Thought for the Day

I found myself not long ago in a courtroom as a witness for a person claiming asylum in the UK on the grounds that they had converted to Christianity, and would be persecuted in the country they had been born in if they returned. I'd got to know him well, prepared him to be baptised and he was a regular member of our congregation. We had even eaten mustard seeds together as we discussed the meaning of Jesus's teaching in the gospels about the kingdom of God. In court, he was asked to name the 12 apostles. He got to 5 before mistakenly mentioning Isaiah. The following Sunday I asked our own congregation, some of whom had been going to church for 50 years, to name the 12 apostles. No one could, and it was gently pointed out that the gospels themselves don't quite agree on the precise 12 with a question over Thaddeus. Back in the courtroom, I was also asked whether I thought it was possible to be Christian without being able to read. Our congregation member was not literate. I refrained from commenting that for hundreds of years, nothing in Christian doctrine was written down until the formation of the Creeds in the 4th century, and simply answered yes, in my opinion I thought it was possible to be Christian without being able to read. The system was working as it should, the lawyers were doing what the state required them to do. The court had to determine whether this conversion to Christianity was legitimate or not. But learning the apostles' names or being able to read was not, and could never be, the place where true and deep lived faith would breathe and flourish. The discovery that there is, in the words of the BBC reporters, a ‘sham industry', providing assistance to people to enter the UK illegally on the grounds of sexuality or belief, is not very surprising. Enormous efforts are made by people trying to get around the housing or benefits systems for example, and huge sums are spent employing accountants to minimise the amount – legally or illegally - an individual has to pay in tax. For every bureaucratic system put in place to try to organise society for the good of the whole, there will be a shadow system, dedicated to get around it for personal gain. In such shadow systems, the state's attempt at fairness, however imperfectly or carelessly expressed sometimes, is replaced with active cruelty towards the most vulnerable in our society: by traffickers, or any who exploit the desperation of those whose life circumstances have placed them at the mercy of the system. State instruments will always be blunt, and political fashions come and go as to which issues attract the most attention. But the collective commitment to compassion, fair judgement, mercy and care towards those who are most in need of help, will never, can never, go out of fashion.

16 APRIL 26

Good morning. They say that religion and politics don't mix, but it's impossible to separate the two when the Pope and the American President have gone head-to-head over the war in Iran. In a social media post, President Trump accused Pope Leo of being weak and advised that he should “focus on being a Great Pope, not a Politician”. Pope Leo responded by insisting that he's not a politician, but that the message of the Gospel, “‘Blessed are the peacemakers', is a message that the world needs to hear today”. This confrontation has catapulted the Pope onto the front pages of the world's media, but he's not the first modern pope to speak out against war. In 2003, when then Cardinal Ratzinger, later Pope Benedict XVI, was asked to comment on the Iraq war, he said that “There were not sufficient reasons to unleash a war against Iraq.” He went on to ask “if it is still licit to admit the very existence of a ‘just war'.” St Augustine gave a Christian interpretation to the idea of the just war in the early 5th century. He argued that, terrible though war always is, it is sometimes necessary to defend the innocent and preserve peace. However, it must seek the future well-being of the enemy, and be free from the lust for power or desire to dominate. These ideas were developed by St Thomas Aquinas in the 13th century, and they continued to shape western politics and international law long after Christianity ceased to be a major political influence. However ineffectual it might sometimes have become in the heat of battle, just war theory provided a restraining influence on the waging of war, especially with regard to the need to avoid the intentional targeting of non-combatants. Today, the nature of modern weapons and the bombing of densely populated areas means that civilian casualties, including children, usually far outnumber military deaths. This is the context in which the Catholic Church's opposition to war must be interpreted. Pope Leo is continuing a tradition set by all modern popes since the 1960s. In his Palm Sunday address, he quoted the prophet Isaiah when he said that Jesus “does not listen to the prayers of those who wage war, but rejects them, saying: ‘Even though you make many prayers, I will not listen: your hands are full of blood'.” This is religious language, but it holds politicians accountable for shedding innocent blood. How could it do otherwise, when Christians worship a crucified God?

