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“Oi! Incoming!”– a BBC Pause for Thought

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A total joy to be invited to offer the 06.07.26 Pause for Thought on the first morning of the Sara Cox Breakfast Show on BBC Radio 2! Listen here. Here’s what I shared:

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In our local park there’s a winding path – and from 8:00 in the morning it fills with kids heading to school, walking, or riding their bikes. I was walking the dog one morning in the park last week and noticed a group of adults chatting at the bottom of a little hill. They were spread right across the path, completely unaware they were blocking everybody else. Children were trudging around them. Kids riding bikes had to brake and pedal up into the long grass.

But then, there was this young girl – probably nine or ten years old. She crested the hill on her bike, she saw the adults, and she rang her bike bell. Well, the adults didn’t even look up. So she rang that bell again – they didn’t move. It was like they hadn’t woken up yet.

Finally, ten meters out, she rang that bell one more time and she yelled: “Oi! I’M INCOMING!” Suddenly the crowd woke up and scattered off the path, just in time, laughing. And the girl sailed through, triumphant.

Sara Cox – I thought of you.

It’s your first show and here you are, with energy and bells and a little bit of “Oi! Incoming!” To wake us up, to bring some joy to our days, and maybe even to move us on a bit, too. Welcome, we’re so glad you’re here.

I know you’ve got the amazing Tom Hanks coming in later. I heard him interviewed recently, about when he played Fred Rogers, Mr. Rogers, the children’s television presenter who was also a Christian minister. Tom Hanks said he’d once heard Mr. Rogers say something like: if the only prayer we ever pray is “thank you, God”, that would be enough. And Tom Hanks said: I’m not really a religious person, but I love that.

I’m a Christian, and I love that, too. Whether we’re people who pray or people who don’t, wherever we are on the spirituality spectrum (or not), I think gratitude – “thank you” – is something many of us recognise.

And so, this morning, Sara, as you arrive – incoming! – I pray:

Thank you, God, for new beginnings.

Thank you for Bolton pride and a strong Lancashire accent.

Thank you for the music on the radio.

For sass and surprise, and for the gift of waking up again, however we feel about it.

Sara Cox, may your show be a blessing – a space for laughter, a force for good, and an absolute ton of fun.

“Parallel human activities”– a BBC Pause for Thought

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Here’s the text for the 29 June 2026 “Pause for Thought” I offered on the Breakfast Show with Gary Davies on BBC Radio 2. Listen here.

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We live on an old London dock, and when it’s hot, I take our Labrador, Iris, down the stone steps to the water’s edge. And as soon as I unclip her collar, she leaps in and glides to the centre, looking back at me until I throw the ball … so she can retrieve the ball, scramble back up the stairs, drop the ball, shake herself off – and jump right back in again.

Over and over. She could swim forever, and it’s a joy for me to watch her experience so much joy.

And I’m not the only one watching. Runners stop running. Cyclists stop cycling. Parents with kids stop walking. All, just to watch Iris swim.

And then something else happens. British reserve melts away and people start talking to me:

“Oh, she’s gorgeous.”

“We thought she was a seal!”

“She’s in her element, isn’t she?”

One couple even went home, changed into their swimsuits, and came back and jumped in with her.

And the conversations often move deeper. Strangers who are talking to me start talking with each other. Like proper talking, like beneath the surface-level talking, for twenty-or-thirty minutes, people dive into discussion, all while watching a happy dog swim.

A colleague recently showed me a video by comedian Jazz Emu: about what he calls “parallel man activities”. It’s hilarious. And really moving, too: about how loads of us men – but not just men – find that looking someone in the eyes can make real conversation harder, not easier. But if we stand side-by-side – parallel – and look at something else – a football match, a sunset on the horizon, a Labrador in the dock – well, suddenly, the words come more freely.

In the Bible, many of Jesus’s conversations with people are “parallel human activities”. Walking beside each other, noticing ordinary things, and somehow, in that shared direction of vision, deeper truths emerge.

Some of my biggest “ahas” in life have happened just like that. With a friend on a drive or on a run, not staring at each other but watching the path ahead. Sometimes, when I stop trying so hard to connect, I find myself drawn closer to others. And to God, who, in my experience, is already there right beside me, sharing the view.

“God is so proud of you”– a BBC Pause for Thought

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Here’s the text for the 22 June 2026 “Pause for Thought” I offered on the Breakfast Show with Gary Davies on BBC Radio 2. Listen here.

