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Fidge writes:

We start our Lenten journey with a song that’s a bit of an earworm, one that you’ll either love or hate but either way, the chorus will no doubt repeat in your head all day! I’m hoping that indeed, it may accompany us throughout the season of Lent- but more of that later!

Lent begins with an invitation to turn. We often hear that as “giving something up.” But what if Lent was less about deprivation and more about direction? Chappell Roan’s “Pink Pony Club” might seem like an unlikely companion for the journey to Easter, yet at its heart, the song tells the story of someone turning towards a life that feels true, even when expectation disappoints. And perhaps that kind of turning – risky, honest, courageous- is exactly where Lent begins.

This song starts with a turning. A daughter leaves home and chooses something that doesn’t meet the expectations she was brought up with. She knows it will be misunderstood, but she goes anyway.

“I know you wanted me to stay
But I can’t ignore the crazy visions of me in LA
And I heard that there’s a special place
Where boys and girls can all be queens every single day.
I’m having wicked dreams of leaving Tennessee
Hear Santa Monica, I swear it’s calling me.
Won’t make my mama proud, it’s gonna cause a scene
She sees her baby girl, I know she’s gonna scream
God, what have you done?”

In the leaving of home and expectations, she discovers something essential about herself. She realises she isn’t losing at all; she’s waking up to a life that feels fuller, more alive and unapologetically hers. She doesn’t become someone new; she simply begins to live a life more fully than before. And perhaps that is what Lent is for- creating enough space to notice where life is quietly inviting us to turn and live more fully.

Perhaps this Lent, the song “Pink Pony Club” is an invitation to step into the life we are called to live. Turning doesn’t always need to be dramatic, but rather and more often, a slow awakening. A recognition. Permission to follow the call we may have been feeling all along.

I suggested at the start of this reflection that the chorus line “I’m gonna keep on dancing at the Pink Pony Club” may accompany us throughout Lent. Perhaps we might sing or hum these words as a prayer- to remind us to keep turning, keep waking and keep dancing towards the truest version of ourselves.

Find out more about Chappell Roan at https://www.iamchappellroan.com

Lent begins next week, and, as has become customary, we’re going to follow a little Lent Journey with a weekly word to focus on. We’ve called it ‘Room To Breathe.’

So during Lent 2026, we’ll be:

• Turning
• Walking
• Pausing
• Opening
• Receiving
• Becoming

Gill writes:

There’s a line in Life in a Northern Town that I always notice — ‘They sat on the stony ground…‘ It feels like a memory that you can feel too. I picture it like a still from a black-and-white film. A world that you half-remember, even if you never lived there.

Nostalgia does that. It wraps the past in warm light. It edits out the harsher edges. It makes yesterday feel safer than today.

The word itself is revealing. Nostalgia comes from two Greek words: nostos — homecoming and algos — pain. It literally means the pain of wanting to go home.

In the 17th century, nostalgia was considered a medical condition — a kind of homesickness that made soldiers physically ill. But the home it longs for is rarely a real place. More often, it’s a feeling. A time we can’t return to. A version of ourselves without all the ups and downs of life.

I’ve been reading Alexei Navalny’s memoir Patriot, and he makes a sharp observation: authoritarian leaders often trade in nostalgia. They promise a return to national greatness — a restoration of a world that was supposedly stable, ordered and morally clear. But as he notes, that world never really existed in the way it’s remembered. It’s a myth dressed up as a memory.

Nostalgia can be politically dangerous because it tells us the best days are behind us.

But it can be spiritually dangerous too.

Christian faith is not built on returning to a golden age. Scripture is astonishingly forward-facing. ‘Forget the former things,’ says Isaiah. ‘See, I am doing a new thing.‘ And in Revelation: ‘Behold, I am making all things new.’

Not restoring. Not rewinding. Not returning.

New.

There’s a difference between remembering with gratitude all that has gone before, and living in (and for) the past. Israel remembered — constantly — but always as a catalyst for movement. ‘Remember you were slaves in Egypt…’ not so you can go back, but so you can live differently now.

Sometimes when we say we long for ‘simpler times,’ what we really mean is we long for when we were simpler: our younger selves, when we were less aware of the world’s fragility. There’s something pastorally wise in naming that the ache for ‘simpler times’ is often grief for our own lost innocence. That kind of honesty can help us to reframe such longing. It acknowledges that the ache is real, but that the approach to it might need adjusting.

