All Will Be Well

On feasting, death and hope...

Life has been a bit of a rollercoaster lately. So, so many good things and also some rather tough stuff.

One of the best things, though, was the fact that last week was Hutchmoot UK. The days were beautiful — filled to the brim with delight and wonder. We sat in seminars and walked beneath broad trees; pulled gorgeous prints with Ned Bustard and laughed late into the night. We worshiped Jesus together, nearly 200 strong; drank a dangerous amount of coffee; chatted with old friends and swapped books; painted, ate, slept, walked, remembered, wept, and prayed. There was something holy about those days, something that can only really be described as a slice of heaven. I’m already looking forward to next year! :)

In the moments when the glorious reality of eternal life was so evident in our gathering in Derbyshire, the truth that we are not home yet seemed also to be equally prevalent. There was a curious mixture of joy and sadness, longing and contentment. This Kingdom is here amongst us, but the Kingdom is also breaking in. It was a beautiful sort of reminder that we are living in such sacred ‘now and not yet’ days.

One thing I rediscovered was the reality that the beauty of art is so often found in its ability to walk the narrow line between here and there, heaven and earth, the broken and beautiful. The fact that almost 200 people turned up to make art, ask questions, create, discover and explore the intersection of art and theology is incredible. In creating and consuming good art, we are putting our resistance into practice. We were pushing back on the forces of darkness that would love to stomp out our hope and cut off the very life that flows through our veins. In our gathering, though, and in our setting of the table, in our feasting and in our rejoicing, we are dispelling the darkness and poking holes in the night.

The feast of those days wasn’t perfect, don’t get me wrong, but there was something eternally right about pulling up our chairs and lingering late into the night, stories and songs swirling into the shadows around us. There was something about those holy moments that we will not ever experice again this side of eternity. That’s both a heartbreaking and hopeful thought.

And then, before I had even gotten home from Derbyshire on Sunday, I heard the news of a dear friend’s friend who was tragically killed. And then a few days later, more friends walked through a dark, dark valley of death. And, shockingly, a few days later, I got another message bearing similar bad news about more friends who had lost someone. Why, O God? My heart aches.

That switch — from such a sacred space at Hucthmoot, where hope shot through the darkest shadows and life was beautiful and tangible, to such a deep valley where the light was suddenly covered by the shadow of death, was shocking. It was a struggle to hold onto the beauty of the feast when witnessing such grief and tragedy around me. Where did feasting, laughter, and hope fit into the mess of the world today, and into the grief and shock of my friends?

On the second night of Hutchmoot, artist Jon Lowry led the group in singing “All Will Be Well” — one of the latest Every Moment Holy Prayer Songs. It was a joyful moment that encapsulated the triumph of our feast together. We sang the song victoriously, boldly, clearly, letting our voices carry brilliantly into the clear English night. All will be well, and in that moment, we were living in a sort of glimpse of the true ‘wellness’ that will one day be ours.

But then, only a few days later, I was curled up in the dark, whispering prayers into the night as I grappled with such dark tragedy that was befalling the world around me. In the midst of that darkness, I remembered the song. We declare the shadows of the curse/death and tears and loss/shall not have the final word/gathered here, we sing a truer song/an early celebration of the wedding feast to come.

It’s often hard to remember and believe that “death and tears and loss shall not have the final word” in these dark days. The shadows of the curse seem to have grown longer, and it takes everything in us to hold onto hope. Somehow, though, the chorus breaks through the darkness. All will be well, all will be well/nothing good and right and true will be lost forever/all will be well, all will be well/nothing good and right and true will be lost forever.

All will be well. This is not the end.

Even in the valley of the shadow of death, light flickers, and hope, somehow, lives on. Living in this space of the beautiful, yet broken, is often so very painful. The moments of goodness and feasting and life are so often dimmed by days and nights of tragic pain and loss. In this world, we will have trouble. But Jesus didn’t leave us in a troubled world; take heart, He whispers into the night, I have overcome the world.

Our feasting then is not in vain. It’s a poignant reminder and a forever promise from our Creator that, despite whatever darkness, despite the evil and tragedy and death that does have some authority in the world today, the Light and Life of Jesus is greater and He has already overcome death. He prepares us a table and invites us to feast even amidst our enemies.

The Kingdom is here. And the Kingdom is breaking in. So, wherever you are, whatever season you are in, gather with friends, pull up a chair at this banquet table, pick up a pen, and create beautiful, truthful work that pokes holes in the darkness. And all will be well.

Let our feast, fall like a hammer blow

Against the brittle night that would blind this world to hope,

Awakening our hearts to see again

The Kingdom of heaven is already breaking in.

All will be well, all will be well

Nothing good and right and true will be lost forever.

All will be well, all will be well

Nothing good and right and true will be lost forever.

We declare the shadows of the curse —

Death and tears and loss — shall not have the final word

Gathered here, we sing a truer song

An early celebration of the wedding feast to come.

Chorus

Lift your hearts, we lift them to the Lord

We gather at His table, for He is our great reward

Christ is here, as host and honoured guest

Blessing this communion as our King who conquered death.

Chorus

Take joy (take joy), Oh King (Oh, King)

Take joy (take joy), Oh friends (Oh, friends)

For this (for this) our feast (our feast)

Will be without an end.

Chorus

(“All Will Be Well” © Jon Lowry, Doug McKelvey — Every Moment Holy Prayer Songs)

Whether you are in a moment of feasting and celebration and beauty,

a moment of weeping and grief and darkness,

or a curious week which holds both tragedy and joy,

Courage, dear heart.

All will be well.

Elsie x

All photos © Elsie Coppedge 2026