Article
Change
Community
Generosity
1 min read

The day everything felt different

A tiny congregation in a forgotten town tried something fragile
A man presents a heart shaped paper token towards the camera
A donor presents their token at the fundraiser.
Derek Hughes.

In a time when trust in institutions is low and communities feel overlooked, something unusual happened in the forgotten town of Eccles.

One Saturday eight community groups set up stalls. No big strategy or powerful organisations. Just ordinary grassroots projects sharing their stories. One provides meals for families who would otherwise go without. Others put on skills workshops for those who doubt themselves or provide social connections for the lonely

Each table was led by someone who cared. The hall buzzed with interest. People from across the community turned up.  By the end of the day, over £16,500 had been raised. Enough to keep doors open. Enough to keep the lights on. Enough to keep hope alive in places most people forget.

But here’s the twist. It wasn’t led by the council. It wasn’t a government initiative. It wasn’t corporate sponsorship. It was sparked by a tiny church, with no money to spare and no plan beyond helping others flourish.

What really brings hope?

Every community like Eccles carries the same ache. How do you bring lasting hope to a place that feels forgotten? What does transformation look like not just for a few, but for everyone? Systems try. Charities try. Councils try. But projects stall. Promises fade. Good intentions don’t always touch the people who need them most.

It’s easy for struggling communities to look to others for rescue. But maybe change grows from small acts that spark something bigger. From a tiny church with quiet faith that every person matters, and that love is worth the risk. When faith is generous rather than self-serving it can become a catalyst for a whole community. 

That’s what me and my friends from LifeChurch Eccles hoped for when we organised the day..

This wasn’t about raffles or clever fundraising tricks. Those might raise money — but they rarely move the heart. They turn giving into a transaction: “What do I get in return?” We were aiming for something deeper. A movement of generosity that wasn’t transactional, but transformational.

When giving is free of strings, something surprising happens. People don’t pull back. They lean in. Maybe because that kind of giving speaks to something deeply designed into us all. God’s already placed in all of us.

How it happened

There was no blueprint. No professional fundraiser. No slick tech. Just a small group with a willingness to try.

We put out a simple call for ideas. No red tape, just a Google form. Any local group with a plan to make a difference could apply. Eleven grassroots projects came forward, from youth sports teams to befriending schemes for older adults. We set ourselves a bold goal: raise £1,000 for each one.

We invited businesses to sponsor a project. £250 each. Many said yes. Not because of a pitch, but because they saw something real.

We hosted a showcase. Invited local people to attend. One Saturday, eleven tables. People wandered, listened, gave, and stayed longer than expected.

We set one rule. Give to whatever moves you. No pressure. No gimmicks. Just connection and choice

The council doubled it. Salford Council were so struck they matched every pound raised. Overnight, the impact doubled.

What followed was bigger than money. New relationships. New volunteers. New collaborations. One group received its first-ever funding. No single moment changed everything. But together, they created a ripple. And that ripple hasn’t stopped.

What we learned

We didn’t set out to write a playbook, but a few lessons stayed with us:

Small groups can spark big impact. Our lack of resources made space for others to step in. Saying “we need help” drew people closer.

Weakness builds trust. By lifting others up instead of ourselves, credibility grew. Councillors and businesses said they’d never seen a project like this with no agenda.

Generosity spreads. Once giving started, it caught fire. People gave more than planned. People who’d never normally get involved wanted in. Because real generosity is contagious.

The overlooked need champions. Groups like Mature Movers — helping older people stay active — had never received funding. That day, they walked away resourced and celebrated. Every town has hidden heroes like that.

Impact multiplies when you give it away. None of the money came back to the church. But what we gained was trust, connection, and joy. You don’t lose by lifting others. You gain something money can’t buy.

The power to trigger change

This isn’t about Eccles being special. It’s about Eccles being ordinary.

Every town has hidden heroes. Every postcode has needs. Every community has people who want to make a difference but don’t always know how. You don’t need a big platform. You don’t need a perfect plan. Sometimes, it just takes a fragile step and the courage to trust that others will join you.

Because generosity really is infectious. You don’t need status or size to spark it. A handful of people, energised by faith can ignite something far bigger than themselves.

All you need is a little courage to go first.

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Snippet
Change
Mental Health
3 min read

When the seasons shift, so do we

Autumn brings beauty and melancholy in equal measure

Rachael is an author and theology of mental health specialist. 

 

 

A man walks a dog along a misty city park path.
Ekaterina Novitskaya on Unsplash.

In my house, the arrival of Autumn heralds two distinct emotions. My husband feels gloom settle upon him as the days draw in and a chill begins to sharpen the morning air, whilst I’m cheerfully pointing out the curling leaves beginning to change colour and admiring the beauty of an early-evening sunset.  

For me, there is something enchanting about autumn that feels even more of a ‘new year’ than January, but for my husband, it’s just a sign that winter is close and the summer holidays are a distant dream.  

Ten years in, we’ve learned how to tread lightly through the seasonal changes which provoke such contradicting emotions in us. I know the dark mornings aren’t easy for him, and he appreciates that heat makes me grumpy.  

And we aren’t alone in our strong feelings about the seasons changing. We all have preferences, but for some, the beginning of a new season may trigger illness, such as in the case of seasonal affective disorder (which, whilst most commonly suffered during the winter months, can affect people in the summer months instead).  

Ultimately, each season brings its own unique joys and sorrows, enjoyed by some and endured by others, but what’s important is that we accept these differences and find a way to connect through the changes.  

It’s something we see in the way the church journeys through the year, too. Sometimes called the liturgical year, as the seasons change, there is a focus on a different part of the story of scripture.  

Autumn is when harvest is celebrated, when we offer our thankfulness for the natural world and how it provides for every living thing.  

Whether meteorological or theological, following the rhythm of the seasons gives us the opportunity not just to celebrate together, but to learn how to suffer well and grieve together.  

In the church year, the times of celebration, like Christmas and Easter, are preceded by times of reflection and lament. Advent is characterised by the people of God waiting for the light of the world to break through the darkness, whilst Lent offers the chance to seek forgiveness and grieve over all that is wrong with the world and within us. These seasons trace the story of Jesus’ life, death and resurrection - sometimes resonating with our own life seasons and at others contrasting painfully.  

In the Bible, there’s a book called Ecclesiastes, written by an unknown person referred to as Quohelet or ‘teacher’ and it talks about there being “a season for everything under the sun”, they assert that ‘There is … a time to be born and a time to die … a time to weep and a time to laugh.’  

It’s a reminder as we trace the seasons, that there is space in human life and faith for all of our emotions. We see it in the variety of emotions expressed not only in books like the Psalms, but in Jesus’ own life.  

And the ability to come together and mark these seasons before God, even when they differ from what we’re experiencing personally, is one that draws us together. It reminds us that through all the maelstrom of emotions and changes life brings that there is a drumbeat through every season: We are loved by God and out of that, we love one another.  

The changing of the seasons can evoke a multitude of memories and emotions, but if we let it, it can also act as a call to come together and be led by love. We can learn to do as the apostle Paul instructed the early Roman church to do: “Rejoice with those who rejoice and mourn with those who mourn.” 

Support Seen & Unseen


Since Spring 2023, our readers have enjoyed over 1,500 articles. All for free. 
This is made possible through the generosity of our amazing community of supporters.

If you enjoy Seen & Unseen, would you consider making a gift towards our work?
 
Do so by joining Behind The Seen. Alongside other benefits, you’ll receive an extra fortnightly email from me sharing my reading and reflections on the ideas that are shaping our times.

Graham Tomlin
Editor-in-Chief