The Guild THOUGHT FOR THE DAY Spring 2006 13 April 2006 A second century papyrus document doesn’t normally cause much of a stir in the publishing world. Indeed, the dealer who bought it six years ago couldn’t find a buyer for long enough. But now, thanks to the Da Vinci Code effect, there will be a fair bit of interest in the launch this Easter of a book called The Gospel of Judas. I can already see the strap line for the blockbuster movie : Judas, was he all bad? It’s a question that’s been discussed for centuries and this latest document is just one of several gospel accounts other than those included in the New Testament. Judas has always been an intriguing figure and today he takes centre-stage for Christians who are following the events of Holy Week as they remember ‘the night on which Jesus was betrayed’. In all the moral relativism of our age, when blind eyes are readily turned and we’re quick to accept that there must be two sides to every story, betrayal is perhaps the one thing that still gets a universally bad press. No politician is more reviled than one who switches parties and crosses the floor; and the most vicious of football chants are reserved for the players who transfer to play for the team across the city. Even in the world of violent crime, the currency of loyalty is highly valued and heaven help you if you grass on your mates. In human relationships we’re all vulnerable to the shocking pain of betrayal. The minute you start to love and trust you leave yourself wide open to the possibility that someone’s going to let you down and trample your heart in the dust. Children, parents, wives, husbands - anyone who has ever been a friend or lover runs the risk of being betrayed - and so often we just don’t see it coming. I reckon Jesus saw it coming alright. He could have taken evasive action, could have had Judas thrown out of the group . But that would have marked the limit of his trust and love. That might be our way, but it wasn’t his. 6 April 2006 I was speaking to a worried man earlier this week. His daughter was planning her wedding and he was totting up the financial damage. One swish venue had quoted in the region of £20,000 for their all inclusive package. I suspect more and more fathers of the bride will be taking out long-term savings plans against these eventualities as soon as the midwife announces “it’s a girl”. But this is as nothing compared to the cost of raising a girl child in some other cultures. Where a bride’s family is expected to pay a large dowry, there’s huge pressure on women to bear sons rather than daughters. In India the use of ultrasound techniques to establish the sex of a foetus has led to a high number of abortions, despite the federal government’s campaign to halt female foeticide. Playing on the families’ fear of economic hardship, abortionists’ adverts have been known to read “spend 500 rupees now, save 500,000 later”. The knock on effect of this practice has been a growing imbalance in the gender ratio of the population as pregnancies involving baby girls are terminated. The government has taken steps to tackle the situation and last week a doctor and his assistant were jailed for two years and heavily fined for administering an abortion following sex selection tests. But cultural prejudices also need to be addressed and some Indian women activists argue that increasing opportunities in education and employment would transform daughters into net contributors to the family rather than a drain on already meagre finances, making them a much more attractive proposition at birth. But I find even this pragmatic outlook ultimately pretty bleak. None of us, male or female, should be measured according to this “value added” approach, which reduces us to units of commerce. We enter this world naked and totally dependent, bringing nothing of economic worth with us, and yet rich in potential, unique in possibilities and full of trust, - asking only to be met with love and respect. 13 March 2006 Today is the 10th anniversary of the killings at Dunblane Primary school . The families most closely affected wish the day to be marked privately and it will be a day for quiet reflection and for memories that are intensely personal. But there’s also such a thing as collective memory and that too can be intense and powerful. It’s part of what unites and defines communities – what makes Americans feel homesick on Thanksgiving , or Jewish families gather round the table to hear again the Passover story, or Christians break bread together . I was brought up in a mining community in South Yorkshire and I can remember quite clearly the special bond we felt with the people of Aberfan when their village was engulfed by a mudslide from a waste tip. The same feeling grips fishing communities when they hear of a boat lost, regardless of how near or far away that other grieving port may be. It happens with good memories too – there’s a shared sense of celebration when our girl brings home an Oscar, or our team wins a European cup. We recognise something in ourselves that links us to those in the spotlight and we identify in some way with their joy or pain. The collective memories around Dunblane belong to everyone who knows a five year old child, or a dedicated teacher; to everyone who has a local primary school and lives an unremarkable small town life; to everyone who is grieving. In recent weeks there’s been a lot of talk about how we teach history in schools. The debate will go on about the value of dinning the facts of battles and treaties, and kings and queens, into the minds of schoolchildren, but the shared memories of communities must be passed on. The stories of the people behind the war memorials and the stained glass windows should be told from generation to generation because they tell us who we are and what we are capable of – the unspeakable cruelty and the heartfelt compassion.