Thought for the Day

According to Professor Hannah Fry, people's lives are enriched by artificial intelligence. It makes problem-solving easier, helps medical diagnosis, and can improve productivity. Yet as she points out in her new BBC2 documentary, AI Confidential, there are risks: that jobs will be lost to AI; that we might lose the bedside care that comes with human diagnosis as machine intelligence takes over. She also warns AI provides what she calls emotional junk food that demands nothing of us, by offering AI romantic partners. And then there's tech grief, highlighted in a recent EastEnders storyline, when video and voice notes are used to create an avatar of a dead character to console his father. Real mourning is put on hold. But it seems to me there's another risky aspect of AI – that it rewrites temptation. Temptation is traditionally thought to be about testing will-power. Take Lent and Ramadan, currently being observed by Christians and Muslims. If a Muslim fasting all day has a little snack at lunchtime, or a Christian giving up sweets for Lent, eats chocolate, they've failed in their discipline. But AI is a different, and remarkable tempter, encouraging people not to fail in some way but take the easier option that in some ways seems sensible. Why read a book, for example, when AI can give you a quick summary, or make the effort to cook for dinner guests when AI can help locate a fancy restaurant in seconds and order a takeaway. And instead of the regret that comes from conventional temptation, AI offers something else. It's all too easy to console yourself that you have done something good. You've saved time. The easy option has advantages. The Desert Fathers – early Christian thinkers who retreated to the desert – did so because they believed a hard life was good for them. They believed it brought them closer to God. And with temptation, even if you give in to it but then regret it you can grow as a person by learning something about yourself. Pope Leo who has expressed concern about the impact of AI on humanity has now urged priests to resist the temptation to use the short cut of AI to write sermons. AI might be clever, but there's something lacking in AI preaching: it doesn't come from the heart. Perhaps this Lent and Ramadan, it might be worth not only giving up something that tests our will, but pondering something that appears helpful yet is temptation on another scale, reducing our need to think. After all, as Descartes said, I think, therefore I am. What am I, if machines have seduced me to do so much less thinking for myself?

Good Morning. I'm enjoying the warmer weather this week, and in London atleast, a bit of sun. However as we begin to dry out, there is one weather story you may have missed. Today and yesterday a plume of red-tinged Saharan dust is blowing across the United Kingdom in the high reaches of our sky, as reported by the Copernicus Atmosphere Monitoring Service (CAMS for short.). This is apparently not uncommon for this time of year, even if it can lead to what the over-dramatic among us call a ‘blood rain,' actually just a dusty residue left on our cars and windows when the sun finally appears. I remember the last one in March of 2022. Today this plume of dust is likely to lead only to a more vibrant sunset for those of us with clear skies. And the so-called ‘blood rain' is a completely normal, if not everyday thing – no need to run to doom scrolling or talk of ‘portents of judgment'. That said, people living in times of difficulty have always looked for signs not least in unusual cosmic events. In the Gospel according to Matthew in chapter 16, Jesus addressed this directly: ‘…You know how to interpret the appearance of the sky, but you cannot interpret the signs of the times.' He meant signs that were more social than meteorological. His further point was that we shouldn't be distracted by the sensational from what is right in front of us. Listening to the news I have become so taken up with scandalous abuse of power and the offence of some world leaders using racial epithets or national slurs, that I fail to see other ‘signs of the times' closer to home: the continuing high cost of housing, or lack of access to timely care, the background anxiety that seems to make our day to day interactions more fraught – and my complacency in the face of these. There are other signs as well, of hope however tenuous: a child learning to read or sing or play an instrument, people willing still to give time to volunteer or vote or help a neighbour. These matter too. In an 18th century sermon John Wesley spoke about the power each of us has over our attention. He said God ‘…made you free agents; …you have sufficient light shining all around you; …be assured God is not well pleased with your shutting your eyes and then saying, "I cannot see." So today, as the red dust plume moves over our heads, maybe we can take back control of our attention, to see signs of hope as well as harm and heed them both.