14 APRIL 26

Good Morning. Resilience has been the watchword of the last few days, politicians across the parties choosing to follow up the Prime Minister's recent focus on the idea. For some, the key dilemma is military resilience - how should Britain defend itself in an age when the USA is no longer a certain ally? For others, the question is energy resilience, shielding ourselves from the volatility of world oil prices. Both are important questions. But for me there is a deeper dimension to this word of the moment, one that requires urgent attention. Put simply, how do nations, including the UK, shore up, and indeed improve, their moral resilience? Moral resilience is the willingness and ability to hold on to core ethical values under pressure. In his passage on love, often read at weddings, St Paul enumerates some of the qualities that I see lying at its heart: patience; kindness; lack of rudeness, boastfulness, envy or arrogance; delighting in truth. Sadly, these are qualities I and many others now find lacking, not least at international level. Few, if any, moral constraints appear to inhibit the actions of those who have both unrestricted power and the willingness to use it. Meanwhile, within nations, the so-called Overton window, describing what ideas and opinions are considered acceptable in society, has shifted dramatically towards anger, hatred and abuse. Yet, despite institutions of all types falling short, there are examples to the contrary. I saw moral resilience vividly on a recent visit to Manila with the global Anglican Mission agency I chair. Over the last 125 or so years, what began as a small working people's church has not only survived but thrived. At the same time, it has continued to speak up boldly against the abuse of human rights so endemic among the Philippines ruling classes. Bishops have been murdered, church workers imprisoned without trial, but the Iglesia Filipina Independiente has not only remained resilient in the face of all its trials but has grown to a six million strong denomination. From its motto, “Love our God and love our country”, emerges a theology that is fiercely inclusive of sexual and gender identities, alongside roundly rejecting the racial and social hierarchies it was founded to resist. Its social projects are among some of the most inspiring I have seen on my travels. If it sounds like Christian Nationalism, then it springs from a very different foundation from what those words often describe elsewhere. Faith is not the excuse to reject and demean others, but rather to embrace and affirm them. For me, this is what love of Christ and love of one's country should be about. Well beyond churchgoers, this is the moral resilience that I believe Britain as a nation now needs more than ever.

11 APRIL 26

Good morning. The strike by resident doctors highlights the severe tensions faced by the National Health Service. The tragedy of the dispute, and any disruption experienced by patients, is that all sides involved no doubt very much want health services to improve. So as resolution is sought can this also be a moment to ask again an increasingly pressing question. What exactly is health? The issue often came to the fore when I worked in the NHS. My role was as a psychotherapist in a psychiatric hospital. We worked with older adults who had often suffered for not just years but decades. Their pain was substantial and entrenched. What could be offered to such folk? What did we mental health professionals think we were doing? There were no easy answers. Suffering is hard. But a light might flicker in the darkness when a patient felt heard. They realised, even momentarily, that they were with someone who didn't have any immediate remedy but did appreciate the depth of their torment. Many doctors will know such moments. There is a glimpse of connection that is potentially healing and powerful. But why? The answer provides a clue to a notion of health that is not only about an absence of symptoms, valuable though that most certainly is. With a patient who feels heard, you together enter a field of existence that is wider than the previously isolated, suffering soul knew was possible. A dimension of life, not determined by having solutions, is discovered as a release or expansion. The word “health” itself recognises the possibility as it comes from the old English for “whole”. Believers in God will recognise that wholeness as an intuition: our existence as individuals is actually a sharing in the existence of God. We are as many reflections of the one divine light. A shift of perspective, a kind of conversion, is required for this transcendent awareness to become a steady part of life. The difference with this fuller notion of health or wholeness is that you don't privately possess it, let alone control it, but rather it holds you and you might collaborate with it more fully. The NHS will likely continue to struggle with the demands it faces, even as - and perhaps because - remarkable improvements in treatments will continue, too. In this context, a cultural and spiritual conversation about the wider nature of health is crucial. Like the patient who feels better because they are heard, a more expansive vision of what health entails, and indeed what it is to live well, will alleviate stresses on us all.