It’s Pride Month, y’all, and I’ll bet if you ask any friend or family member who’s lesbian or gay or bisexual or trans, they will be able to describe, in detail, the point in their life – not necessarily when they came out to others – but the point when they woke up themselves to that beautiful dimension of their humanity.

Me, I was nineteen-years-old, sitting in my car, waiting for the green light at the intersection of Mendenhall and Poplar Avenue, in my hometown of Memphis, Tennessee.

Windows down, a heavenly summer day, and a song by my favourite band came on the radio. I’d heard it 100 times before, but that day, the lyrics broke through, and I heard God say, “Trey, baby, you’re gay.”

It’s something I’d stumbled around at a hidden level, an ashamed level, for a long time – but that day, the windows came down. A spiritual awakening, a sense God was proud of me.

The year before, I’d had an unexpected divine encounter – and I’d made a conscious decision to follow Jesus wherever he might lead. When I started reading the Bible seriously for the first time, I read Jesus’s promise. “You will know the truth” he says, “and the truth will set you free”. And a year later, on that heavenly day in my car, through the music on the radio, I believe Jesus kept his word.

To be consciously LGBTQ involves learning at a very deep level to be radically honest. It’s one of the many gifts of being queer. Now, I’m definitely not saying that we queer folks are more honest than any of you lovely straight folks. Maybe just that we’ve had to fight a bit harder for the truth, and so it feels extremely precious.

A Methodist church I used to pastor marched every year in the Pride Parade, and we handed out Gospel postcards that said things like: “Gay or straight, you are loved”; “God likes you”.

But my favourite postcard said “God is proud of you”. People would receive that message and smile the biggest smiles, sometimes even start to cry. Hugs often ensued, and many blessings.

I have to say, y’all: I love being gay. Thank you, Jesus, for making me gay.

But whether you’re gay or straight or lesbian or trans or bi: as we are all on the human journey of being honest and true, I believe God is so proud of you.

“From comparison to communion”– a BBC Pause for Thought

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Here’s the text for the 15 June 2026 “Pause for Thought” I offered on the Breakfast Show with Gary Davies on BBC Radio 2. Listen here.

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I was on the train earlier this year coming back from an event I’d been speaking at, and I was feeling pretty good about myself. Some of that was a perfectly healthy, “job-well-done” feeling. But most of it, if I’m honest, was more in the vein of “Aren’t I a wonder to behold?” You know, your basic self-centeredness with a dollop of semi-skimmed egomania.

And you know how, on a train, when the light shifts outside, the windows inside can become mirrors? Well, that happened. There I was – feeling wonderfully self-absorbed – and the window suddenly turned into a mirror, and I caught a glimpse of myself. There was my rapidly-retreating hairline, the widening pores on my nose. And my mood shunted dramatically from pride to insecure vanity.

So I tried to remedy that with a bit of internal self-cheerleading: “Oh, but Trey, you’ve still got it: you’ve got lovely eyes”.

But then I noticed around my eyes a flock of crow’s feet. And another voice entered: “Why are you looking so worn? You should exercise more. You should eat cleaner, hydrate, buy a serum. Actually, you deserve more than that: a spa day, some new clothes will make you feel better. Treat yourself!”

This dramatic fleet of thoughts – judgement and charm, egomania and inferiority – took only about 15 seconds but left me depleted.

But then the light outside changed again. And as instantly as the window had become a mirror, it became a window again. And I wasn’t scanning myself anymore; I was gazing into the landscape outside of me. There was a park, and people walking on the paths, and kids playing, and dogs running. And the trees, and the sun beginning to set, and just life everywhere.

In a flash, I was relieved from the paralysis of praising myself or picking myself apart. This wave of peace washed into me from outside, and I was moved from comparison into communion.

The Christian theologian St. Augustine says that we all experience the temptation to turn inwards on ourselves. We become so curved inwards, so warped inwards, that we get trapped in our own reflection – and stuck thinking we’re the centre of the universe.

Personally, I don’t think God is all that interested in showing us a better version of ourselves in the mirror. But instead, I believe, God offers us the simple freedom of being turned outwards again: towards others, towards God even, and back into the real life surrounding us everywhere.

“It is solved by journeying”– a BBC Pause for Thought

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Here’s the text for the 20 April 2026 “Pause for Thought” I offered on the Breakfast Show with Gary Davies on BBC Radio 2. Listen here.

Every spring, the BBC television series Pilgrimage follows seven celebrities of different faiths, trekking together towards a spiritual place like Istanbul or Rome, or this year: the holy island of Lindisfarne.