Nostalgia can feel to us like a gentle, harmless, even cosy place to be. To question it, especially with others, can seem mean-spirited and rude. But maybe by questioning it, asking why we are yearning for the past, is a way of protecting hope (yes – one of my favourite words is back again). We’re saying: we are not people who live facing backwards.

And it could be argued that that’s deeply biblical.

God is not found in an imagined golden yesterday. God is found in the wilderness ahead, and in the messy, frustrating present that you find yourself in. In the unfolding. In the becoming.

It’s funny, I guess, when you reflect that the Bible is a collection of stories from the past. Ancient words, ancient worlds. But the Word itself is not trapped there. It speaks. It moves. It breaks into the present tense. The gospel is not ‘once upon a time,’ rather it is ‘the kingdom is at hand.’ The same Spirit that hovered over creation hovers still — over this moment, this choice, this unfolding now.

Of course, the past will always sing to us. It will always sound warmer than today. But we don’t live in a northern town of memory. We live here. In this unfinished place. With all its cracks and possibilities.

And perhaps the bravest thing we can do is turn our faces forward and set them like flint.

Jane writes:

I love film, and if I could guarantee that I wouldn’t spoil every film for future viewers I’d be much more productive around sharing my views. Spoilers are not my happy place!

In late December, I went off to see Sentimental Value. A bilingual Norwegian film, and at the time I remember saying this – “Went to see Sentimental Value today. It was quite hard going in places, but it had a real depth to it. The soundtrack appealed to me too”

That is absolutely true. The soundtrack did appeal. It was varied but really gave the film a vibe, and this track jumped out. I’ve listened to the soundtrack again since quite a lot, but this track is the one that draws you into the narrative of the film, but the tone of it too, and that’s more about the overall sound than the lyrics. In fact, the driver for sharing here at the Friday Fix at all is more about how it made me feel than what it had to say.

It’s the quality of a voice. It’s the slightly ethereal quality created by the strings and the mood of the jazz line. It’s the progress the track makes from a standing start. It’s where it leaves you.

Often our world relies on what people have to say. The narrative. The spin. The speech. The declaration. The lie. You can though, often just get a sense of what is right or wrong, or truth or lie, from the look or the unspoken. The moment of absence or the urgency of breath. The aura of a moment.

In my experience, a hotline to the voice of God is really hard to come by. It is, though, sometimes easier to get a sense of how to connect to the holy through a sound. An overwhelming feeling of what to do. An insight from culture or a friend. Some passage of a book. You get my drift. Even biblically, people relied as much on signs and wonders, or dreams to find their way as they did the clear instruction.

I wonder what this tune might reveal to you today, just by playing it and not overthinking it. What does it show you that you need? Maybe somewhere between time and space, you’ll find a way to connect to the holy, to be free. (The track has one of those funk jazz interludes that goes on for a while, and it’s really worth it in my view. After all its 9 minutes long in its entirety!!! Proper FF value for money.)

Terry Callier has now died, but you can find out more about him here https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Terry_Callier

You can also find out about Sentimental Value here https://www.imdb.com/title/tt27714581/ – although if I were you, I’d go see it and avoid the spoilers. It will be doing the rounds, I’m sure, after all its Oscar nominations.

Marc writes:

I’ve recently started listening my way through the 1001 greatest albums in the order that they’re offered to me by the generator at https://1001albumsgenerator.com/. So far, I’ve had a mix, including Muse and Radiohead, Cat Stevens and Little Richard. It’s meaning that I’m being introduced to old favourites, and new classics, unfamiliar genres, and ticking off some of those musical “musts” that so many people rave about.

On the day I’m writing, I’m listening to Public Enemy’s “Fear of a Black Planet” which was released in 1990.

The beauty of this project is that you’re encouraged to listen to the whole album, in order, in the way it was created and intended… It’s not just the single snapshot of the specific release aimed at a hit. And that means I’m encountering the songs that I didn’t just pick up with the masses. This album isn’t one I’ve listened to before, and so there are plenty of new songs for me to meet for the first time.

Tucked in the middle of the album is “Incident at 66.6 FM”. Labelled as an “instrumental” track, it’s a collection of clips from a radio interview and call-in, leading into the next track of the album.

Over the last few years, I’ve been more intentional about recognising my whiteness and educating myself about the impact that has historically had on the world. I’ve tried to read and listen to the lived experiences of those who don’t have my “privileges”. But here’s my confession: when this album appeared on my listen-list today, and when I got to this track, my gut response was to consign the experiences and influences of the album to the past and to somewhere else in the world. I don’t think I belittled the realities of the experience being sung about, but I definitely, and shamefully, thought “that was 1990’s America” and, in my thinking, implied that the injustices were then and there.