09 APRIL 26

08 APRIL 26

Along with joy, there's a lot of fear in the days after Easter – no less for Jesus' disciples than in our news today. It has made me think about doors. The door behind which Jesus' disciples hid after his death, the heavy stone that blocked the tomb where he'd been laid, the doors today that keep people out, or in, or protect property or borders. And symbolic doors – to peace or security – that still feel so definitely closed. This morning the metal-shuttered door at the Whitechapel Mission in the east end of London opened as it always does at 6 AM – exactly on time so guests can count on it. Breakfast service will start in a few minutes at 8, and it's likely over 200 will eat a full English, complete with mushrooms and bacon, sausage, egg and hashbrowns. Today these homeless guests will be served by wonderful volunteers who left their own doors well before dawn. Having a key to open my front door and a safe place to live is a real blessing – I like being safe. And yet I think about the women who went up to Jesus' tomb to anoint his body on Easter morning: wisdom would say stay home hiding with the men. And having left the safety provided by one door, they didn't know how they'd get through the next. The Gospel records their conversation: who would move the stone to open the tomb ? Yet, they went. We might think of Jesus' resurrection as a miracle, but it was actually just what he said would happen, even if no one had understood. God will redeem the world. However these women going out while the danger was still present - that feels to me a miracle no less real, hiding in plain sight. And it gives me hope. Easter is not about things being safe, but about things being different. Doors open where we do not expect. The power to do miracles given to people forgotten by headlines – women and men who go out in faith and change history. On Saturday I heard the BBC's Lyse Doucet speculate about one possible turn of events in Iran: ‘…God help the world,' she said with real emphasis. …God help the world indeed … because, I fear, nothing else has.' Maybe, this Monday, the beginnings of the miracles we hope for are in our power already. Long term solutions to intractable problems – they are not cost free. But in the end real safety doesn't come from bigger doors or stronger locks.

04 APRIL 26

Thought for the Day

03 APRIL 26

02 APRIL 26

Good Morning. Tonight is Seder night, the start of Passover, the Jewish Festival of Freedom, when we recall the Exodus from Egypt, our people's journey from slavery to liberation. It's a story which embraces all our stories. My mother, aged a hundred, tells how she escaped Nazi Europe. A woman whose husband is imprisoned in the Congo says, ‘May God who freed your people, free him.' A Muslim guest who fled for his life stands up and exclaims: ‘Your story is my story too.' For, far from free, so much of the world suffers beneath oppression and war. Maybe that's why the Seder ends with a song, Chad Gadya, which means ‘one little goat' in Aramaic. It's a ditty in the style of The House That Jack Built: a cat eats the goat, dog bites cat, stick hits dog, fire burns stick, water quenches fire, cow drinks water, butcher kills cow, the angel of death despatches the butcher. But then comes God and slays the angel of death. I have a vivid memory of my grandfather, aged and weak, catching my eye and whispering at what he knew would be his final Seder, ‘after death comes God.' That was his faith, his hope. But does God have the last word in our violent world? It hardly feels that way today. I phone family in Jerusalem: we're in and out of bomb shelters. My heart goes out to them. I call an Iranian friend: ‘No word from my sisters in Tehran.' ‘My hometown's just been bombed,' a Ukrainian acquaintance texts me. So that Chad Gadya song feels like a metaphor for history, only it's not goats and cats, but humanity who's the victim. In their heart-rending shared memorial service, bereaved Israeli and Palestinian families sing that song in Hebrew and Arabic together. Yet, I still see my grandfather's face and hear his whisper: after the angel of death comes God; life is greater than death. But I hear those words as a question: What world is this? What do we want it to be? Of death, or life; oppression or freedom; cruelty or compassion? I pray this Passover will truly mark our journey towards freedom, so that we can celebrate God's world together, knowing that the same sacred spirit flows through us all, whatever our faith or nationality, giving life to all that breathes. We've had too much of cat eating goat, human devouring human. May this Festival of Freedom mark our liberation from hatred, violence and fear, for my people, and every people.