Now I’m no celebrity but, BBC, if you ever need a punter, give us a shout.

I’m not expecting producers to call anytime soon. So last week, I went on my own pilgrimage, without a camera crew, to an ancient monastery off the coast of Wales, on Caldey Island, where Christian monks have prayed for 1500 years.

The island is accessible only by boat – and only weather-permitting. And storms had thwarted crossings since Easter, but by the grace of monastic insider-information, I managed to stowaway on a morning mail boat that braved the waves.

Reaching the shore was like diving off the edge-of-the-world – a gateway into heaven. And not just because of lovely-old, barnacled monks chanting in the abbey. The whole landscape was bathed in currents of peacefulness, something I long for in my everyday life – but don’t fully experience, because I’m battling armies of distractions, or my awful addiction, sometimes, of watching myself perform a life instead of living mine.

Hiking the island cliffs, I saw a colony of seals on the beach far below. And then I noticed a rope-ladder hanging over the cliff-edge. More rope than ladder, actually – and not a risk assessment in sight.

At first, I felt a surge of fear, but then I heard a voice: “Mate, it’s a pilgrimage. Dive in!” And so I did, practically abseiling down the brambly cliff-face.

I landed on the beach, and immediately the seals startled, and honked and scooted dramatically into the sea. I thought: God, I’m like that sometimes. Anxious, reactive, so quickly-offended. The first sensation of fear, I rush, I shake, I snark with resentment.

But over the next hour as I sat, quiet, on the beach, the seals bobbed back to shore and then out of the water, cautiously welcoming my presence. As we all relaxed, I even felt welcomed by them. Seal pups started to play almost at my feet, and I felt a surge, not of anxiety, but of spiritual joy.

There’s an old Latin saying, from St. Augustine. Solvitur ambulando. Which translates, in paraphrase: “It is solved by journeying”.

I believe that’s how God works. By journeying alongside all of us – celebrities, monks, pilgrims, punters. Shifting our fear with love. Calming our anxiety with peace. And healing our loneliness – by being the truth that connects every created thing.

“Switching on Radio2 Christmas” – a BBC Pause for Thought

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Here’s the text for the 1 December 2025 “Pause for Thought” I offered on the Breakfast Show with Scott Mills on BBC Radio 2. Listen here.

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A few years ago, I went to a concert. Not pop music or rock – but organ. Can I admit that on Radio2? I love Bruce Springsteen, Belinda Carlisle, but I also get giddy for some J.S. Bach.

The concert was at Christmastime in an old church. Candles, stained glass, and the first song was so beautiful I could actually feel it passing through my body, slowing my heart beat, relaxing my soul – one of those rare moments when all is calm, all is bright.

After the last chord from the organ, the sound was just echoing through us. We were holding our breath, savoring the reverb. And then, in that gorgeous stillness, we heard: ARRHH-ARRHH-ARRHH.

From the street outside, a car alarm – a blaring, old-school car alarm. The audience laughed and the organist played on, but in the quiet movements, you could still hear it. We sang a carol; there it was: it wasn’t stopping till it drained the car-battery. The music was glorious, but that alarm clashed hard.

For me, Christmas is the most wonderful time of the year. School nativities and human cheer, searching for stars in a midnight clear. So I’m thrilled that we’re switching on Radio2 Christmas today. Come on, Mariah! All I want for Christmas is you.

But amidst all that joy and cheer, alarms are still sounding: children in poverty, unending war. Grief, money trouble, mental health struggles. One Christmas, my own depression was so deep, I couldn’t sing a note.

And it’s tempting to drown out those alarms with festive noise, to numb ourselves and pretend we don’t hear them. But many Christmas carols invite us to do the exact opposite: to tune our ears to the suffering, to remember peace and kindness aren’t just feelings – they’re a way of life.

In the Bible, those alarms? They’re called prophets. They cry out for justice because none of us are okay until we all are.

At the end of that concert, the organist sat down for an encore. We waited, in silence—well, except for ARRHH-ARRHH-ARRHH. But the organist listened to that alarm – and then he wove it into something extraordinary. He improvised a whole new song around it, adding harmony and transforming it into something strangely-beautiful.

This season, Radio2 family, can we do the same? And try to hold the joy and pain together, the discord of the world and the harmony, so we can really hear that promised miracle song: O Holy Night, when every soul feels it worth – and all oppression shall cease.

Beyond relentless positivity – a BBC Pause for Thought

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Here’s the text for the 30 June 2025 “Pause for Thought” I offered on the Breakfast Show with Sara Cox on BBC Radio 2. Listen here.