100 years ago this year, on a grey January day in 1926, the very first public demonstration of a new piece of technology was given in Soho, London by John Logie Baird. Called by its inventor a televisor, it would soon become a ubiquitous presence in flats and houses across the world known as a television. It's been reported this week that after 100 years of the device showing content designed for it, the television is now the preferred medium for people of all ages to watch algorithm-driven content on Youtube. ….. one of the biggest creators of content in the world It's no longer the case that we, the viewers, watch only what production companies make for us. We film ourselves on our phones, upload them ourselves and watch ourselves. The Victoria and Albert Museum in London has just recognised the importance of short form video as a cultural development by exhibiting the very first video uploaded onto the platform. Entitled ‘Me at the Zoo', it's a 19 second clip that has been viewed 380 million times since it was first posted in April 2005. The fact that we are watching, even on our traditional televisions whatever we want when we want is part of a development that has been happening for some time. It's a development that reveals to us what we value, what we will pay for, what we will put effort into. It appears to tell us that what we want more than anything - is to maximise our ability to choose. It is one of the axioms of our contemporary culture that individual choice is not only desirable but essential for a fulfilling happy life. And that's of course true. At the opposite extreme, a person who is not able to exercise any choice is enslaved, something that is both immoral and illegal. Freedom to choose how we live, what we eat, what we do, is a fundamental aspect of human nature not least according to Christian teaching, which insists that human beings have had free will, from the Garden of Eden onwards, made as we are in the image of God. But Christian spiritual practice will also teach us to stay alert to the illusions and deceptions that accompany the elevation of choice above all else. And what we now know is that as we're scrolling, we're not so much acting as a free human being, but more as an impressionable consumer, subject to the power of the algorithm. Fundamental questions are raised by an ethic that pursues choice above everything else, especially when it sits in the corner of our living space. The new tipping point we've reached faces us afresh with the questions we face when we choose: in whose interest, to whose benefit and, ultimately together, to what end.

24 FEB 26

Good Morning, Coming down from Yorkshire to London I usually walk through Marchmont Street. I often stop and look up at a Blue Plaque over a shop that was once a hairdressers. It's where Kenneth Williams spent the first part of his life. I worked with him in the late 1970's when I was a young producer with a missionary society. We were looking at new ways of getting the Christian faith to resonate with young people. I'd heard somewhere that the Ayatollah Khomeini, then exiled in Paris, was flooding Iran with messages on audio cassettes to topple the Shah. It may seem quite a leap but it prompted me to wonder if we too could use cassettes to reach out to the next generation. So we hired four famous comedians to retell the life and parables of Jesus . Soon we were in the studio with Derek Nimmo, Dora Bryan, Thora Hird and - Kenneth Williams recording a sparkling script by Jenny Robertson. Yesterday marked the Centenary of Kenneth Williams' birth – one of Radio 4's famous voices who knew the power of comedy to shock, to scandalise and to deflate the pompous. But he was also a sensitive man who prayed at the end of each day out of the depths of his own tortured soul. He excelled in recording these cassettes and captured the way Jesus himself used stories to cut the powerful down to size, especially religious ones. One of Jesus' amusing stories was told against the hypocrisy of the judgmental - of two men, one with a plank shooting out of his eye trying to pick a spec out of the other's – a comic sketch worthy of Basil Fawlty berating a hapless hotel guest! The paradox of humour is that comedy can pack a serious punch which is why the powerful, especially dictators hate being made fun of. Nor can they tolerate the freedom the media give to voice such protest. 50 years on, Iran's latest Ayatollah, while recognising the role media played in bringing them to power , now appears to be tightly controlling the internet, in what is widely seen as an attempt to stem the flow of information about a government crackdown on protesters. Memories of Kenneth Williams today make me nostalgic for a more spacious world where the freedom to speak out and even to make fun of each other were the signs of safer times. Kenneth Williams – rest in peace and in the memory of our laughter.

