Final Wishes – April 2026
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Ashing is part of the Christian tradition marking the beginning of Lent on Ash Wednesday, but this year stories of ashes seem to have travelled throughout the season. Three stories by way of examples.
First, the awful case of the Hull Funeral Director, convicted of massive maladministration of his whole business, reached court during Holy Week amid revelations of his hoarding more than 100 sets of ashes.
Then there was a quite different story which hit the press the same week, this time from China where the headline declared that the authorities are banning the storage of the remains of the dead in “bone ash apartments!” The details suggest that people are storing the ashes of their dead relatives in empty high-rise flats, rather than paying steep costs for increasingly scarce cemetery plots. Reading further I was informed about Qingming – a traditional grave-sweeping festival in which people sweep their ancestors’ tombs and make ritual offerings. This year the festival coincided with Easter Day.
Finally, in the Church Times of the previous week there was discussion of a recent Law Commission report looking into the law of burial and cremation in England and Wales which makes recommendations aimed at modernising and simplifying matters, all in response to the current shortage of burial spaces. While most of the focus in the article was on proposals to make grave reuse and reclamation more straightforward, the line that jumped out was the estimate that funeral directors have around a quarter of a million sets of uncollected ashes. Furthermore, they have no legal authority to scatter or bury ashes and, currently, crematoria have no duty to accept their return!
I recently purchased an End-of-Life Planner, helpfully entitled “Sorry, it’s your problem now – because I’m dead!” (The original title, with expletive deleted, has sadly been relegated to the inside cover to make advertising it easier!) The purpose is to offer a framework wherein you can gather together your important information, clues as to where vital documents can be found plus space to write some final wishes for yourself and to leave messages for those you leave behind. It runs to almost 150 pages and I’m unlikely to fill it in, but it’s an invaluable tool in constructing my own list, and a helpful prompt in having the conversations I must have with my children, and in sorting stuff while ever I can to make their task easier when the time comes.
On Easter Sunday morning, as we celebrated once again the resurrection of Jesus, Radio 4’s Sunday programme included a fascinating interview with the psychiatrist turned jazz musician, Jeremy Sassoon, whose album Older and Wiser is released this week. His work aims to tackle the taboo surrounding talking about death – something he reflected on with Kathryn Maannix, whose own work in this area has reached out to so many. Both of them underlined the importance of having the conversations about final wishes now and making it a natural subject for discussion rather than one to be avoided. Had they been had, those quarter of a million sets of ashes would not be awaiting further instruction for their disposal!
The Easter stories at the end of all the gospels include conversations – in the garden, the upper room, on the road to Emmaus and out fishing on the lake. They all have a sense of mystery and feelings of loss and bewilderment, as people try to make sense of what has happened or what might happen next. And interestingly, none of the conversations end in the place where they begin. For all that the focus of Easter is on new life, might it also be a good place to have those conversations about final wishes – about the things that really matter?
I am somebody – February 2026
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The death of the Rev. Jesse Jackson Snr in the middle of last month rightly evoked many tributes and testimonies to the role he played in the United States and beyond, inheriting the mantle of Martin Luther King and paving the way for Barrack Obama to become President. His was not a life without controversy, but it is hard to deny that he made an impact on and changed the lives of many black Americans.
Amid the plethora of stories recounted from his life, one struck me in particular. He appeared on the children’s television programme Sesame Street with a group of kids from a variety of backgrounds. Drawing on the traditions and the cadences of his black Baptist heritage Jackson led the children in a call and response litany which affirmed both their identity and their value in the sight of God.
“I am black, brown, white, I speak a different language, but I must be respected, protected, never rejected. I am God’s child, I am somebody.”
Those last three words brought a couple of other experiences to mind. The first was to recall famous words attributed to Dame Cecily Saunders, the founder of the modern hospice movement. She said of those in her care, “You matter because you are you, and you matter to the end of your life. We will do all that we can to help you live until you die.” The other thing which chimed with Jackson’s rallying call is the response I often received in conversation with older women when visiting care homes… “I was just a housewife!”