31 MAR 26

30 MAR 26

28 MAR 26

Good morning. I recently came across a new term - ‘chronically terminal'. Janis Chen, has stage four lung cancer and writing in the Guardian, she describes how every day is a struggle to go on. She lives in what she calls ‘The long middle', the period between first diagnosis and the time when she will finally pass from this life; a time that is ‘chronically terminal'. But still a time for living, of living as best she can. As 3.5 million people in the UK live with cancer and there are 420,000 new cases a year, many will resonate with her situation. In this beautifully written piece she describes the effect of illness on people's religious belief or lack of belief. She said that she found herself back in church on Sundays. ‘Faith furnished me with a different architecture for endurance: it offered a vocabulary of hope'. But she also notes that a member of her support group who previously had a faith totally lost it as a result of the illness. They could not understand why it had happened to them. ‘To some, the diagnosis is a clarifying fire that burns away the trivial, leaving a refined spiritual core. To others, it is an acid dissolving everything they once held.' What the illness has done for her more than anything else has sharpened her discernment. As she put it: It leaves only the essential, revealing that meaning resides entirely in the quality of our attention. To walk through a park, to watch the sunlight catch a river or to register the laughter of children against the thrum of a passing bus is to realise these are no longer background noise; they are the destination. Particularly at this time of year with trees budding and blossom coming out what she writes seems particularly pertinent and it brought to mind a famous interview between Melvyn Bragg and the playwright Dennis Potter as he was dying. Dennis Potter said that when he looked out of the window he did not just say ‘Oh that's nice blossom'. I see it is the whitest, frothiest, blossomest blossom that there ever could be, and I can see it. the nowness of everything is absolutely wondrous. It is this living in the moment that the discipline of mindfulness is trying to achieve, whatever stage of life we are at. Father Pierre de Caussade, in the first half of the 18th century, wrote about it and called it ‘the Sacrament of the present moment'. For him however it was not just about experiencing the present more intensely, but being open and receptive to what might be being asked of us in that moment-in every now there was, he taught, a providence to be discerned and responded to.

26 MAR 26

25 MAR 26

In an interview on this programme yesterday, the former national security adviser Peter Ricketts; was asked ‘what about that old thing…. Wisdom'? it was in the contemporary context of the war between the US, Israel and Iran. It's a modern question that echoes the question in the Book of Proverbs: Where can wisdom be found? Good question. Difficult question. The search for wisdom today is in the context of the escalation of violence in the Middle East, and in the counting of over 60 active state-based conflicts and wars worldwide, the highest number since (records began in) 1946. And in the context of another escalation; the exponential growth in the capability and reach of artificial intelligence, which scientists are now calling the ‘Intelligence Explosion' predicted back in the 1960s, when human beings cede control of the growth and development of AI. In both of these enormous endeavours, the speed and scale of revolutionary action is disorientating for many populations around the world. And in both the prosecution of global war, and the ceding of the growth of AI to AI itself, the illusion of human control over events is both inaccurate and has the potential to be ultimately destructive for, well, everyone. In short: it's easier to light the spark of AI than to control the spread of its flames. And it's easier to start a war than to end it. It is a question for our time – what is it in human beings that is served by our need for speed and escalation? As a species, we seem to give free reign to these instincts, sometimes useful of course, but also with the capacity to brutalise and crush us. These instincts leave little room for creativity, kindness and selflessness that take more time than we seem to think we have. But the search for wisdom in Scripture is characterised by the taking of time, by a commitment to restraint, self-discipline, and closely linked not so much to the acquisition of more knowledge but a desire to understand. Tomorrow, the first woman to be Archbishop of Canterbury will begin her public ministry with prayer, music, silence and the gathering of community in a house of prayer that has stood for 1400 years. In gathering to sing and pray, it might look as if the church is fiddling while Rome is burning. But the ancient liturgies and symbolic actions form a different sort of public statement: that wisdom matters. And that even in the perilous times that we are in, humility and grace point the way to another vision of what it is to be human before God.

Thought for the Day

Good morning, The words of Jessie Buckley dedicating her Oscar win to ‘the beautiful chaos of a mother's heart' have been echoing in my mind throughout this week. She picked up the Best Actress award for playing a grieving mother in Hamnet. The film reimagines the lives of William Shakespeare and his wife Anne Hathaway as they cope with the tragic death of their 11-year-old son. This idea of the beautiful chaos of a mother's heart moves us beyond the saccharine pinks and yellow flowers of Mother's Day to the reality that motherhood is wild and earth-shattering and terrifying. My goodness can it be joyous, too. But for many mothers, it is all those things – sometimes all at once. Sometimes the chaos of a mother's heart has to deal with the worst things imaginable: the death of a child. On Thursday night, I hosted an event in conversation with Gee Walker at Chester Cathedral, exploring black motherhood and grief. Gee's 18-year-old son Anthony was murdered in a racially aggravated attack while walking near his home in Merseyside 20 years ago. In the book by Maggie O'Farrell upon which the film Hamnet is based, are these words: “Never take for granted that your children's hearts beat, that they sup milk, that they draw breath, that they walk and speak and smile and argue and play. Never forget that they may be gone, snatched from you, in the blink of an eye, borne away from you like thistledown.” I had planned to ask Gee Walker at the end of our event what gives her hope, but I couldn't bring myself to. I resisted the urge to wrap her grief up in a tidy bow, to end on a glib message so we could all go away feeling better. This Easter, Christians will celebrate Jesus's resurrection – the great story at the heart of my faith. But perhaps what many of us also take from Holy Week is that resurrection doesn't erase the reality of the brutality of Christ's crucifixion. His mother watching it all at the foot of the cross. Gee Walker told me she finds solidarity in “Mamma Mary”, as she describes Jesus's mother”: a mother who – just like her – experienced the nightmare of watching her son die and not being able to do anything to help, not even be able to hold him. Gee described doing the little that she was able to –while Antony lay dying- holding tightly to his feet while police and paramedics intervened. In the months following Anthony's death, Gee's family started the Anthony Walker Foundation, raising aspirations of schoolchildren and providing comfort to other grieving families. For her, it's through this work that Anthony lives on. So too did Mary mother a movement that took her son's message to the ends of the earth. Perhaps the “beautiful chaos of a mother's heart” is that even when it is broken, it can speak life.

