A Rule of Life: Rules to Flourish by

16 August 2026, 5:45pm Evensong - Rules to Flourish by - The Revd Canon Dr Susie Collingridge, Vicar of Steep and Froxfield with Privett

Acts 16:1–15; 2 Kings 4:1–37

I wonder how you feel about rules?

Most of us appreciate living in an orderly society. I believe that laws are there for a reason, and that, well-drafted laws generally enable everyone to flourish, locally and internationally.

Although when I am running late I am sometimes tempted to wonder whether a speed limit might be more of an aspiration than a hard line. Until a speed awareness course put me straight, obviously. And I find myself strangely comforted by St Paul’s words: “I do not do the good I want, but the evil I do not want is what I do.”

The idea of a rule is one thing. Keeping it is another.

As my friend Debbie’s dad, Alan the AA man, used to say: ‘don’t do as I do, do as I say!’ My own parents were more bohemian in style. Creativity was celebrated, natural intelligence and flair were valued rather more highly than hard work or conformity.

Looking back, I realise our household had a distinctively ADHD-flavoured character: plenty of love, but also chaos, noise, adventure, exploration and occasional rage. We did have some rules, about responsibility and safety:

The first was this: deal with the needs of your animals before your own, because they depend on you.

And the second: if you go out on your bikes, go together, say where you are going and when you will be back, and take a watch.

There were a couple of mealtime rules too:

“Don’t eat with your mouth open.” And: “All joints on the table will be carved!”

I don’t remember many others.

So a carefully constructed, highly disciplined Rule of Life was not something I learned at my artist-mother’s knee.

I had to learn elsewhere that some people actually put their toys away when they have finished playing with them not when they were shouted at as guests were about to arrive.

Extraordinary.

At university I found to my surprise that being organised enabled me to get my work done and to be involved in the variety of activities I loved. I discovered lists — and the particular satisfaction of putting something on a list which I had almost completed, so that I could finish it, tick it off and get that little dopamine hit.

Reading David Watson’s Discipleship, I found something more significant: that spiritual disciplines can provide scaffolding for a sustainable life of faith.

And that brings us to our theme today:

“Rules for Flourishing.”    But what are they actually for?

Human beings quite like rules. We often default to them.

Rules tell us where we stand. They give us boundaries. They are measurable.

And perhaps most appealingly to us at times, they allow us to determine whether we are getting things right. And whether someone else is wrong.

The Bible contains rules of course. Not least there are the Ten Commandments, written in stone and historically displayed on countless church walls and schoolrooms instilling a sense of ‘right and wrong’ on minds young and old alike.

And then there is Leviticus, whose detail has caused many an enthusiastic Bible reader who began with good intentions at Genesis to come unstuck somewhere around chapter 17.

Rules can give us security.

And some rules are absolutely essential.

Safeguarding needs rules. Financial probity needs rules. We need clear boundaries and mutual understanding for trust around behaviour, power and responsibility. Canada’s Mark Carney pointed out to the World Economic Forum in Davos the seismic implications of losing a common respect for the international rule of law.

Human beings are wonderfully made — and wonderfully complicated. Clear rules can protect the vulnerable and hold communities accountable.

Rules can be life-giving.

But there is a danger when a rule becomes more important than the people it was meant to serve.

And that is where Jesus repeatedly found himself in conflict with the Pharisees.

Although traditionally vilified by Christians, the Pharisees were not wicked people. They were serious about their faith - disciplined, knowledgeable and determined to please God.

But Jesus kept doing things that their carefully constructed system could not accommodate:

He healed on the Sabbath.

He touched people considered unclean.

He ate with sinners.

He put mercy before religious respectability.

The Pharisees were very good at colouring inside the lines.

Jesus seemed to pick up the colouring book, turn it upside down, draw on the cover — and then walk on water.

No wonder he annoyed them.

And perhaps that is the tension we need to hold as we think about a Rule of Life for ourselves, our Cathedral and Diocese:

Structure and freedom.

Discipline and grace.

Plans and the Spirit.

Think about our NT reading -  Paul and his companions have big plans to share the Good News of Jesus. They know where they want to go next

And then, repeatedly, the Holy Spirit says:   No.

One direction is closed. Another option is frustrated.

Until Paul has his left-field vision of a man who was identifiably Macedonian, a European, saying:

“Come over to Macedonia and help us.”

And suddenly the plan changes. They go.

And there they meet Lydia in Philippi, and a new church and a new era is born.

Paul had a terrific plan, founded on all the right reasons, and built on valuable experience. But what he really needed was to be sufficiently attentive to God that when the Spirit redirects him, he is able to change course.

A Rule of Life, at its best, should do the same.

It should not make us less responsive to God through its pre-formed plans or guilt-inducing restrictions.

It should make us more responsive.

What if a Rule of Life was to give us enough structure to create space for the Spirit? Scaffolding for a sustainable life of faith.

Think of the widow in our Old Testament reading.

She comes to Elisha in desperation. Her husband is dead. She is in debt. Her children are at risk. I wonder how her experience might resonate with parents today living from hand to mouth?

Elisha asks her a simple and practical question:

“What do you have in the house?”

He doesn’t ask: “What have you done wrong?”

Not: “Why didn’t you plan better?”

Nor: “Have you kept all the rules?”

But simply: “What do you have?”

And the answer is: A little oil.