Jackson was speaking with people at the beginning of their lives, living in a context where the dynamics of power were designed to belittle, marginalise and ignore them. And for all that things may have changed and improved, those attitudes are never far below the surface and messages of affirmation and declaration of value are still needed.
Cecily Saunders’ context was at the opposite end of life, and for many they will chime with the ongoing debates around assisted dying – but they echo wider than that. Baroness Casey’s commission looking into adult social care is not due to issue its first phase report until later this year, but in a recent speech she left us in no doubt that the current system barely nods in the direction of Saunders’ maxim.
And if that is how society views frail and older people, little wonder that some have been brought up to see themselves in that way too. The ‘Just a Housewife’ generation may be petering out, but employment type, income and housing status and many other factors can still give rise to feelings of low self-esteem and the conclusion that somehow, we do not matter. As a Christian I believe that we all bear God’s image and that, in God’s sight, whoever we are and whatever age we are, we matter. Of all that Jesse Jackson did and achieved, the message that I am somebody could be his greatest legacy.
Heritage versus Access – January 2026
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The headline in the Church Times caught my eye. “Legal obstacle to accessibility plan at church.” I would have moved on were it not for the fact that I recognised the building – St Martin’s Brampton – and recall seeing these impressive Burne-Jones windows when I visited St Martin’s some 15 years ago.
The story beneath the headline detailed the verdict of the Consistory Court of the diocese of Carlisle, refusing to give permission to the church to “install a lift, ramp and railings at the church entrance to improve accessibility for elderly parishioners.” I was not surprised to read that the proposed work had been opposed by the Victorian Society, who argued that “the church is the sole and unaltered work of a distinguished architect.” Reading to the end of the article I discovered that a “less harmful alternative” proposed by the Victorian Society had not been fully explored, so one hopes that an acceptable way of improving accessibility may soon be found.
Putting the specific case to one side, stories such as this do raise all sorts of questions with which many of us have struggled over the years. I remember when the forerunners of what became the 1995 Disability Discrimination Act were being introduced, many within the churches where I was involved seemed to be looking for possible exemptions to avoid expenditure on modifications and adaptations. Thankfully, attitudes continue to change, and many buildings are now far more accessible and welcoming, but plenty of barriers to full access and participation still exist in far too many public buildings. Indeed, as someone about to enter their eighth decade, and who has twice in recent years been incapacitated by broken ankles, I know the frustration which the inability to negotiate even a modest step can evoke. I am glad to say that the subject of barriers to participation, in its widest sense, is one of the key themes which Christians on Ageing are focussing on in 2026.
I recently visited Caernarvon Castle, where the majestic King’s Gate has benefited from a major investment to install a rooftop deck, floors in its towers and a lift to allow visitors to reach parts of the gatehouse that have been inaccessible for centuries. It is a magnificent example of what can be done – but of course it is an internal modification. In Brampton, the issue is external – in how the historical building presents itself, and the recent ruling seems to rate that a higher consideration than whether people can gain entry to view the treasures it contains. A letter to the Church Times the week after the original article appeared took issue with that decision, calling it “an extraordinary reversal of our much-vaunted progress towards inclusivity” while the latest edition includes a powerful article by Tim Goode under the headline “Liturgy of exclusion in stone” which draws on his book Breaking, Not Broken: Ableism and the Church after Constantine. His crie de coeur says this: “What is needed is not the demolition of heritage, but its theological reinterpretation. Sacred architecture must be read anew, not only as an artefact of the past but as a site for contemporary ecclesial imagination.” https://www.churchtimes.co.uk/articles/2026/30- january/comment/opinion/liturgy-of-exclusion-in-stone
As I said earlier, there is still hope of a “less harmful alternative” emerging in Brampton, but the question of how heritage and accessibility co-exist will remain. And whatever the answer is, it cannot simply be the one allegedly beloved of some folk, “Well, I wouldn’t start from here!” It is where we must begin, and must constructively engage our ecclesial imagination if we are to sing honestly, “All are welcome in this place.”