20 MAR 26

19 MAR 26

18 MAR 26

17 MAR 26

16 MAR 26

14 MAR 26

Good morning. When societies argue about definitions, it can sound technical, the sort of debate lawyers or policymakers care about. But definitions are about something deeper. They show what a society is prepared to recognise, and what it refuses to ignore. This week the government introduced a non-statutory definition of anti-Muslim hostility. Predictably, the conversation has turned to questions of free speech and its limits. Those are important questions. But definitions of prejudice carry another purpose. They tell us whose dignity we are prepared to defend. As a rabbi, I hear these debates with particular sensitivity. Jewish history contains long periods when hostility towards Jews was so normal it barely needed a name. The word antisemitism only entered common language in the nineteenth century, though the prejudice itself was far older. Naming something does not solve it. But it does change the silence around it. I was thinking about that while sharing an Iftar meal during Ramadan. Around the table were Muslims, Jews and others, gathered to break the fast together. Among them was Maoz Inon, an Israeli peace activist whose story carries immense grief. On October 7th his parents were killed when Hamas attacked their home in southern Israel. Many people in his position might understandably turn inward. Instead Maoz has chosen something more demanding: continuing to work for a shared future between Israelis and Palestinians, insisting humanity must survive even deep violence .What struck me that evening was the atmosphere in the room. Everyone arrived with a strong sense of who they were, Muslim, Jewish, secular. No one was asked to soften their identity in order to sit together. In Jewish tradition there is a phrase, b'tzelem Elohim, that every human being is created in the image of God. If every person carries that divine imprint, dignity is not something we negotiate depending on who we agree with. It becomes something we are bound to protect in one another. The debate about anti-Muslim hatred is therefore not only about Muslims. It is about the kind of country we are still trying to become. A Britain confident enough to protect open debate, but serious enough to recognise when prejudice corrodes our common life. Around that Iftar table it felt possible to glimpse that Britain. Not one where difference disappears, but one where faith and identity are brought honestly into the room. Because perhaps the real contribution of religion in public life is this: the insistence that dignity is not a limited resource. And that a confident Britain will be built not by setting identities aside, but by bringing the best of them into the same room.

12 MAR 26

Good morning. Justice delayed is justice denied. But justice rushed is no bowl of cherries either. In July, Lord Leveson warned that "fundamental" reforms to the jury system in England and Wales were needed to "reduce the risk of total system collapse." But yesterday, a leading barrister argued the judiciary is not diverse and is unrepresentative of the communities it serves, which can be intimidating to victims, witnesses and defendants. On the surface the debate looks like a face-off. There's pragmatism, which says, ‘Forget juries for sentences under three years, and realise complex fraud trials are beyond a jury's comprehension'; and then there's principle, which says, ‘The jury system is foundational to our whole understanding of justice.' But in reality, principled opponents of change point out that, according to a think tank, only 2 percent of cases may be affected while pragmatic proponents say justice is about more than a set-piece trial. Beneath the surface lie further dynamics like the nature of a legal career and the lack of people wanting to become judges. Above the Old Bailey stands a bronze statue of Lady Justice. Personifying justice implies it's an absolute – that justice can definitively be arrived at, whereupon other blessings will follow. But justice is not an abstract goal – it's a set of conventions, arrived at through striving for social order and well-being. Pure justice is an idol; there's very little that's pure about human relations gone so badly wrong as to involve the courts. Justice is a system, not an ideal; a best attempt, not perfection. Establishing good conventions is the heart of justice. Those conventions, far from being luminous and eternal, are always in need of updating. But that moment of refining is a very sensitive one. Because conventions, whether in law or in any other institution or relationship, rest on something more fundamental. And that fundamental quality is trust. Criminal cases arise when the trust that underpins all civilised society has broken down, and it seems a person has acted in a way that undermines the confidence we place in one another to function and interact together. Justice is a process by which that trust can be restored, involving a balance of accountability, judgement, punishment, mercy and rehabilitation. When the psalmist says, ‘Oh, how I love your law! It is my meditation all day long,' he's saying well-being lies in a balance of giving each their due, which in his case includes giving God God's due. But to create new conventions, that work for victims as well as authorities, means recognising that justice is about restoring trust, in the system – and in one another.

