“We’re not called to deny the reality of our own hardship” Philip Plyming on Christian gratitude in contemporary culture

Profile Editor Gussie Coulter joins the Dean of Durham, the Very Reverend Doctor Philip Plyming, to explore his vocation, perspectives on faith, and his recent book, Giving Thanks.

By Gussie Coulter

It is Ash Wednesday. As I step into the Deanery of Durham Cathedral, it is impossible not to marvel at the recently uncovered 15^th Century paintwork decorating what would have been the Prior’s Chapel before the Reformation. It is currently the home to Philip Plyming, Dean of Durham, with whom we will be exploring his life and vocation, perspectives on Durham, and reflections on gratitude.

It is a suitable and storied setting for my tenth Palatinate Profile – bringing it all back home.

Philip came to personal faith in Christ during his undergraduate days at Cambridge. “I encountered Christians my own age who had a level of vocation that I found attractive,” he tells me.

“I remember being in choral evensong and hearing some beautiful music and looking at the ceiling there in King’s College, thinking – crumbs, what if all this is true?” Whilst it was a gradual process, “I can remember moments of epiphany.”

He describes the call to the ordained ministry as “a vocation within a vocation. There’s the primary vocation which is to be a follower of Jesus Christ – that’s what every Christian is called to do.”

“But there’s a particular vocation to priesthood and as a vocation to be set aside for the service of God in His church; it’s not a better vocation, but it is a distinct vocation.”

“I had a strong sense I’d been called to be a priest in the Church of England, not the Church of the Southeast,” Philip explains, so he moved to Durham with his wife Annabelle, to train at Cranmer Hall in Durham. He then served as a curate for 5 years whilst pursuing a PhD and was a vicar in Surrey for 11 years.

I had a strong sense I’d been called to be a priest in the Church of England, not the Church of the Southeast

“I love helping people discover who Jesus is for them, and in a parish church there’s lots of opportunities to do that and also you’re building very long-term relationships,” Philip reflects. “You’re supporting people, you’re seeing them live for God and die in the care of God, and to do funerals for people who I’ve known was very special.”

“That was a surprising blessing of parish ministry, caring for the dying and the bereaved.”

I ask Philip what prompted his return to the North.

“We always said if the Lord called us back to the Northeast, He wouldn’t have to shout very loud.” So, after 16 years of parish ministry, Philip returned to Durham to become Warden of Cranmer Hall.

Since 2023 he has served as Dean of Durham; a role encompassing “spiritual leadership for the worshipping community and life of Durham Cathedral,” serving as Chief Executive of the organisation, and he is also chair of the board of Trustees of Durham Cathedral, an independent charity.

Philip reflects on being the custodian of a rich Christian tradition: “The story of Northeast Christianity is fantastic, and we are so blessed to be in the home of Cuthbert and Bede.”

“And the story, if you like, is lived. It’s both embodied in the stones of Durham Cathedral, but also the stones have soaked in the prayers of the saints. People have been celebrating Christmas here for 900 years.”

The story, if you like, is lived. It’s both embodied in the stones of Durham Cathedral , but also the stones have soaked in the prayers of the saints. People have been celebrating Christmas here for 900 years

Philip notes how it’s easy today to think “it’s all about me” and that it’s “all about now”, but serving as Dean of Durham has taught him that “you’re just part of a bigger story”. Philip’s name is the latest on the list of Deans and Priors going back a millennium. “There’ll be more after that,” he tells me, “I’m just a steward to pass on what we’ve received – the prayers of the saints will be offered here on an ongoing basis.”

Philip has recently published a book, Giving Thanks: Rediscovering the Heart of Gratitude, exploring The General Thanksgiving, a staple of the Book of Common Prayer that appears to be going out of vogue.

I ask Philip what drew him to that prayer specifically.

“When you’re a parish priest, you visit people who are in the last stages of life or they’re living with a level of dementia and often people might find it quite hard to carry on a conversation with you, but if you start praying a prayer that they learned as a child they’ll join in.”

He’d begin The General Thanksgiving, “Almighty God, Father of all mercies… and they’d join in because they’d learned it off by heart when they were confirmed back in 1950 or something.”

“And I thought, this is a gem of a prayer – wouldn’t it be good to reintroduce this prayer to a new generation?”

Philip notes the virtues of learning prayers by heart. “When you’ve had a really rotten night and you’re just finding it really hard to pray, the prayer will pray for you, and secondly, when you pray a prayer repeatedly, it enters your bloodstream and it changes you. That’s why I wrote this book.”

When you’ve had a really rotten night and you’re just finding it really hard to pray, the prayer will pray for you, and secondly, when you pray a prayer repeatedly, it enters your bloodstream and it changes you. That’s why I wrote this book

The prayer was written in 1661 by Edward Reynolds, the Bishop of Norwich. He had served as a Presbyterian minister in the Commonwealth prior to the Restoration of the monarchy in 1660.

Theologically rich, and of an interdenominational origin, the prayer only made it into the book of Common Prayer – which was being reinstated and revised following the Restoration – by the skin of its teeth. Against convention and unsolicited, Reynolds presented it to his episcopal colleagues just six days before the final edition of the book was signed.

