Good morning. The pub in Oxford last week looked its usual, amazing self. I’d been doing a bit of teaching and was staying in a nearby college overnight. Outside was dark, cold and wet. But as I pushed the pub door open, I was met with a warm, candlelit cacophony of conversation. People were eating supper, playing board games, reading books. It was a glorious, uplifting sight.

We know that, for decades now, pub landlords have been facing multiple challenges in order simply to keep their doors open. In 2025, the equivalent of one pub a day in England and Wales had to close its doors permanently.

So it was good this week to hear Prince William talking about how much he loves everything a pub has to offer and urging us to do all we can to support our local. Pubs, he said, are the beating heart of many communities, where we can meet with friends and neighbours.2

Along with churches and other places of worship, many of which are also reimagining themselves simply to survive, pubs provide a radical alternative to the social isolation and loneliness affecting many groups in society. I observe this more and more in the course of my own work. Often unseen, people of all ages and backgrounds can unwittingly find themselves alone, without the meansor motivation to find a non-transactional space where they can simply “be” with other people. Many community cafes are also thriving like never before.

Christian theology has always celebrated hospitality. The Bible stresses the importance of people being together to meet as well as sharing food and drink. This is something Jesus is also frequently found doing in the gospels as he meets with an interesting range of people.

St Paul, whose feast day the Church celebrates tomorrow, wrote many letters to the early Church, stressing not only the importance of worship but also the spiritual benefits that fellowship with others brings. He regards this as an important ingredient towards spiritual renewal and happiness.

For centuries pubs have been at the centre of British culture. The Catholic writer Hillaire Belloc warned - “when you have lost your Inns drown your empty selves, for you will have lost the last of England.” They've left their mark throughout literature, in Orwell and Dickens, Dylan Thomas and Chaucer. His pilgrims began their journey to Canterbury at the Tabard Inn!

As modern-day pilgrims, navigating an ever-complex world of conundrums and challenges [wherever our final destination might be] preserving spaces for conversation and friendship, where strangers can become friends, is surely an imperative.

Words spoken to me by a man with a clipboard, in a Renault Clio back in 1997. Failing my driving test seems trivial now, from the misty vantage point of nearly thirty years distance, but at age seventeen these were devastating words to hear. The unpleasant sting of failure is a lingering memory; the embarrassment, increasing with each friend calling to say they had passed. The sense of inadequacy. The desperation and the increasing certainty that I would never, ever pass myself.

Such is the stigma and social detriment of failure that some people will resort to nefarious means in order to pass. Cheating on driving tests has increased by nearly 50% over the past year; a dangerous form of deception which risks lives, and also severs the social contract which relies on us all following the rules in order to be safe. Failure is key both to character building and communal ethics.

The biblical record is littered with examples of human failure, and those who tried everything to avoid it. The Trickster is a common narrative trope, which includes a disreputable collection of characters who cheat and lie in order to succeed rather than risk the disgrace of failure. Abram who persuades Sarai to pose as his sister to dupe Pharoah. Laban who uses deception to ensnare Jacob into working longer for him. Rebekah, the trickster architect of the plan to fool Isaac into blessing her younger son Jacob over his brother Esau. These cheats appear to prosper, at least momentarily, in a moral universe which allowed deception, but the biblical record shows that their ethical misdeeds often came back to haunt them. Jacob, for example, so quick to be part of his mother’s schemes, ended up being deceived himself, tricked into marrying the wrong woman.

The book of Proverbs says that food gained by fraud tastes sweet, but one ends up with a mouth full of gravel. So it was for our biblical tricksters, whom God used to work out his divine purposes - not because God loves a cheater, but because God loves those who fail. It is in the failing and the striving and the trying again that we learn our best lessons.

Elizabeth Day has written that “if you’ve survived it, failure has taught you something.” I finally passed my driving test, but it was in the failure to do so that I learned how to be a good driver. The taste of failure is bitter indeed, hard to swallow and takes a long time to uncomfortably digest, but it’s what feeds our character and helps us to grow, and however horrible it tastes, at least it’s not gravel.