Julian of Norwich describes when she says ‘all shall be well, and all shall be well, and all manner of things shall be well’. It is an inner peace based on the knowledge that we know God and he knows us, and no matter what happens, that will not change.
We are told that the yoke of Jesus is easy to bear. Perhaps. We no longer have the Torah to stick to religiously, and in theory, the one commandment of Jesus is easier to follow. Instead of just following the rules, we are called to look beyond to the spirit and purpose of the law – that of loving God, and loving neighbour. Sometimes following Jewish dietary requirements might seem simpler! God calls us to a life of discipleship and righteousness. Taking the decision to follow that call may seem easy. But it demands life commitment and self-denial. It requires of us that we put Christ first, self second. That we place his yoke upon us and allow him to guide our paths. We will still make mistakes tomorrow. The tug-of-war inside us will not magically disappear. But we do not have to fight it alone. This week, when you stumble or fall short of the person you want to be, do not beat yourself up. Do not double down on willpower. Instead, stop, take a breath, and remember who you are yoked to. Lean into Christ’s strength, accept his forgiveness, and let him carry the weight.
Vittoria Hancock 5 July 2026
All posts by glindop
God Is Not Silent
I don’t know if you have ever had a vision or a dream that seems so real, you have no choice to believe it. Or a moment of realisation and clarity so sharp it alters your direction. Sometimes it seems as though we see such events in the Bible as belonging to the history books. We admire them, we are awed by them, but we don’t really think God still speaks in that way. It’s almost as though we think God closed His mouth when the Bible closed its pages. But the testimony of Scripture and the reality of the global Church tell a different story: God is not silent. God still speaks in dreams. He still interrupts us with visions. He still disrupts our neatly planned lives because He is still in the business of calling ordinary people into extraordinary vocations. Our readings today deal with two people who experienced such things. We have Peter and Paul, two men who are diametrically different from each other.
Peter, Sion Peter, was a fisherman. He was not a scholar He knew what he was doing in his boat. He was a Jew. We know he was practical, impulsive, stubborn, and deeply rooted in his tradition. We know he had a temper. He denied Christ three times. We know God called this uneducated, impulsive person to be one of the founders of his church. We know Peter saw dreams and visions – and that through those dreams, Peter’s mind moved out of his stubborn one direction into a more inclusive direction. And without Peter’s willingness to listen, we would not have the church we have today. Without his vision, the church would still be focused on the Jewish people. Sometimes, God uses dreams and visions because our waking prejudices and habits are too strong. God uses the night seasons to dismantle our walls. He shows things we might have never imagine and says “This is where I am calling you.”
Paul, Saul of Tarsus, was an academic. He was highly educated, politically connected, and religiously zealous. When we first encounter him, he is seeking to actively destroy the Church. Paul doesn’t get a gentle dream; he gets a violent, blinding heavenly vision. A light flashes, he hits the dirt, and a voice asks, “Saul, Saul, why are you persecuting me?” Bam. Paul’s eyes are opened to the truth of the Gospel, and his life changes. God used his passion and his citizenship. The very man who used logic and law to hunt Christians would now use logic and law to build churches across the Roman Empire.
In 1996 I was a very young and very new researcher at Salford University,working with a multidisciplinary team, shared between the Departments of Radiography and the Department of Social Work. In fact, my boss then is here today. It was in some ways, my dream job. I loved being able to analyse and compile, to dive deeply into a subject. I liked the people I was working with. I was attending a Vineyard church, full of people my age. I was involved in street ministry, in the prayer team there. I was content. And then one day in May 1996 – the 10th May, to be precise – I was walking down the street towards a local park. Chatting to God as I tend to do. And I got a very clear picture in my mind. A picture of me dressed in cassock and surplice with a dog-collar on. I knew, knew deep inside, that God wanted me to be ordained in the Church in Wales. There were several problems with this. I wasn’t then a member of the Church in Wales, and didn’t really want to become a member – I like my current church. I wasn’t entirely sure about whether I believed in a separate priesthood. Women were not yet being ordained in Wales. I liked my current job, and, in my head, I had my life mapped out. A PhD, perhaps going on to work for a relief and rescue organisation, travel the world, etc. Giving all that up was not in the game plan. I asked some people their thoughts, asked them to prayer. Got a ‘yes’ that sounds right, despite my own reservations, dealt with the objections from some family members – not my parents, let me say! – and found myself by the end of September back in north Wales about to start a Divinity degree, looking for a suitable church to attend and thinking – what am I doing? What on earth is God doing?. And 30 years on from that, I still sometimes think – what am I doing? What on earth is God doing?
God does not require you to become someone else to serve Him. He takes your exact personality, your education, and your unique wiring, and He redirects them towards what he needs at this time and place. Peter had the mud of the Sea of Galilee under his fingernails. Paul had the ink of the Torah scrolls on his fingers. Peter was relatable, local, and relational. Paul was structured, global, and strategic. Both would be unlikely to get through a selection board today. Peter wouldn’t have had enough eduction. Paul would have had a toxic past – can you imagine the Facebook posts? God does not call the qualified; He qualifies the called. He looked at Peter’s fierce loyalty and said, “I will use that to anchor my Church.” He looked at Paul’s relentless drive and said, “I will use that to break new ground.” Neither of them were priests. Were they pastors? Worship leaders? Evangelists?
I am not a Paul or a Peter. Yet I was, and am, called to serve God. All priests are first ordained deacons, ordained to a life of service of God’s people – for even when ordained priest, we still remain deacons. And we forget that at our peril.
God calls all people, regardless of background. “Vocation” or “Ministry” does not mean only people who were a dog-collar. We are not called to turn up, sit in a pew, drop some money in a plate, and try to be nice.
That is not the Gospel. Every single person who believes in God has a commission, a calling. That calling may shift and change over time. But it still exists. Your workplace is your mission field. Your classroom is your parish. Your kitchen table is your altar. Your unique skill-set—whether you are a plumber, a programmer, retired, a stay-at-home parent, an artist, or a nurse—is the tool God wants to use to bring about his kingdom on earth.
God is still speaking today. He speaks through the quiet stirrings of your heart. He speaks through vivid dreams that you can’t shake off. He speaks through sudden, burning visions of a need in your community that breaks your heart. He is trying to get your attention. He wants to take your unique background—your victories, your skills, and even your past mistakes—and weaponise them for love, justice, and the spread of the Gospel. Are you listening? Or are you drowning out His voice with busyness, entertainment, and fear?
This week, I challenge you to pray a dangerous prayer before you close your eyes at night: “Lord, speak to me. Discard my comfort. Redirect my skills. Show me my calling, and give me the courage to wake up and run toward it.” Amen.
- Vittoria Hancock June 28th, 2026