Who on earth is Katharine Hayhoe?
Professor Katharine Hayhoe is coming to town (well, at least if you live in the UK within reach of London, Oxford or Edinburgh). You may be asking, ‘Who is she?’
Professor Katharine Hayhoe is coming to town (well, at least if you live in the UK within reach of London, Oxford or Edinburgh). You may be asking, ‘Who is she?’
I have a small, determined grandson. He can insert an astonishing number of vowels into the word NO. Whether in two-year olds or adults, strong differences of opinion may need to pass through several stages before a degree of cooperation is reached − mutual listening, clear communication, appropriate compromise, and peace-making − which in his case means a cuddle.
Community is a complicated word. Like one of those huge lorries that thunders past on the motorway, it isn’t always obvious what’s in it. It’s an emotive term which may awaken longing, panic, or just mild curiosity. Why is it so important? And why was John Stott so good at it on so many different levels?
John was more English than almost anyone I know − except perhaps my father-in-law! Yet beneath the reserved, even conservative demeanour of this gracious gentleman lurked a profound and often subversive cultural agility. His humility and genuine interest in people, along with a considerable sense of humour, enabled him to make friends across all religious and cultural boundaries.
I have a favourite photo of John Stott. He is crouching over a clump of wild crocuses on a stony Turkish hillside, the heavy lens of his camera perfectly steady in his outstretched hands despite the awkward angle of his body. Photographing photographers is always fun.
John Stott wasn’t interested in being liked or admired, or in winning arguments for the sake of it. He was interested in knowing Christ and making him known, in his lordship over all creation, and in the truth of the biblical record.
In late July 2011, the church lost a great statesman, and A Rocha lost a great friend. News of John Stott’s death reached us just as we were setting off for Strumble Head in Pembrokeshire to watch seabirds, walk the cliffs and scan the skies for Peregrines. John’s beloved cottage, The Hookses, lay just a few miles to the south. Fitting, somehow.