The prayer is unusually holistic and wide in its scope. “He wanted to write a prayer that was not quite as specific as some of the collects of the Book of Common Prayer, but it was somewhat more encompassing,” Philip explains.

Almighty God, Father of all mercies, we thine unworthy servants do give thee most humble and hearty thanks, at the outset, defines the relationship between God and man in stark, endearing but utterly modest terms. The prayer “helped people give thanks to God for both his general mercies – creation, preservation, by which he means God’s daily mercies that help us keep breathing each day – but also the specific blessings of, as he puts it, thine inestimable love in the redemption of the world by our Lord Jesus Christ, for the means of grace, and for the hope of glory.”

Such a description has rich temporal depth. “Within a relatively short prayer, it encompasses the past, present and future,” Philips explains. The Christian narrative of salvation extends across all of time, from Jesus’ death to grace in the present day, to glory at the end of time.

“If you like, The General Thanksgiving is a brilliant articulation of what the Christian life is all about, which is ultimately a ‘thank you’ life, rather than a ‘please’ life. The Christian life, that which people observe, is only a response to God’s inestimable love.”

If you like, the General Thanksgiving is a brilliant articulation of what the Christian life is all about, which is ultimately a ‘thank you’ life, rather than a ‘please’ life. The Christian life, that which people observe, is only a response to God’s inestimable love

Such a message is particularly potent given secular misconceptions surrounding prayer – it is often seen as divine transaction. “That is such a reductionist approach,” Philip tells me.

More broadly, the Christian life is not simply a subscription to a set of maxims or truth claims, but a fundamental reorientation of one’s very being. Philip warns against turning Christianity into a “religious to do list”.

“It’s a response to what God has given and done in Jesus Christ, and when we make it into something that’s about trying to please God or elevate ourselves to the moral high ground and look down on other people, we miss the heart of what Christianity is about.”

“The central service of Holy Communion or the Eucharist, reminds us that this is a gift of God poured out in Jesus Christ, rather than something we do to make ourselves worthy.” Grace is something that is underserved and given freely – it isn’t earned.

The General Thanksgiving is countercultural by nature. “When it was written, it wasn’t as if giving thanks was any easier than it is today – in 1661, the country was just recovering from the realities of the Civil War and all the turbulence of the Commonwealth. The losses of the Civil War were comparable to the losses of the First World War – this is a country that has been severely traumatised.”

“It was encouraging people to give thanks in the midst of challenge.” And it still does today.

The losses of the Civil War were comparable to the losses of the First World War – this is a country that has been severely traumatised… It was encouraging people to give thanks in the midst of challenge

“It’s countercultural today in two ways,” Philip explains: “Number one, the obvious way is language. It’s a traditional prayer so it’s got traditional language and that can be a burden.” Philip notes that we are used to using different language, whether that be “text speak” or “locking in”; the prayer’s language isn’t an insurmountable barrier.

The second way in which the prayer is counter-cultural is that it demands thanksgiving during a challenging contemporary life. “The reality is that younger generations in some ways have less than previous generations had, not to mention the tectonic plates of global political life changing.”

Furthermore, it flies in the face of contemporary consumer culture. “The whole basis of a consumer society is basically to say what you have currently isn’t enough. The General Thanksgiving is nurturing a life of contentment and not saying that we don’t yearn for justice for other people, or we don’t have desires or needs. It’s not denying that, but it’s saying we are thankful for what we do have, rather than consciously paying attention to what we don’t.”

Hardship narratives form an integral part of the Christian story – and the story of humans more generally. I ask Philip what approach to gratitude people should take, as he puts in his book, “when the going is tough.”

Making reference to his previous book, Being Real, on Paul the Apostle, Philip explains that “God is at work in the cross-shaped places of our lives: We’re not called to deny the reality of our own hardship and brokenness, but rather to name that to God and to other people, but perhaps to use The General Thanksgiving to remind us about the bigger context of God’s gift.”

God is at work in the cross-shaped places of our lives: We’re not called to deny the reality of our own hardship and brokenness, but rather to name that to God and to other people, but perhaps to use the General Thanksgiving to remind us about the bigger context of God’s gift

When times are difficult, “perhaps even praying it through slightly gritted teeth is a good thing to do.”

As I leave Philip to prepare for Ash Wednesday’s evening eucharist service, I reflect on how we give thanks today. Gratitude has become an emerging area of psychological study, growing alongside the rise of self-help culture. It surfaced publicly in the Clap for our Carers movement during the pandemic and continues to shape conversations about wellbeing and resilience. Yet long before it became a therapeutic tool, giving thanks lay at the heart of Christian prayer.

The General Thanksgiving is thus both a tool and a model for cultivating a life of gratitude. It does not trivialise loss or hardship; rather, it situates the darkest of days within a wider story, denying them the final word.

Image credit: The Dean of Durham, the Very Reverend Dr Philip Plyming, Photographer: Gavin Selby