21 FEB 26

Good morning. There was a time in the early 2000's when you could not open a paper without seeing a photo of Tracey Emin at a party, glass in hand, staring at the camera. A moving interview with her in The Guardian in connection with her major new show at Tate Modern which starts next week reveals a very different Tracey Emin. She talks about the terrible cancer she has suffered, with many of her body parts being removed, so that life now is lived with great difficulty. At the time she thought she was going to die and then ‘Whoever they are', she said to Charlotte Higgins the interviewer, glancing heavenwards, ‘they said “I don't think she is all bad. Let's give her another go, see what she can do”' So she gave up alcohol and her 50 cigarettes a day and has since then thrown herself into her art - not only her own art but helping young artists and others in her home town of Margate. As she said ‘I have spent a lot of my life being sad, nihilistic and punishing myself mentally-and drinking and smoking. And then I realised: I could have my time back again.' No wonder her new exhibition is called ‘Tracey Emin: A Second Life.' Lent, which began yesterday is a reminder that we do not have to wait until death stares us in the face to have a second life. Notwithstanding regrets and failures every day is a new gift, a new beginning, a time to focus on what really matters to us. Tracey Emin says about those earlier years in the 2000's ‘God, was that the shallowest level of myself that I could ever be?' There is a shallow side and a deeper side to all of us. That deeper side brings into focus what we really want to do with our life, what kind of person we really want to be. If you visit Liverpool's Anglican Cathedral, the largest religious building in the country, built between 1904 and 1978, it is difficult not to be overwhelmed by its immense space and monumentality. But as you enter, just above the West End Doors, there is a total contrast-a permanent pink neon installation with the words ‘I felt you and I knew you loved me' written in Tracey Emin's own hand. Tracey Emin burst on the scene in 1988 with a work of art consisting of her unmade bed surrounded by condoms, blood and general detritus and people still associate her with this. But I like to think of her devoting herself to making new art and helping others in Margate, and that simple, pink neon installation in Liverpool Cathedral with its words ‘I felt you and I knew you loved me.'

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Good morning. How do you feel about mind control? New research from a laboratory in Zurich suggests it may be possible to make people less selfish – by sending electrical currents through their brains. Forty-four volunteers were asked to divide money between themselves and an anonymous partner. Remarkably, when certain neural pathways at the front and back of the head were stimulated, participants gave more away. It sounds like science fiction. But other forms of bio-hacking are, of course, already common: weight-loss drugs, metabolic trackers, sleep technology. Medicines are routinely used to lift mood, sharpen attention, steady anxiety. So why not use science to make us kinder as well? That way, we might all become more beautiful people inside, as well as out. Just imagine it. Wellness centres offering holistic packages, body and soul: Botox top-ups in the morning, altruistic boosting in the afternoon. More seriously, researchers claim this new technology could be used for the treatment of certain brain disorders and prove invaluable for people who struggle with social behaviour. It could be just the nudge they need to become better citizens. It's a wholesome idea. Yet as I read the academic article on this impressive experiment in brain-hacking – forecasting gains in “cooperation, productivity, and cohesion” – I became increasingly uneasy. I was put in mind of Aldous Huxley's dystopian novel Brave New World, published almost a century ago, which describes a civilisation held together not by conscience but by chemistry and conditioning. A terrifying vision. Once virtue is treated as something that can be engineered, the line between encouragement and enforcement grows thin. A society might become more efficient, more compliant, even more outwardly generous, and still lose its soul. Huxley warns that people who allow themselves to be controlled may eventually come to “love their servitude”. Even if such dystopian fears never come to pass, the ambition to control our moral impulses through technology raises questions about the nature of morality. Christian thought has long distinguished between shaping behaviour from the outside and forming the person from within. Charity — what theologians call caritas — is not simply a matter of generous action. Intention matters too: affection that is freely given is what lends acts of generosity their meaning; without it, they risk becoming little more than reflexes. It's fascinating to learn that science can influence our moral behaviour, but it is fatal to confuse this fact with morality itself. The Christian vision insists that a person is more than a set of automatic responses. Morality only makes sense if it is chosen. As a society, we have already surrendered ourselves to our smartphones, our computers, and our digital habits; let's at least fight, while we can, to love one another freely.