I’m embarrassed to confess that I’m a sucker for those twee internet personality quizzes. From  “Harry Potter’s Hogwarts-House-Sorter” to “Which Friends Character Are You?” to “Discover Your Inner Canine” – it’s fun to consider, from a playful angle, how we show up in the world.

Apparently, I am Gryffindor for my determination, Ross for my studiousness, and a crossbreed dog for my adaptability and enigmatic mystery. Sure.

These quizzes – and more serious personality tests – usually offer a list of our strengths: empathy, for example, creativity, focus, intelligence. It’s nothing new, really. The Bible has its own ancient list of virtues: joy, peace, patience, gentleness.

I believe we human beings are miracles. But sometimes I get weary of the relentless positivity through which we see ourselves. Americans are famous for this – “you’re awesome, you’re amazing!” But Brits do it, too: “Darling, you’re perfect.” This endless affirmation… it’s exhausting.

I mean, it’s great to celebrate our strengths, but in my opinion, that’s not the whole truth of us.

I went to a funeral once where someone I knew as loving but very difficult was eulogized as a flawless saint. I whispered to my husband: “At my funeral, please tell the preacher to say: ‘Trey was a lovely guy, and he could be a control freak and jackass sometimes. Can I get an Amen?’” And the people who love me would laugh out-loud and shout: “Amen, preacher!”

Christianity, in addition to its list of virtues, also has a list of deadly sins: arrogance, for example, envy, wrath, greed. This list has sometimes been misused to shame people, but I’ve come to experience it as a way into freedom. It helps me look honestly at myself – to admit: “yeah, I really struggle with arrogance; God I find envy really tricky”. When I name that, with the help of friends, and a God who loves me through and through, I feel an inner acceptance. The joy not of being perfect, but of being human. And I feel an invitation to see others that way, too.

That process – fpr me, in Church and in Alcoholics Anonymous – continues to be a transforming gift.

My friend Kimberly says life would be better, families would be healthier, global politics would be more peaceful, if we could all admit, in detail, what we actually struggle with. To tell the fuller truth about ourselves – the beautiful parts, and the busted ones, too — in search of a life together that’s not perfect but vulnerably free and lovingly real.

Take me to the river – a BBC Pause for Thought

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Here’s the text for the 23 June 2025 “Pause for Thought” I offered on the Breakfast Show with Scott Mills on BBC Radio 2. Listen here.

When I visit a place that’s new to me, I like to explore it by walking ­– or running ­– along its water: the lochs of the Scottish Highlands, the reservoirs of the Elan Valley, Birmingham’s canals, the dykes of the Fens.

There’s something about the flow of water that tells the story of the land – what’s come before, what’s on the horizon. And it helps me get my bearings.

Maybe that’s why rivers show up in so many songs – Springsteen’s “The River”; Joni Mitchell’s, too; Tina Turner “rolling on the river”; Al Green asking to be taken to it. Water moves us – literally and spiritually.

I remember walking along the Thames in London once, near Blackfriars Bridge. A friend pointed out some bubbles rising in the currents near a metal grate. “That,” he said, “is the end of the River Fleet.”

The Fleet? I’d never heard of it. But it turns out that the Thames isn’t the only river in town. London is laced with hidden rivers – the Tyburn, the Walbrook, the Effra – all flowing underground, culverted into tunnels and pipes as the city has grown. You can’t see them, but they’re still there, moving quietly beneath the surface.

My spiritual searching as a Christian has helped me discover the hidden rivers in my own life. Buried beneath the noise of my anxiety, the concrete of my to-do list, the performance of my social-media feeds, there is a deeper stream. Something truer that I’ve forgotten, or concealed, or been told to hide. But still there, still flowing.

The nature writer Robert Macfarlane says a river is alive – “a gathering that seeks the sea”.

And the Gospel of Jesus says: “Out of human hearts will flow rivers of living water.” Real, spiritual rivers that, I believe, run through every single human being. Elemental currents that are in us – sometimes obvious, sometimes hidden – but never contained by us. We don’t own them so much as we partake of them. They flow through us. Their source and their destination is Something-More-Than-Us, Whom I call “God”.

So when I feel stuck or dry, lifeless or anxious, I meditate. I pray. I take a walk or a run. Or better yet, a swim. And I try to trace the river’s path through me, to feel its flow of freedom beneath my surface. And to trust, even when I can’t feel it or see it, that God is still moving. Alive, flowing, sacred in me and in everything.