Good morning. This week sees in the Sikh New Year, and I find myself reflecting on the nature of new beginnings and fresh starts. For me and my husband, this is particularly apt, as we have been blessed with the recent arrival of our baby daughter. Before we got married, my husband and I paid our respects at a gurdwara near Amritsar dedicated to Baba Buddha Ji, one of the most venerated figures in Sikh history. According to legend, those who go with a deep faith will have their prayers for a child answered, just as the 5th Guru's wife did when she visited Baba Buddha Ji's home some four centuries earlier. Now it's finally happened for us. As a married gay Sikh man, it's somewhat of an understatement to say that the journey was neither simple nor straightforward. Her birth was only possible through the extraordinary generosity of a surrogate, someone who's become a dear friend to us and whose compassion allowed us to become parents. She wanted to make our dream come true, and in doing so, changed our lives. Surrogacy remains controversial for some. There can be fears about it being exploitative or ethically dubious, and it can involve large amounts of money in some parts of the world, creating an imbalance of power. In the UK however, surrogacy has to be altruistic from a legal perspective, with only reasonable expenses being allowed to be paid. The Sikh faith teaches that sewa, or selfless service, lies at the heart of a righteous life. It's the quiet act of giving without expectation, of sharing what one has for the benefit of others. Even though she isn't Sikh herself, from my own approach to the faith, I can see that our surrogate embodied that spirit perfectly. She gave of herself, physically and emotionally, so that we could have a child. For my husband and I, her sewa has become the bridge between hope and reality. In the scriptures of the Guru Granth Sahib, the 5th Sikh Guru says “Whoever has good destiny inscribed on their forehead, applies themselves to selfless service”. The opportunity to help others is seen as good fortune, something that one should actively seek out, and not as an obligation to carry out begrudgingly. For some, that service could be making food in the langar kitchens at a gurdwara. For others, it can involve humanitarian work internationally. All important and meaningful tasks, all forms of worship in their own ways. So as the Sikh New Year gets underway, we begin our new chapter as parents, and our own parents begin their journey as grandparents. We will forever be grateful to the sewa given by our surrogate, without whom none of this would have happened. Despite the odds, hope and love has still managed to find a way to shine through.

09 MAR 26

Baroness Louise Casey was refreshingly frank on this programme the other day. As chair of the independent committee on adult social care, she set out some of the grim realities of the present crisis.Many families whose frail elderly members have dementia or other complex needs will identify with her description of the battle to get help as ‘horrendous': for those with no one close it must be worse. The system relies on exploitation of its workforce, she said, with many earning less than the minimum wage, not reimbursed for travel expenses or getting no holiday pay. Cross-party support was essential for fundamental change.As continuous medical advances mean more of us live longer than previous generations, and often further away from loved ones, it's not a new problem. That makes it no less of a scandal when some of our most vulnerable are left feeling that they no longer matter. Exhausted families and friends, neighbours, campaigning organisations and community groups of all kinds do what they can – and so do many politicians.But for them Baroness Casey sounded a note of caution: ‘I'd warn any political party to be a little careful about throwing stones until we actually know what we are doing.' Which is, of course, to ask the question what have you actually done about it? Do you honestly think you've made a difference for good? Be careful about throwing stones – that immediately took me back to a vivid story in the gospel of John. As Jesus is teaching in the temple in Jerusalem, a woman is set before him. She's been caught committing adultery – no mention of the man. He's challenged by religious leaders and legal scholars, trying to trap him, to pronounce on whether she should be stoned to death. There's a very long pause, and he says: ‘Let him who is without sin among you throw the first stone at her.' One by one, they all go away, beginning with the oldest…presumably because they've been reminded how much they've messed up in their long lives, and maybe realising that if they condemned her, they might be exposed as hypocrites.I don't think any of this means that we've no right ever to utter criticism. Every society needs people who will reveal uncomfortable truths about those who abuse their power, expose mistreatment of the weakest, speak for those allowed no voice of their own. In the interests of truth, verbal stones may sometimes need be thrown, as the Hebrew prophets demonstrated.Jesus refused to condemn the woman, offering her a new beginning instead. But he didn't condone the men's hypocrisy either. He reminds us to reflect on our own actions, before standing in judgment on others.

