The Guild

THOUGHT FOR THE DAY
Spring 2005
Thursday 28 April
Sitting on the train coming up from London yesterday morning I read an editorial in a national broadsheet, which was commenting, not on a political speech, but on a sermon. The writer was defending capitalism and free trade against what he regarded as unfair criticism from the Archbishop of Canterbury. 
The sermon in question was delivered at a service in St Paul’s Cathedral on Tuesday to mark the 60th Anniversary of Christian Aid. I was there and heard Rowan Williams’ challenge to the hypocrisy of those politicians who extol the virtues of free trade, whist ensuring that their own markets are vigourously protected.
But I heard – and saw - much more than a contribution to a political debate. This was a religious service and matters of faith were at its heart. Those of us with much to be grateful for were being called to play our part in enabling all people to experience the joy of giving thanks and praise to a dependable and generous God. 
It was a fine sermon, and the singing was great, but what I’ll remember most from the occasion are the loaves of bread. One loaf, baked in a Northumbrian village and sold to raise funds for Christian Aid; another loaf baked in Bukina Fasso, one of the world’s poorest countries, as part of an income generation project supported by that same aid agency. These two loaves of bread were exchanged as a symbol of our common humanity and dependence on the bounty of the same earth. 
Then the whole congregation shared bread together and the crumbs were carefully gathered to be presented later to our political leaders, with these words: "To the poor communities, not the crumbs but an end to their need; to the rich communities not a self-seeking, but an end to their greed."
While that journalist urges us to have more faith in free trade, and while half a loaf may be better than no bread, a growing number of people, whatever their faith, are of the view that the poor of the world require much more than the crumbs from the rich man’s table. 

Thursday 21 April 
We heard a news item earlier in the programme about Bluebell Day and later today I’ll be at the launch of that new initiative, to make 6 June each year a day on which to raise awareness of post-natal depression. Over 10,000 families in Scotland are affected by this illness, which goes far deeper that the two or three 'blue' days many women experience after the first euphoria of giving birth has evaporated. With so many sufferers, you might wonder why you don’t see more of it about. The reason is that many of those who are struggling with post-natal depression disguise the fact by wearing a mask and presenting a smile to a world that expects them to be happy and fulfilled. 
Of course the smiling masks of the depressed mothers are by no means the only ones around. There’s the ugly, snarling mask worn by the young man who has found that it’s only by being aggressive that he can get noticed, because no-one has ever valued him for who he is. There’s the bright, brittle mask of the young girl who paints on a confidence she doesn’t really feel – and the ravaged, scary, ‘leave-me-alone’ mask of the down-and-out guy, who used to have a life and doesn’t want to be reminded of what he’s lost. 
I’ve got my own set of masks and no doubt you have yours. Sometimes they come in handy – to protect ourselves, or the feelings of those around us. We know they’re masks, because sometimes they slip, or crack, or melt and we see the person behind the camouflage. That’s how God sees all of us, all of the time. When Samuel was trying to figure out which of Jesse’s sons had the makings of a likely king, God told him not to be swayed too much by looks alone, reminding him that "Man looks at the outward appearance, but the Lord looks at the heart."
It’s good to know that we don’t always need the mask, that the naked truth about us can be revealed and accepted for what it is, by a God who knows and loves us best. 

Thursday 14 April 
This week’s mail brought some very interesting items – for me a public relations company’s offer to help me deliver presentations that would capture the attention of my audience whatever the subject, and make my message stand out from the crowd in its clarity, confidence and conviction. And for my son, lots of birthday cards as he turned 18. 
As a first time voter, he’s also been on the receiving end of several personalised letters from various politicians asking him to consider casting his vote for their party. Each one appeals partly to his self-interest and partly to his presumed youthful idealism, with help for the world’s poor getting a mention alongside educational and career opportunities. 
Each party tries, quite properly, to set out its own message with clarity, confidence and conviction, but taking them all together, the resulting picture is confusing. The claims and counter-claims, and all the competing visions and core values, leave even this seasoned voter begging for mercy and a little respite from the relentless presentations, no matter how carefully crafted and professionally delivered.
In this week, which sees the manifestos launched and the politicians on the campaign trail, the dedication of the party workers is evident and commendable. The commitment of the faithful, from the backroom researchers to those who stuff the envelopes and knock on the doors, is a real challenge to those of us who profess a faith but do little to promote it. 
It all makes me wonder how Jesus managed it – without benefit of public relations advisers and voter intention analysts. Even his party machine was unreliable, to say the least. His best friends found it hard to grasp some of his key ideas, which seemed to promise little material reward and offered absolutely no security in the short to medium term. What he did have going for him was himself as the medium and the message, and a manifesto unbeatable for clarity, confidence and conviction: “Follow me,” he said. And they did.

