After growing up in peaceful Norfolk, I enjoyed undergraduate studies in music and divinity in the majestic capital and festival city of Edinburgh. As eight years there drew to a close, I experienced an unexpected hankering for homelands south of the border. Oxford, with its strong reputation, and Christ Church, with its famous cathedral choir and leading lights in my subject – such as the Wesley brothers whose legacy had nourished my nonconformist roots – became a goal, and then a home for five years.

In the Great Hall, Dean John Drury probed whether I had been taught conservative Presbyterian theology in Scotland. Following my considered reply, he responded, as I recall, “Well, I’m a liberal: welcome to Christ Church”. I was interested to learn about Anglicanism. The chaplain, Ralph Williamson, kindly traced in the clerical directory Crockford’s the Herefordshire parish of my Welsh Marches family name. The cathedral became a focal point. Advent carol services were a highlight. I played on the beautiful Fazioli grand piano in a Haydn trio for a concert. I also discovered the plaque and tomb of S.R. Driver (1846-1914), a Regius Professor of Hebrew – one of my research languages.

I encountered world-class expertise at Christ Church in my own and cognate disciplines. But observing what I thought was a somewhat disjointed university collegiate culture, with new friends I founded Conversazione: a graduate society to bring scholars together for convivial exchange. The GCR journal featured a short article about it. For my own research, comparing Biblical and Presocratic ideas, I was co-supervised at Oriel by John Barton and Edward Hussey at All Souls. While completing my DPhil, Rhona Lewis, wife of Dean Christopher, generously rented me a Deanery room. Curiously, Edward de Bono (1955), of the expression “lateral thinking”, stayed next door over a weekend.

Another curiosity is that my employer became the nearby Ripon College Cuddesdon, established by Bishop Samuel Wilberforce, a son of William the abolitionist. A bishop of Oxford (1845-69) best known now for his role in Oxford’s 1860 evolution debate, there is a memorial to Samuel in the cathedral. I have developed House links in other ways. Grateful for opportunities to teach Christ Church undergraduates in the Old Testament, my area of specialism, I’ve attended cathedral ordinations and participated in research seminars. Now a Dean of Degrees, I remember with delight my own matriculation under the watchful care of the characterful Henry Mayr-Harting.

My parents helped me move in and, along with my childhood piano teacher and his wife, attended my graduation. They later returned with family and friends for my wedding reception in 2021, as Covid-19 restrictions were lifting, in the Masters’ Garden and the Lee Building. My wife Helen and I met under Tom Tower, and we left from there on honeymoon. I value friendships formed at the House: with John Ciorciari (2000) from the USA and with an honorary SCR member Johannes Schwanke from Germany. Gaudies have been an ideal way to catch up with others. The 500th anniversary has provided a welcome excuse to return for events, lunches, and to be reminded of the iconic site: if stones could speak.

I was struck recently, once again, by the Vice Chancellor’s speech for graduation ceremonies in the Sheldonian Theatre. It calls on the newly minted to go and change the world. For strident critics, my subject is about a being that does not exist. However, it is easy to show that religious practice and theological discourse are universal human constants. I would also argue that their underlying metaphysical reality guarantees the human dignity we all share. The Wilberforces are, in fact, excellent examples of those for whom that belief has inspired their principles and practices. Guided by the same, I remain profoundly grateful for all of my Christ Church connections.

There is a stained-glass window in the cathedral by Abraham van Linge entitled Jonah before Nineveh. The reluctant prophet was given a second chance to fulfil his vocation, and in so doing he learned about mercy for others in contrast to his petulance. I’ve translated the book’s Hebrew to celebrate a forthcoming anniversary: the Bible translation (1526-34) by William Tyndale. More manuscripts are now extant – e.g. Dead Sea Scrolls – and, so, through their study, the ad fontes ideal that Tyndale and many others embraced is very much alive today: not to accept tradition and convention lazily but to revisit and reimagine them in the pursuit of truth. That’s a fine way to understand the purpose and activity of education.