As a dog lover and an ordained Christian, one of the questions I've been asked the most is, “Do dogs have souls?” It's a question which is often accompanied by grief and loss, but which also expresses a hope which is so vital to cling to, especially in these turbulent times. It's a good time of year to be thinking about this, as Crufts, the world's premier dog show, opened yesterday for its annual event. It might seem trivial to spend four days celebrating all things canine, amidst the backdrop of the volatile situation in the middle east, but perhaps that's, at least in part, the point. Dogs, with their reputation for simple joy, faithfulness, and love which is unconditionally given, are living proof that there is another way for humans to be, one in which it's possible to enjoy a flourishing relationship with other creatures, for all that we struggle to model this with one another. It's certainly true that humans forge strong, unbreakable bonds with their dogs, and when that bond is broken by death, it can be unexpectedly painful. When my dog died I was given a card which included the poem about Rainbow Bridge, which describes the pets who've gone before us, waiting in a utopian afterlife for their owners to die too, so they can be reunited. This is folk eschatology, hopes and yearnings about what happens when we lose those we love. It's the theology of last things. In the febrile, dangerous times we're living in, it's unsurprising that people might want to imagine a place which might be free from cruelty. A place marked by peace and the harmony of co-existence, like that described in the book of Isaiah. Here we are given a prophetic vision of the end times, one where all creation will be reconciled in a restored world. No predators or prey, the lion lying down with the lamb, the leopard with the goat…and a little boy leading them all. For Christians, this redemption and healing is only possible because Jesus went before us; living, dying, rising again. He is the reason for our hope in the midst of life and death, and a love which lasts beyond it. In a world where the strong still regularly overpower the weak, a world where lions devour lambs, it gives comfort and hope to imagine something radically different. Martin Luther apparently said to his dog, "Be thou comforted, little dog, Thou too in Resurrection shall have a little golden tail.” I don't know whether or not my dog had a soul, but she was a soul. Sweet, faithful, infuriating at times, and much missed.

Thought for the Day

04 FEB 26

Good morning. The appearance of a special planetary parade at the weekend was eclipsed by the coverage of the intense military operations in the Middle East that began on Saturday. But, it reminded me of an extraordinary astronomical alignment recorded by sages in India some millennia ago; seen then as an ominous portent of social and spiritual trends they believed would unfold in the times to come. Some of these seem prescient, or at least indicative, of persistent human psychology. They included warnings that wealth, not character, will confer status. To be poor will be seen as unholy. The law will be defined by power. Trade will thrive on deceit. Hypocrisy will become a virtue and audacity accepted as truthfulness. The sages foresaw that ordinary citizens would have to bear the resulting injustice and hardship. In response the most valued Vedic texts were compiled to re-balance such corrupting tendencies. For instance, the Bhagavad-gita describes that when we fear our interests or security might be frustrated or taken away, we behave irrationally, often lashing out in anger for revenge or retribution. The Gita cautions that this is a daily challenge for each of us. It says we must apply measured discriminative intelligence rather than act on our emotions, fears and biasCarl Jung made a similar point: “Until you make the unconscious conscious, it will direct your life and you will call it fate.” The world is watching closely as events develop in the Middle East. Despite being shrewdly orchestrated by intense military analysis and coordination, will the result, as Jung said, seem like fate? A result that can neither be predicted, nor planned. The Gita asks us all to rise above emotional reactivity; and to act in wisdom, free from the belief that unless things go completely our way, there can be no acceptable result or compromise. Today, there is a special observance in my Vaishnava tradition; the commemoration of the birth in 1486 of Sri Caitanya, a powerful social and spiritual reformer. In one of his most cited statements, he rejects being associated with any divisive identity of caste, communal or religious affiliation. Rather, he says, I wish to be known simply as the servant of the servant of that God who serves all those who are innocent, oppressed and who have no other shelter to deliver them from fear and want in this world. I pray that it will be measured conscious wisdom, and not unconscious fate, that delivers a welcome outcome to the current conflict.