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Good Morning, In the rushed attempt to reckon with the Epstein files and what they mean, it's become hard to hear from and easy to forget the women who were actually the victims of his crimes. But if we are serious about understanding the forces that lie behind a network in which women and girls were trafficked for sex, we'd surely do well to start with the witness of their victims. Whenever these women have spoken, it is striking how eloquent they are, not just about what has happened to them, but also about the huge challenge of bringing the perpetrators of these crimes to justice. Many of them point to the heroism of Virginia Giuffre who, against massive intimidation and, according to other survivors, the cost of her life, helped to start the process that brought these crimes to light. In her memoir - Nobody's Girl – she wrote, ‘I hope for a world in which predators are punished, not protected, victims are treated with compassion, not shamed; and powerful people face the same consequences as anyone else.' I read her book whilst researching a story for an opera about modern slavery. As part of my research, I interviewed a woman who had been trafficked for sex alongside the policewoman who had rescued her from the trafficking gang. ‘Not once in 30 years of law enforcement,' the policewoman said, ‘did I meet a pimp or sex trafficker who expressed remorse. They see women as product in a business transaction.' Her words chimed with Giuffre's insight that we live in a culture that ‘tells girls their primary worth is to appeal to men,' mere objects to discard once used. Their humanity redacted. This thinking infects the Epstein files where women and girls, some reportedly as young as nine, are offered as though they were meat on a menu. They do this without shame and an entitled belief that the rules don't apply to them. The Psalmist describes this: ‘In their own eyes they flatter themselves too much to detect their sin. Even on their beds they plot evil; commit themselves to a sinful course and do not reject what is wrong.' Virginia Giuffre wanted to live in a world where victims were treated with compassion; not compassion as sympathy, but as a radical form of criticism, that says, ‘this hurt is to be taken seriously; it's not normal; and we have to act.' In his ministry Jesus sided and stood with the abused and the used. His compassion for the victim was an implicit critique of the system, forces and ideologies that produces victims. At his execution, he entered into that hurt and even came to embody it. On the cross his silence is eloquence. He redacts himself and becomes the Victim God; a witness to, and reckoning with, corrupt and controlling power. One common theme is the total lack of remorse and sense of entitlement.

Good Morning. ‘Speak about hope:' I hear those words everywhere in these frightening times At synagogue, we've just read the Ten Commandments, beginning with ‘I am your God.' Two rabbis whose teachings I admire experienced those words very differently. The struggle for hope lies in the tension between their explanations. Hugo Gryn, whose warm voice, often heard on radio, I hugely miss, survived Auschwitz. He wrote: Auschwitz-Birkenau was the … perversion of all the Ten Commandments… God was replaced by a Fuehrer and his minions who claimed for themselves the power of life and death… Murder was at the heart of that culture and killers were promoted and honoured… That's what ‘I am your God' reminded him of. Nazism is gone, but tyranny, killing and contempt are at large in our world, threatening our freedoms and future. Rabbi Yehudah Aryeh-Leib of Ger, who died last century, intuited a very different voice in the Commandments. He wrote: When God said, ‘I am,' the world fell silent; every living being listened. They heard the words not from Heaven, but within themselves. They felt: “This is about who I truly am. The life-force which flows through everything is speaking to me.” In that moment, a deep awareness connected all existence, humans, animals, every breathing being, and cruelty and hatred vanished. I believe that may be what we feel when humbled by some act of kindness; when touched by closeness to another person; when silenced by listening to the birds; when we sense in woodlands: ‘These trees – some hidden life-force connects us.' A consciousness infinitely greater than ‘Me, me, me,' flows through us then. It's what Wordsworth called: A motion and a spirit, that impels All thinking things, all objects of all thought, And rolls through all things.Here lies a quiet, but powerful, antidote to the horror Rabbi Gryn was forced to experience, when tyrants replaced god, dictating who must live or die. Here is an understanding that motivates us to love and give. I think of my Israeli friend, who despite the violence afflicting both peoples, supported her Palestinian colleague who bravely made soup in Gaza for hungry children. I'm mindful of the Ukrainian grandma, since killed, who refused to leave her front-line home in Kherson and, despite the bombing, sent me a gift of honey. What makes people do that? I believe it's the deeper voice that calls us, beyond all differences and hatreds, to care for each other and our world. In that voice lies our hope.

