The Rt Rev Dr Nicholas Bundock preached his first sermon as Bishop of our Diocese at a special service of Choral Evensong at St Mary’s Cathedral, Glasgow on Sunday, 11 May.

The service opened with the motet God be in my Head, written for the Cathedral Choir by the eminent composer and professor of composition, Phillip Cooke. The piece had received its world premiere earlier that day during the Cathedral’s Eucharist service.

Bishop Nick preached to a congregation gathered from near and far. His sermon, reproduced below, was based on readings from Ezra 3:1-13 and Ephesians 2:11-22.

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In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.

There’s something haunting and beautiful in that passage from Ezra – something very human. A foundation is laid, and there’s singing, cymbals, rejoicing. And yet, in the same breath, there’s weeping. So much so that the sound of joy and the sound of grief rise together like a single cloud. “The people could not distinguish the sound of the joyful shout from the sound of the people’s weeping.”

It’s not hard to imagine, is it? A people who’ve seen glory fade. A people who’ve come through exile. A people who’ve seen the temple torn down. And now, tentatively, they lay a new foundation, not knowing what the future holds, and their hearts hold both praise and pain.

It’s a strangely apt image for the church today.

We too are in a season between stories. The old certainties are gone. Numbers decline, buildings weigh heavy, culture has shifted. But here we are, gathering still. Laying something new. Daring to believe that worship still matters, that community still heals, that Jesus Christ still stands at the centre of everything.

And I’m joining you tonight not to offer quick fixes or clever strategies. I’ve only just arrived. But I stand among you to say this: I believe that God is not finished with us. I believe this diocese has foundations yet to be laid, stories yet to be told, and joy still to come.

And I want to be part of that with you.

So let me lay down three simple foundations tonight – not strategies, but hopes. Three stones of vision I want to plant into the ground with you.

First, I long for us to be a people who build on the foundation of worship.

That’s what they did in Ezra. The first act was not to set up a committee, but to build the altar. Worship wasn’t a luxury. It was survival. Before they laid the temple, they rekindled the fire.

We too must begin at the altar. Because worship is where we remember who we are. It’s where we learn again that we are beloved, even in our weakness. It’s where we are fed – not with the food of ambition or performance – but with the presence of the living God.

And when I say worship, I don’t mean only liturgy – I mean a life turned Godward. The rhythm of Eucharist and office, yes – but also the quiet prayer at a kitchen sink. The candle lit beside a hospice bed. The whispered ‘thank you’ on a forest path.

I want our diocese to be formed in worship. Not just to do it, but to be shaped by it. And from that place of encounter, everything else will follow.

Second, I long for us to be a people who break down dividing walls.

That’s the vision of Ephesians. A people who once were strangers and aliens now drawn together into one household. Jews and Gentiles, yes – but not just that. Every human category that once divided is now made irrelevant in Christ. The walls come down. A new humanity rises.

I want us to be a church where the word ‘everyone’ actually means everyone. Where gay and straight, male, female, and non-binary, cradle Christian and curious doubter, all find a home. Not a place of mere tolerance, but a place of transformation – where who we are is not erased, but received and transfigured in love.

Some of you may know that I’ve spent much of my ministry trying to build this kind of church – a Church for Everyone. It has not always been easy. It has cost something. But I believe this is the heart of the gospel: “He came and proclaimed peace to you who were far off and peace to those who were near.” Christ is our peace – not just yours, not just mine, but ours.

Let’s be that kind of diocese. A people who make peace visible. Who pull down the old barricades and build bridges instead.
And third, I long for us to be a people who become a dwelling – place for God.

The end of the Ephesians reading is breathtaking: “In him the whole structure is joined together… to become a holy temple in the Lord.” This is temple language – but now the stones are living. The temple is not in Jerusalem. It’s not even in this cathedral. It’s in you. In us.

That’s the mystery. That the divine chooses to dwell not in bricks and mortar, but in sometimes broken, always fragile, ordinary people. That means what matters most in this diocese is not our assets, our attendance figures, or even our liturgical splendour – but the quality of our love.

If we become a people of prayerful depth, gracious welcome, joyful courage – then the world will see God.

So here is my hope, as your new bishop:

That we might be a people who worship with honesty, who welcome with courage, and who walk together in love. That we might, like those in Ezra, lay foundations that future generations will one day bless. And that when people hear the sound of the church in Glasgow and Galloway, they won’t know if it’s the sound of laughter or tears – only that it is real, and that it rises like a song of hope.

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