It was only momentary, but it was enough for me to need to apologise for. I’m trying to change myself and my thinking, but just like with the system, the issues run deep, and it needs to be an ongoing and intentional work!

Because it’s not just there. And it’s not just then. It’s here, and it’s now, and it’s just as deeply ingrained as ever. The issues are more than I can understand, and whilst we might pretend that we’re better than we were, whilst we might have more EDI and JDS and Unconscious Bias training, we’re still blind to the more subtle ways in which our prejudices have hidden themselves in the way we engage with the world around us.

It’s not just then. It’s not just there. It’s here. And it’s now. And I don’t understand it all. I’m not qualified to speak of the pain and the real experiences of those who have been hurt.

But I am committed to being better, doing better, to reparation and repentance, to solidarity and truly celebrating and recognising dignity and worth and working towards a world of justice and righteousness to which God calls us.

What I’m most sure of is that it starts with me continuing to listen, and to notice how uncomfortable listening to the stories, experiences and voices that this album represents makes me. I need to hear, and really hear, those voices and the cry of the Spirit within me towards the better story of God’s gospel for humanity and step out of the way of that gospel becoming a reality, until I am both asked and given permission to take my place alongside others in the future story of justice.

You can find out more about Public Enemy at https://www.publicenemy.com/

We’re on the hunt for Friday Fixes — the thoughtful, the hopeful, the half-formed, and the holy-in-the-ordinary.

Have you got a short reflection on a song that inspires, provokes or reveals love, justice, mercy..? It doesn’t need to be clever or polished — just real.

If you’ve ever thought, “I wonder if this might be a Friday Fix?” — this is your nudge.

Drop us a message to fridayfixmail@gmail.com if you’d like to contribute. We’d love to share your voice.

We’re taking our usual end-of-year or start-of-year Friday off this week – but why not check out our Spotify Playlist of all the songs that the Friday Fix reflected on in 2025!

Here you go:

Tom writes:

A few years ago, I found myself putting together an alternative service of Christmas readings and songs, in which the songs would be secular pieces rather than the usual hymns and carols. It was in this context that I found the band Nelson Can, and their (to me) fantastic indie Christmas track, “On Christmas Night”.

I love the way it offers upbeat vibes while acknowledging the darker notes of midwinter – the desire to hibernate like the Polar Bears (a favourite animal of mine), and the pangs of grief and loss that can hit at this time of year. (It probably helps if you’re aware Nelson Can are a Danish trio, so very used to long, cold, dark winters!)

I also love the way it does not shy away from the fact that, in the Northern Hemisphere at least, Christmas and the Winter Solstice are linked. To be honest, the annual debates about the timing of Christmas bore me. Of course, Jesus was unlikely born in December – what kind of government organises a census when travelling is most difficult? Of course, the early Christians borrowed already existing festivals to make their point – why wouldn’t they? Things can be more than one thing at the same time. I don’t think it inappropriate that the Christian faith might celebrate the birth of the Light of the world at the point of the year when nights begin getting shorter and days become longer (although this begs the question of whether we need different liturgical years in different places, but that’s for another time and place!).

In relation to the Friday Fix theme for this year’s Advent and Christmas, however, it’s something else that makes this track vital to me. We’ve been journeying to Bethlehem, where in the Christmas story we encounter Jesus’s birth amongst us, the Word become flesh and dwelling amongst us. Yet, as Scrooge discovers in Charles Dickens’ classic tale, Christmas isn’t just a one-day event. “[I]n the eyes of every child shines a little piece of the sun,” sing Nelson Can. This isn’t true just on Christmas night, it’s true all the time.

Likewise, the final destination of our journey is not ultimately Bethlehem. It’s ourselves. The God found lying in the manger as a little, weak and helpless baby can also be found deeply embedded in our own flesh. Having found the gift of the child in which God offers themself wholly to us, and having offered in return the gift of our very selves to God, we find that we too can carry the Christ-light beyond Christmas into the world beyond the trees, and tinsel, and wrappings, and TV specials. The sun, and the Son, can shine in our eyes, and through us the world can be enlightened by a Love that will go so far for us that it will come into the world as one of us, that a world that might seem like never ending night might know the dawn has come.

Check out Nelson Can’s music at www.nelsoncan.bandcamp.com