Good MorningViewed from the comfort of our kitchens and living rooms, global conflict can all too readily resemble a twisted form of spectator sport. Commentators describe the flow of action, their remarks interspersed by expert analysts, who seek to clarify exactly what has happened whilst offering opinions as to what might next ensue. As news about the Israeli and American attacks on Iran began to break on Saturday morning, I found myself drawn into speculation about possible military and political outcomes. Who might win and who would lose. Would the UK be drawn into the conflict, and if so how? It being a Saturday in Lent, later that morning I joined my wife in her church for a seasonal practice known as Stations of the Cross. Helen, the priest leading our devotions, invited us to reflect on each of fourteen traditional images. These mark successive moments in Jesus's journey, from when he's condemned to death to the laying of his body in the tomb. The reflection jolted me out of spectator-mode and reminded me that ….. Whatever the political outcomes of events in and around Iran may be, ….. the cost in human suffering, in lives destroyed, in minds and bodies left permanently maimed, will be immense.My thoughts turned to the many Iranian Christians I've come to know and admire, and who are active members of my churches here in Manchester. I doubt if any of them will be mourning the death of the leader of a regime that has brutally ruled their homeland for almost half a century. But many have family members and friends still in Iran, whose lives are now at heightened risk. I thought too, of the Jewish community who live in the streets surrounding my home in Salford. Alongside their heightened fears for loved ones in Israel, they know all too well, in the aftermath of the recent terrorist attack on Heaton Park Synagogue, that actions of the Israeli government can expose them to reprisals here at home.The Stations of the Cross remind me that even as Jesus journeys, literally, to Hell and back, there are moments of comfort and consolation, where humanity breaks through the horror. Simon of Cyrene helps carry Christ's cross, Veronica takes up a cloth to wipe blood and sweat from his face. Both saw something more than the political machinations that were manoeuvring Jesus to his death. They focused, rather, on the human being caught in the centre of the suffering. As events continue to unfold across our screens and airwaves, we cannot avoid politics, but we can, perhaps, follow their example, refuse to be mere spectators and keep the need for human compassion in response to human suffering at the forefront of our thoughts.

Good morning! It seems like everyone's at it - Muslims, Christians, and soon Jews will be too. Don't be alarmed - I'm talking about fasting. On Ash Wednesday, some Christians began fasting for Lent, which can involve giving up certain foods. This week Jews will observe the Fast of Esther confirming what the Qur'ān says that it's not just Muslims who fast, but so do others. My wife and I, like many Muslims have the mammoth task of waking everyone up at 4 o'clock for suhūr - the pre-dawn breakfast as we prepare to fast from dawn until sunset. No food and drink in between, and yes, not even water. At sunset families, friends and neighbours get together for iftār - the breaking of the fast. It's a joyful time uniting everyone – you don't have to be Muslim to get involved.This Ramadān I was invited to JW3, the Jewish centre in London. Lanterns and flowers adorned the tables, bunting saying Ramadān Mubārak hung from the ceiling.. It was a wonderful time to meet old friends and make new ones. It renewed my hope for peaceful coexistence as we learn about one another to cultivate mutual respect. As we said our goodbyes, many Jews came and appreciated my talk and said how much it spoke to them also. They delighted in our similaritiesThe Qur'ān says that the purpose of fasting is to help us become God consciousness, pious, righteous and God-fearing. The spiritual dimension of fasting is most important. The fasting of the tongue - not to backbite, lie or swear. The fasting of the ears and eyes - see no evil, hear no evil. Seeking purity of the mind and cleansing of the heart from hate, anger, revenge and all the spiritual ills and replacing them with goodness, love and forgiveness. The Prophet Muhammad (peace be upon him) said that God is not in need of our hunger and thirst, but He's after our piety. Many a fasting person gains no spiritual benefit from their fast except the pain of hunger and thirst, he warned. During the day, I sometimes find myself all alone in the house, but I don't go and help myself to a sip of water or a secret bite because I know that although my family may not be around to catch me, God is watching. Like speed cameras and CCTV make me try my best to be on the right side of the law so should my awareness of God's presence prevent me from doing any wrong for I will have to answer to Him.