It’s Saturday. On my second cup of tea and listening to the unsettling sound of a wind blowing through the garden. It heralds a storm or so the forecasters tell us. Storm Isha. It’s a forbidding sound and feels portentous. I’m comfortable inside, looking and listening from an armchair in my dressing gown and pyjamas. Thus is the freedom, comfort and safety of my life here.
Already this morning I’ve read about the perils of James, a fisherman in Moravia. The article is in a Cafod newsletter which is sent out to show what donations help to do in the world and the global work of Cafod. They’ve provided GPS fish finders to these men which means they stand an improved chance of landing a catch and can find home if they’re blown off course. Five men a month were dying in storms at sea. How very different James and Cynthia’s life are to mine. Next I read @indiahicks Instagram post on her recent trip to the Ukraine with GEM (Global Empowerment Mission) and her son, @conradflintwood. The level of destruction there has the power to stir an awful sadness in me. We hear little of Ukraine in the media… it’s old news. The misery of Gaza and Israel is what fills the headlines, for the moment. That too may fade, if it goes on long enough. The whimsy of the media is implausible.
I take in the buildings smashed and torn to pieces by bombing, the ordinary Ukrainian people who survive on courage and meagre supplies from aid agencies. The ragged half walls and shattered windows fill a landscape which is reduced to a wasteland. There are no trees. No grass. No green. This alone is hard to stomach. Erasing a place steals away the identity and history of the people. It’s intentional and wicked. I am in awe of the people there, that they hold onto the shreds of themselves and live on. I want to make a third cup of tea, it’s a reassurance, the act itself represents my free will and the safety of my home. It symbolises that ‘I can’. I don’t because there’s a sort of guilt in being able to read about it from an armchair, it’s over there and happening to someone else. Like rubbing salt in a wound. Just as James and his fishing life are so far removed from my own life experience. The weight of the world hangs heavy on me in this moment. My personal comfort is a millstone and my privilege is a product of chance. I am born here and that has afforded me all manner of advantage by birthright.
I saw the sun rise and when I entered the kitchen this morning, the whole room was bathed in a roseat glow, so intense was the orange and gold of this new day, extraordinarily beautiful. A briefly uplifting start and all is well with the world. Except, of course, it isn’t. Far from it and what can I do? Are there still morning sunrises that fill war torn people with hope? The helplessness speaks to despair. I go on to read a prayer for today from the CAC site. I share it with you here.
‘Make us people of wonder. Show us how to hold on to nuance and vision when our souls become addicted to pain, to the unlovely. It is far easier to see the gloom and decay; so often it sings a louder song. Attune our hearts to the good still stirring in our midst, not that we would give ourselves to toxic positivity or neglect the pain of the world, but that we would be people capable of existing in the tension. Grant us habits of sacred pause. Let us marvel not just at the grand or majestic, but beauty’s name etched into every ordinary moment. Let the mundane swell with a mystery that makes us breathe deeper still. And by this, may we be sustained and kept from despair. Amen.’
How very pertinent this prayer. Delivered to my inbox and read in exactly the moment it’s needed. My despair, sadness, pity makes no difference. My ability to stand strong with the suffering world and enter into it’s horrors is the only way to bring change. Every small contribution, whether it be monetary, action, prayer, speaking out like a voice in the wilderness and definitely by living our life well is a piece of good placed into the midst of all that’s wrong.
Making our days count, matters. There is a ripple from each one of us that moves out and away from us, touching those in our close circle and further. Every decision needs to be a good one, thought out and not just about how that decision may impact ourselves but the far reaching consequences too. The things we consume, order on line (guilty) the food we eat, the waste we produce, the disposal of our waste, the trips booked for pleasure and for work, the vehicles we drive and the careless use of fuel - all feed into the world we share in a way that can be negative or positive. I’m as bad as the next one, there has been much thoughtless choice I’m ashamed to admit. We come from a wealthy society and culture that has deliberately encouraged poor behaviour and a disregard for the rest. The world and it’s peoples have been our playground, not our responsibility.
I can’t tell you how to live. I have enough issue with my own life content, getting my house in order. This isn’t written to guilt trip anyone into feeling bad or sad, but in the hope that we realise we can make big differences with small changes. A collective mindset to make the switch and a personal intention to carry it through is the beginning of an alternate direction. Each day brings with it opportunity to keep these world situations in our sight line, that they never leave our private horizon but constantly infuse our vision with a determination for better, for parity and peace.
We’re not lost, we’re finding our way. From my armchair to yours, let’s get up and make it happen. Till the next time,
A
My pictures are screenshots from Cafod’s magazine and India Hicks’ Instagram, a recent post on her trip with GEM to the Ukraine. Her work to bring our attention and aid to a suffering people is outstanding. I’m hoping she is ok with my ‘borrowing’ them for this Substack. She has her own account, which is well worth reading, a dynamic force for change.