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Good morning. When we talk about justice, we picture punishment, verdicts delivered, sentences pronounced, the drama of a courtroom. We talk less about what justice is for, what kind of life it is meant to make possible. I've been thinking about that because I've just finished jury service. For days I sat with eleven strangers, reminded how fragile justice is, how much it depends on ordinary people listening carefully, trying to hold someone else's story without breaking it. The law, up close, feels less like marble and more like human breath. That experience drew me back to Rose Heilbron, a woman from Liverpool and one of the great figures of British legal history. My own family comes from that same stretch of Liverpool, and I imagine what it meant for girls like my mother to see someone who sounded a little like them taking her seat in the Old Bailey. Her career was marked by remarkable firsts: among the first women appointed King's Counsel, the first to lead a murder prosecution, the first woman judge at the Old Bailey. By simply being there, she changed who Britain believed could speak with authority. Her most lasting contribution came in the 1970s when she chaired a committee on the treatment of women reporting rape and sexual assault. It argued that complainants' identities should be protected and their sexual history not used to discredit them. Behind those reforms lay a conviction: justice cannot function if it humiliates the wounded. A system that deters the vulnerable from coming forward manufactures silence. That conviction feels close this week. Recently released court documents in the United States again exposed how wealth and influence enabled the abuse of women and girls, perpetrators and collaborators protected with a vigour the victims' could only dream of. Jewish tradition teaches that law exists to guard human dignity – kevod habriyot. The Bible warns: do not oppress the stranger, “for you know the soul of the stranger.” The rabbis understood the stranger as anyone made small by power, anyone whose story can be turned against them. Rose Heilbron's work lived inside that teaching. She understood that a courtroom should be a place where shame changes sides, where those exposed are finally covered, and those who abused power stand in the light. Perhaps that is what justice is for: not the last word of a story, but the first breath after a long holding of breath –a fragile peace in which the vulnerable are believed, and the rest of us are changed by having listened. Because a society is judged not only by how it punishes the guilty, but by how carefully it guards those who risk everything to speak.

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Thursday night saw a glitzy premiere at Windsor Castle, complete with film stars on the red carpet. But rather than a Hollywood blockbuster or homegrown movie, this was the launch of a documentary by the King. Called Finding Harmony, it will be released next week. It is being promoted as the King's vision for the planet, while the head of the king's charity, the King's Foundation, says it is about his philosophy of harmony. While the documentary explores the King's well-known love of nature and his thoughts on the future of the planet, his interest in the philosophy of harmony is perhaps not so well-known. Yet it is something that he has been mulling over for decades. A whole section of a two-volume set of his speeches is devoted to harmony, what he calls “a grammar” that underscores, art, architecture and spirituality of all the great religions. He spoke about this harmony in a speech at the UN climate change conference COP28 in late 2023. There's a moment in the documentary which shows the then Prince Charles joking that people thought his ideas were “dotty”, “It was sandals and long hair”, he said. But the idea of harmony owes its origins to ancient Greek and Christian thinking. In a speech he gave in 2015 in Louisville, Kentucky, Prince Charles urged people to develop joined-up thinking about interdependent relationships within nature. “The ancient Greek word for the process of joining things up was Harmonia”, he said, “so joined-up thinking needs to create harmony”. This idea of harmony is evident in Plato's work, The Timaeus, where he describes the cosmos as a collection of elements arranged in musical ratios and this internal harmony ensures its survival, while St Ambrose, one of the earliest Christian writers saw the creation of the world, described in the Book of Genesis, as a narrative about harmony with a balance between the elements. He saw the way voices are lifted in harmony as symbolising the greater harmony of God's creation. Someone else who, like the King, expressed concern at a lack of harmony in the way people live now, was Pope Francis. In his major work on the environment, Laudato Si, he warned that humanity's arrogance in attempting to dominate planet Earth had upset the balance of creation. “The harmony between the Creator, humanity and creation as a whole was disrupted by our presuming to take the place of God and refusing to acknowledge our creaturely limitations”, he wrote. In other words, if there is any chance of the joined-up thinking the King calls for in our relationship with one another and with nature, a starting point for harmony needs to be humility.

