Death at Easter

This was written for the Church Times in March 2007

Murder has been very much in the news over the last weeks. A man stabbed in a flat in Rhyl, a beautiful young woman visiting Japan found dead in a bath of sand, violent street killings of teenagers. The stuff that nightmares are made of has left fathers weeping in front of television cameras, families in devastating grief, struggling to come to terms with loss. It isn’t just the shock and bereavement; it’s also the injustice of a precious life taken for nothing; the pointlessness of loss.

For these people, even the ones committed to the Christian faith, Easter may well seem particularly far off this year. For the news that ‘death is swallowed up in victory’ is hard to grasp when death is a very present reality and there is little of victory to celebrate. And those whose experience this week is only of suffering and spiritual emptiness, the Christian story with its happy Easter ending can sound like a distant and irrelevant fable.

Sometimes in the church we may, inadvertently, reinforce this. For in our worship and our prayers we can often give the impression that Good Friday is simply something we go through in order to get to Easter Sunday. I have listened to sermons which have focussed on Christ’s death more as a theological necessity than a brutal and isolating reality. Sometimes the implicit message has been that because the ultimate outcome is jubilant, we do not need to get too involved in the psychological details. We hear Christ’s prayer in the Garden, we read the account of his passion, we acknowledge the injustice and barbarity of the crucifixion, for these are all vital chapters of the plot. But then we must move on. For Christ himself cried ‘It is finished’ and our faith does not need to wallow in the pathos and despondency, but  rejoice in the triumph of resurrection.

Yet if we move too quickly we risk having a superficial faith, one which deludes itself that it is possible to taste the rich banquet without first drinking the cup of suffering. Even more, we deprive so many people outside the church of a vital route into the presence of God. For those who are not yet able to experience anything of resurrection may need to be brought first to the God who knows pain. Those whose experience is of bitter tears and unrelenting loss may need to find the God who has also experienced abandonment. For what Christ went through at Gethsemene was not play-acting. It was  agonising fear, a dread of what lay ahead and a longing for an alternative route. What Christ experienced at Calvary was not a temporary set-back, easily endurable because of the glory that lay ahead. It was nothing other than the sense of deepest desolation.

Good Friday brings us a story of crucifixion which is cosmic in its implications but very personal in its associations. It throws a lifeline to those people whose world falls apart, whose family and friendships are shattered by the coldness and evil they meet in hard places. It relates to those who know what it is to feel utterly Godforsaken, who know how dark it can get in the middle of the day. People who go through their own hour of emptiness and anguish need us to acknowledge the God of Good Friday before they can ever begin to experience Easter Day.  For it may be some time yet for them before the earth shakes, the rocks split open, and the grave is shown to be empty.

Cambridge

March 2007

Conflict in Thailand 

This was written for the Church Times in September 2006.

It was something of a coincidence that a trip to Thailand for an International Consultation on Conflict should end with a military coup. The Micah network had chosen Chiang Mai as a strategic and peaceful location for its large gathering of delegates from 52 countries. The consultation was open and stimulating, enhanced by free access to the global media. Two weeks later, those of us who were now in Bangkok saw tanks and guns on the streets and experienced a total blackout of all foreign television and broadcasting channels. It was a striking contrast. (It also seemed an extreme way to register dissatisfaction with a Prime Minister. What was wrong, I wondered, with a parliamentary vote of ‘no confidence’ and a general election?)

This experience of contrasts recurred throughout my time in Thailand. In the consultation, it had been there in the difference of perspectives between delegates from the South, and those from Europe, Australasia and America. We were fellow and sister Christians but our experiences of conflict differed hugely. Conflict in many African countries meant genocide, brutality and millions dead. Conflict in most ‘first world’ contexts meant irritation with governments or frustration at the limited outlook of churches. The Thai delegation was glad that their way of dealing with conflict had become the way of democracy and the ballot box. It is sad that General Sonthi Booyaratglin returned it to what the Jakarta Post called a ‘power grab through the use of force.’