Wednesday 6 April
So now it’s official, the General Election has been called for 5 May. 
And the BBC’s political correspondent, Andrew Marr, thinks it’s going to be fun! I know this because I’ve been blogging – checking out the weblogs on the internet to see who says what to whom about whom – and where and when and why. It’s all out there, from the significance of the choice of venue for the various campaign speeches to the secrets of the party leaders’ favoured choice of swimwear.
The internet is the new indispensable of election commentators. Those of a certain age will remember the introduction of the swingometer in the 1960s, and last time round we had those nifty computer graphics which filled up a virtual House of Commons with seats of varying colours as the results came in. 
This year it’s the 'blog election' and the great thing about that is that we can all join in and post our own comments and questions about the great issues of the day.
Just what the great issues are to be though, remains unclear. The debate between opposing political philosophies has died away as the main parties have sought to move to the centre in search of votes. The hotly contested middle ground has become confusing and many are now retreating to the periphery, where a line can still be clearly drawn between right and wrong. And that’s where we see the single issue campaigners - marshalling their troops at the click of a button to lobby for a cause, whether that’s the banning of a particular musical or the improvement of school dinners.
Traditionally, spiritual leaders, in this country at least, hesitate to wade into elections with instructions to the faithful on how to vote. That doesn’t mean, however, that their voice should be silent. But if that voice is to be raised, let it be in the truly significant debates, the difficult, complex, central questions of human aspiration and accountability. For then, as we’ve seen, it can challenge and inspire to great effect: apartheid crumbles, iron curtains are lifted and walls are torn down in Berlin.
Summer 2005 
Monday 18 July
By nine o’clock on Saturday morning, despite having no children under 18, our household was in possession of the latest Harry Potter book. This phenomenal success must surely be due to more than good PR and media hype. JK Rowling spins a good yarn and that ability to tell a captivating story is a great gift. 
I can still recall the opening sentence of my own favourite childhood book: "It was midnight and in the great castle of Camelot, the old king lay dying..." And that was me – completely hooked on the tales of Arthur, Guinevere and Lancelot, not to mention Merlin, the daddy of all wizards. I was drawn by the thrilling adventures, but also learned, almost by stealth, about the great truths concerning loyalty, temptation, courage and deception. 
The memory of that literary journey of discovery makes me sorry to read in the press about Christian groups who wish to ban Harry Potter and wizard themed parties. It seems to me that this is the thin end of a wedge that leads to the kind of militancy that burned the books of Salman Rushdie. A fundamentalism that is so convinced of the rightness of its beliefs, and yet so fearful of its ability to survive any engagement with a different view, is surely flawed at its heart.
When Jesus told his stories they were often in answer to questions raised in discussion, some asked in a genuine spirit of enquiry; others designed to trap or provoke. Each parable of Jesus was memorable for its characters and situations – the meaning behind it was explained but never over-analysed. This was no Da Vinci Code to be worked out and solved, but rather a slice of reality, a mirror through which we can see our life and our world reflected, and from which we can learn about choices, actions and consequences.
If we’re worried about what our children are learning from the books they read and the TV shows they watch, perhaps a more positive response might be to give them better stories, revealing deeper truths and inspiring greater dreams. 

Monday 11 July 
Among the obituaries I read last week was one for the 1940s film star, Greer Garson. Famous in our family for looking uncannily like my mother, she is more generally best known for her role as the eponymous Mrs Miniver, the quietly determined housewife holding home and community together on what was known during World War II as 'the home front'. 
The Mrs Minivers, and their innumerable sisters who served in the factories and the services and the land army, were recognised on Saturday in London when the Queen unveiled a monument to the women of the Second World War. I was with some of those women yesterday, at an ordinary Sunday service in a typical parish church. Unheralded and unsung, but an inspiring example – even for these days – of steadfastness and courage in the face of the greatest physical danger and mental anguish, as they lived and worked, month after weary month, not knowing the fate of their husbands and brothers and sons far away.
Popular psychology is forever urging aggressive and driven men to 'get in touch with their feminine side', implying the need for a more touchy-feely attitude to life. But the feminine side as epitomised by the Mrs Minivers, is of a different order altogether.
Armed only with the weapons of an indomitable spirit and the clarity of mind to distinguish right from wrong, their response to violence echoes as closely as we can dare hope to, the call of Jesus not to ratchet up the spiral of hatred by meeting each attack with a yet more shocking and awesome retaliation, but to seek another and a better way. Martin Luther King expresses it in these words, "Returning hate for hate multiplies hate, adding deeper darkness to a night already devoid of stars. Darkness cannot drive out darkness; only light can do that."