This Sunday is Racial Justice Sunday and has especial resonance this year: not just for the events of last summer (the killing of George Floyd, the increasing cry that Black Lives Matter and, here in Bristol, the toppling of the statue of Edward Colston) but also for the ever more evident truth that Covid-19 is widening inequality and having a disproportionate impact on black and minority ethnic communities. 

Sunday's Gospel, an account of the transfiguration, reminds us of the hope we have in Christ, even if we're left babbling like Peter not knowing quite how to respond. And Paul, in his letter to the church in Corinth, quotes God to encourage us to see beyond the darkness of troubled times: "Let light shine out of darkness". 

And yet, on Racial Justice Sunday, another perspective hangs in the air: both these readings could be (and probably have been) used to suggest, not only that being bleached dazzling white is the best way to be, but also that darkness needs light to make it acceptable. 

Language is the only way we have to communicate our understanding and if we are serious about learning the language of racial justice, of diversity and inclusion for every individual, each one made in the image and likeness of God, then we need to listen to how our words impact and affect those whose voices are often ignored or unheard.

This month is LGBT+ History month as well: what is true for our BAME sisters and brothers is no less true for our LGBT+ sisters and brothers as well. St Mary Redcliffe declares itself to be "Singing the song of faith and justice as a thriving, inclusive Christian community" ... and so we are; and yet we aren't as good as we could be. 

What do we need to do more of ... 

what do we need to be better at ...

what do we need to stop ... 

so the entry to our church community is as open as the arms of the Christ we proclaim?