After the consultation I travelled east to Mukdahan, near the border with Laos. We were visiting Siam Care, an organisation which offers home-based work amongst families affected by HIV/Aids. In fact, its medical and educational support to disadvantaged people within local communities has become a model adopted across many other countries. Here, I was to find another contrast. Sian Care’s foundation, aims and direction are explicitly Christian, yet the majority of its staff are Buddhist. Since they were also the ones visiting the families and offering the care, I wondered how this might work out without some sort of conflict.

We soon found out. The young Thai woman who had organised our visit explained we began the day with staff prayers. I was to give a Bible study: then there would be worship, and intercession. She was a Buddhist, but this was a key part of her week. All the staff were present, expressing delight that they had more Christians among them who would share a deeper knowledge of the Bible passages.

If this was a surprise there were bigger ones to come. Our Buddhist host had lined up visits to people who, in her view, needed prayer. A little girl, infected from birth with HIV, now brought up by grandfather, was afraid of leaving him and going to hospital; an elderly man with a rapidly deteriorating blood condition was terrified at the prospect of a leg amputation; a man recovering from cancer surgery on his large intestine wanted to find God and know forgiveness. Our host was convinced that Christians should pray with them. It didn’t matter that we spoke only English. She would translate.

I have always known that Christ is the Prince of Peace, but experiences in Thailand reinforced that in a new way. The humility of spirit which allows a Jesus-believing Buddhist to create space for Christ’s love to reach others is a humility already rooted in God’s grace. And it is this grace, in contrast to assertive displays of military might, that lays the foundation for resolving conflict, for grace alone allows flawed people to open up truth and give peace a chance.

Cambridge

Sept 2006

Not Forgiving Debts

This was written for the Church Times February 2005

The debt forgiveness campaign has taken a steady move forward this week with the G8 summit and its commitment in principle to cancel debts of the poorest countries. It is encouraging that Gordon Brown has led the way in addressing the issue amongst finance ministers, and the work to come will test the real strength of the resolutions. The campaign is now a broad one, but its roots were in the biblical principle of debt cancellation, echoed in the Scottish version of the Lord’s prayer: ‘forgive us our debts as we forgive our debtors.” Forgiving the debts of the poor, not least of poorest countries in Africa is a very high priority. The link between debt and poverty has long been clear. Currencies quickly become depressed by repayment burdens, and annual debt repayments can take half the export earnings in some countries. Nevertheless, the cancellation of three hundred billion dollars of debt is a substantial undertaking, and will need to be done with care about how the new resources are used. And debt forgiveness will not close down other issues of trade fairness and openness, or exploitation and global slavery. These all will have to be addressed if African and worldwide poverty is really to be cut in half.

There are some interesting economics which surround this kind of decision. The link with the Marshall Plan after 1945 is often drawn. Then, the United States gave help to the devastated countries of Europe which enabled them to rebuild and recover much more quickly. The trade benefits and export buoyancy also allowed the United States to enjoy a level of growth that would not have otherwise happened. Giving and writing off debt proved of benefit to the giver. This process is not some kind of magic. It grows from the interdependence of our economic activities. At the same time, the costs of debt forgiveness are real, and the decision has to be one of principle. The motive has to be concern for our neighbours and not self-interest.

The Marshall Plan was a long time ago, and this week the United States was in different  mood, deciding against participation in the process of cancelling debt. Given the size of the American economy, this is a major set-back.  There is also a deep irony embedded in this decision. For the United States is by far the world’s greatest debtor. Their debt is not directly owed to the IMF or other international agencies, but is the accumulated debt resulting from trade deficit. The figure is some $4 trillion and is running at an astounding annual rate of half a trillion dollars. This is big, resulting from the United States’ demand for goods and energy to support an affluent lifestyle. And although the dollar has lost about a sixth of its value recently, this kind of deficit will not easily shrink. As long as investors worldwide are prepared to hold their investments in US dollars the debt can be sustained. If they are not, the dollar will slide further and disinvestment in the United States could be considerable.

Jesus told a salutary story of a great debtor who refused to forgive the debt of small debtor when he himself was not having to pay anything back. The double standard brought condemnation and disaster. It’s a parable which has a frightening relevance. Where the richest nations are the world’s greatest debtors, and the richest of all is not prepared to forgive the debts of the needy and exploited, something seems amiss. And the effects of the decision could reverberate in world affairs for years to come.

Oxford

February 2005