Undaunted, Elisha gives her a simple structure:

Go and borrow vessels. Go inside. Shut the door. Pour. Keep pouring. And something extraordinary happens.

The miracle comes through the fusion of God’s provision and human participation.

The oil is God’s gift.

But the jars have to be there.

They have to be available.

They have to be gathered.

Perhaps that gives us a further image for a Rule of Life:

It is a collection of empty jars, charged only with our microscopic level of willingness.

It is the practical structure by which we make ourselves available to God.

Through the years of Christian history and human experience of life with God we have found things that help us do that:

Things like     Prayer.

Scripture.

Worship.

Silence.

Rest.

Generosity.

Walking light-footedly on the planet.

Friendship.

Service.

Hospitality.

Saying thank you, to God and humans.

Saying sorry, to God and humans.

These things do not earn God’s grace.

They make room for it.

I wonder what things, what practices and habits you have found to help make room for God in your life?

We read of the woman of Shunem.

She notices Elisha passing by and says, in effect:

“This man needs somewhere to stay.”

So she creates a simple room.

A bed. A table. A chair. A lamp.

It is beautifully ordinary. But that little space becomes a place of hospitality. not just for Elisha but also for God.

And that too offers a picture of what a Rule of Life can be:

making a room for God.

Because if we leave our spiritual lives entirely to how we happen to feel on a particular day, there will be plenty of days when we don’t pray.

Plenty of mornings when we are too busy to be still.

Plenty of weeks when we discover that somehow we have not spoken properly to the people we love.

So we make some choices in advance.

Not because we are trying to become perfect.

But because we know ourselves.

We know how easily good intentions evaporate.

We know how quickly the ‘urgent’ drives out the ‘important’.

If something matters, we need to build it into the architecture of our lives.

That is why I have gradually acquired my own rather informal Rule or pattern of Life.

Each day incorporates, ideally, prayer, some reading, some movement and some work.

I pay attention to the animals. First, obviously – and to the garden, in the hope that at least a few beans might be pollinated after the heatwave and before the first frosts.

I make a list because lists are helpful things, and I make the bed. And somewhere in all of that I try to remember that it is more important to be kind than to be right.

Over the course of the week this pattern means worshipping with God’s people, receiving Communion, making some space for silence and for exercise. Sorting the recycling and trying to shop sustainably, and making time for family. I aim to have a day off – preferably two – when, aspirationally at least, I don’t talk about work.

Monthly, I give – by direct debit so that it goes out first before anything else because I’m wanting to give intentionally rather than a trickle of what might be left over.

I touch base with my spiritual director every few weeks, see family and keep in touch with friends, and get my hair cut.

Then annually, there needs to be some proper rest with holiday booked in, some retreat, and time to review how life is going. There are Christmas messages to send – an annual reminder that friendship requires a little more than good intentions – and, above all, space for the people I’ve been given to love.

None of these things makes me a better Christian. They are simply small, practical ways of making room for the life with God that I want to live. Just ways of remembering what matters

The fact is that the cumulative effect of small things is enormous.

We know this physically. Eating well once does not make us healthy.

Exercise works through repetition. Apparently.

Relationships are built through repeated attention.

Prayer works like that.

Generosity works like that.

Faith works like that.

The life of a disciple is formed not mainly by occasional dramatic moments, but by repeated, ordinary choices through which we become the people God is calling us to be. Walking the Way that is Jesus.

A Rule of Life says:

This matters enough to me that I am going to make space for it. Scaffolding, oil jars, a room

But there is a danger.

A Rule of Life can itself become an idol.

We can become proud of our discipline.

We can turn spiritual practices into spiritual achievements.

“I pray more than you.”

“I know the Bible better than you.”

“I am doing Christianity properly.”

And at that moment, the scaffolding has become the building.

The jar has become more important than the oil.

The rule has become more important than the relationship.

And we are back with the Pharisees.

So perhaps the important rule of all is not really a rule. It’s this anchor: Love God, and love your neighbour.

And perhaps the rest is meant to help us do that.
That’s what we have seen in these readings: Paul makes plans, but is willing to let the Spirit change them.
The widow has almost nothing, but trusts God with the little oil she has. The woman of Shunem makes a room – and makes space for an encounter with God.

A Rule of Life is not about getting everything right. It’s about having enough structure to keep us attentive, and enough freedom to respond when God surprises us.

I have a postcard at home which says: “Do not be afraid of tomorrow – God is already there.”

I rather like that. Because the gospel does not begin with a rule, but with a gift.

Not “keep this law and you will live:

But “You are loved – now live”

Rules can steady us and give shape to our lives. But they are never the source of life.

That’s the Grace of Jesus.

Grace meets us when we are empty, redirects us when our plans go wrong, and takes the little we have and asks us to trust God with it.

So maybe we don’t need to leave here determined to devise the perfect Rule of Life.

Maybe we simply need to ask:
“What is one thing I can do to make a little more room for God?”

And the question for our reflection is not so much “Am I keeping everything together?” but more “Am I living today as someone who is already loved?” Am I someone who wants to build their life on that truth, and for that reality to be spread like a contagion of love through my choices, my actions and my words?”

Because ultimately the Christian life is not held together by our consistency, it’s held together by the grace of God’s faithfulness.

Not by something that we achieve, but by
Someone we receive. Amen