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It was a totally mad plan and I had my doubts that we could ever pull it off. My friend David Lan, who used to run the Young Vic theatre in South London, came up with the idea of walking a three and a half meter puppet all the way from the Syrian border, through Europe, and up into Manchester. The puppet represents a child called Little Amal, a refugee, searching for her parents. Half endurance event, half theatrical extravaganza, Amal was put together by the same people who made that famous horse puppet for the Westend hit WarHorse. On Tuesday, she made it over from Turkey into the Greek town of Chios, home of one of the largest migrant camps in Greece. “Felt like the whole town was out to greet her” David wrote to me yesterday, describing it as the “best night of my life.” There are many ways of telling the story about the migrant crisis. For some it represents a huge demographic threat and there’s probably not a European country where it isn’t a hot button political issue. But this project focuses on the human scale. It’s the heart-breaking story of a nine-year-old girl, escaping political violence, lost in an often hostile and alien world. The United Nations estimate that 9,000 unaccompanied children arrived in Europe during 2019. Many of them went missing after they arrived. My small role in this project was to help think about the welcome Amal might receive by churches, mosques and synagogues along the way. It’s an important perspective, not just because refugees from places like Syria and Afghanistan tend to be more religious than Europeans, but also because the Abrahamic faiths are themselves shot through with stories of refugees seeking asylum. From the people of Israel escaping persecution in Egypt, to the experience of exile in the land of Babylon - where scholars believe much of the Biblical material was first laid down - the Bible is fundamentally refugee literature, where salvation is often understood as finding a home. I don’t envy those who have to make difficult political decisions about border management, but when asylum seekers turn up at my church, as they often do, our job is to respond to their situation individually, face to face. The other day a family came to us after escaping persecution in Iran. They had just crossed the channel with their young daughter. All they wanted from me was Holy Communion and a Bible in Farsi. Amal is physically supported by three puppeteers at any one time. Carrying her 8,000 km is an arduous business and an act of considerable love. Carrying people is also my job as a priest. Refugees are not just a problem to be solved, but also vulnerable strangers in need of love and support.