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Places where strangers become friends Good morning. The pub in Oxford last week looked its usual, amazing self. I'd been doing a bit of teaching and was staying in a nearby college overnight. Outside was dark, cold and wet. But as I pushed the pub door open, I was met with a warm, candlelit cacophony of conversation. People were eating supper, playing board games, reading books. It was a glorious, uplifting sight. We know that, for decades now, pub landlords have been facing multiple challenges in order simply to keep their doors open. In 2025, the equivalent of one pub a day in England and Wales had to close its doors permanently. So it was good this week to hear Prince William talking about how much he loves everything a pub has to offer and urging us to do all we can to support our local. Pubs, he said, are the beating heart of many communities, where we can meet with friends and neighbours.2 Along with churches and other places of worship, many of which are also reimagining themselves simply to survive, pubs provide a radical alternative to the social isolation and loneliness affecting many groups in society. I observe this more and more in the course of my own work. Often unseen, people of all ages and backgrounds can unwittingly find themselves alone, without the meansor motivation to find a non-transactional space where they can simply “be” with other people. Many community cafes are also thriving like never before. Christian theology has always celebrated hospitality. The Bible stresses the importance of people being together to meet as well as sharing food and drink. This is something Jesus is also frequently found doing in the gospels as he meets with an interesting range of people. St Paul, whose feast day the Church celebrates tomorrow, wrote many letters to the early Church, stressing not only the importance of worship but also the spiritual benefits that fellowship with others brings. He regards this as an important ingredient towards spiritual renewal and happiness. For centuries pubs have been at the centre of British culture. The Catholic writer Hillaire Belloc warned - “when you have lost your Inns drown your empty selves, for you will have lost the last of England.” They've left their mark throughout literature, in Orwell and Dickens, Dylan Thomas and Chaucer. His pilgrims began their journey to Canterbury at the Tabard Inn! As modern-day pilgrims, navigating an ever-complex world of conundrums and challenges [wherever our final destination might be] preserving spaces for conversation and friendship, where strangers can become friends, is surely an imperative.

“You've failed.” Words spoken to me by a man with a clipboard, in a Renault Clio back in 1997. Failing my driving test seems trivial now, from the misty vantage point of nearly thirty years distance, but at age seventeen these were devastating words to hear. The unpleasant sting of failure is a lingering memory; the embarrassment, increasing with each friend calling to say they had passed. The sense of inadequacy. The desperation and the increasing certainty that I would never, ever pass myself. Such is the stigma and social detriment of failure that some people will resort to nefarious means in order to pass. Cheating on driving tests has increased by nearly 50% over the past year; a dangerous form of deception which risks lives, and also severs the social contract which relies on us all following the rules in order to be safe. Failure is key both to character building and communal ethics. The biblical record is littered with examples of human failure, and those who tried everything to avoid it. The Trickster is a common narrative trope, which includes a disreputable collection of characters who cheat and lie in order to succeed rather than risk the disgrace of failure. Abram who persuades Sarai to pose as his sister to dupe Pharoah. Laban who uses deception to ensnare Jacob into working longer for him. Rebekah, the trickster architect of the plan to fool Isaac into blessing her younger son Jacob over his brother Esau. These cheats appear to prosper, at least momentarily, in a moral universe which allowed deception, but the biblical record shows that their ethical misdeeds often came back to haunt them. Jacob, for example, so quick to be part of his mother's schemes, ended up being deceived himself, tricked into marrying the wrong woman. The book of Proverbs says that food gained by fraud tastes sweet, but one ends up with a mouth full of gravel. So it was for our biblical tricksters, whom God used to work out his divine purposes - not because God loves a cheater, but because God loves those who fail. It is in the failing and the striving and the trying again that we learn our best lessons. Elizabeth Day has written that “if you've survived it, failure has taught you something.” I finally passed my driving test, but it was in the failure to do so that I learned how to be a good driver. The taste of failure is bitter indeed, hard to swallow and takes a long time to uncomfortably digest, but it's what feeds our character and helps us to grow, and however horrible it tastes, at least it's not gravel.

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Good morning. There is deep sadness in Tehran and other Iranian cities today as more that 2,500 dead are mourned and it appears that the regime is in control of the streets again. It looks as though the brave attempt of the protestors to bring about change has ended in nothing but more cruel repression. It must be easy to lose heart, not just here but in so many places of the world, and to think that things will always go on in much the same way. So it is good to remind ourselves that things can change. I did not think Apartheid would end without civil war but in 1994 a democratic government was elected in South Africa. I did not think the cold war would end in my lifetime but in 1989 the Berlin wall came tumbling down, whilst in 1979 in Iran the Shah was toppled suddenly and surprisingly. But for those suffering it always seems so long. In the last book of the Bible, written when Christians were being killed for their faith, the author pictures them sheltering under the altar, crying out ‘How long O Lord?' – how long before justice is established. A cry that goes up every day. In response to this cry Jesus told one of his surprising stories. A woman who had a legal case against someone kept pestering a hard hearted judge. The judge had no sympathy for the woman and kept sending her away. Eventually he could stand it no longer and granted what she wanted. Jesus told the story to urge us not to give up. However hopeless things appear we are not to cease to pray and work for a world which is just. We are not simply to resign ourselves to things always being as they are now. I love the words of the American playwright Tennessee Williams. He said: I've met many people that seemed well-adjusted, but …I'm not sure I would want to be well-adjusted to things as they are. I would prefer to be racked by desire for things better than what they are, even for things which are unattainable, than to be satisfied with things as they are. Those words always bring to my mind one of the Beatitudes of Jesus ‘Blessed are those who hunger and thirst that right might prevail'. Hunger and thirst are strong words but they reflect the longing of those not only in Iran but in so many places of the world where people are suffering - and the longing of those who stand in solidarity with them.

Good morning. On my shelf sits a battered US Navy Bible— my American grandfather carried it as he crossed and re-crossed the icy waters of the north Atlantic in the convoys of World War two. When peace came, he was convinced that only nations standing together could prevent humanity tearing itself apart again. In 1947, a lifelong Republican, he ran for Congress on a bold platform: world government. He lost—but the hope for peace guaranteed by shared responsibility continued. Peace making through collective security, if not world government, found one expression in the first meeting of the United Nations, 80 years ago this week in 1946. It met in the heart of war-ravaged London, at Methodist Central Hall Westminster. As Foreign Secretary Ernest Bevan said at the time, ‘What better place than a house of prayer to search for peace?' So the church offered its Great Hall to the most powerful dignitaries in the post war world, as it had offered the shelter of its cellars to some of the least powerful during the bombing of the war years. This coming Saturday the Secretary General of the UN Antonio Gutteres will join others including British Royalty and Cardinal Vincent Nichols in that same Great Hall for a service of thanksgiving, to re-commit to the values that drove the UN's first formation. If it was the reality of war that brought nations to the table to form the UN 80 years ago, they've perhaps been kept there by the hard-headed calculation that however imperfect, its work in development, education, healthcare, and military engagement, was less costly than the alternative. When Jesus said ‘Blessed are the peace makers,' his words reflected the equally hard-headed observation that peace of any kind whether in households or between nations has to be made – it does not happen by accident. To say ‘Christ died for all' is to say that justice and safety are for all – certainly not for any one nation, and certainly not only for the strong. Because power to act may not align with insight about what will help, all Christian security is by definition collective security. As we gather this week and give thanks for the work of the United Nations, I will be remembering my grandfather and his Navy-issue Bible; I will remember how frightened he was whenever the prospect of war returned during his long life. War comes quickly: peace takes slow and patient work, empathy, truth telling and deep commitment to one another. And the cost of failure, if we are honest, is still likely to be borne by the ones who hide from bombs in church cellars, not the ones who make the decisions in the Great Halls above.

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