Â鶹Éç

Available for over a year

Good morning. As the agony in Gaza and Israel enters its third week, the temptation to switch off can grow stronger. On both sides, so much suffering, so many deaths: communities destroyed; children wounded and killed – and an overwhelming sense of grief, fear and anger. Of course we’d rather look in another direction, hide away untroubled – a choice not open to those whose very existence is imperilled by people with bombs and guns and power. I know there are days when I’ve watched enough, read enough, and need a break. The papers must be put down, the bulletins missed. There’s only so much that anyone can take. Yet I also know that I’ll be back. That’s not just because I might be a news junkie, since journalism in some form has been part of my life since I was wearing short trousers. It’s also because I sense some kind of responsibility to know what’s happening, even some of the nastiest bits; being a witness, if you will, so that I’m challenged: to change my thinking, maybe; to take some practical action like writing a letter or sending some money; laying the suffering before God in prayer. It's no accident that one honoured expression of Christian devotion involves meditating on the wounds of Christ. Paintings of the crucifixion have come from some of the world’s greatest artists. Concert halls can still be packed for a requiem mass by Bach or Mozart which tells the story through sublime music. Churches of virtually every tradition cherish communion as a regular feature of their life together. Through bread and wine, that meal unashamedly focuses on the suffering of Jesus, in his broken body and shed blood. In the words of the Hebrew prophet Isaiah often read at such a time: ‘He was wounded for our transgressions, and with his stripes we are healed.’ Far from being morbid and introspective, such a service celebrates the conviction that the one who has suffered and died is also alive and still active in the world, offering forgiveness, sharing the world’s pain. Before the pain of the people of Gaza and Israel at this time we can so easily feel helpless – as indeed we might before so many of the tragedies which make it to the news agendas. Yet we never are completely helpless, if we’re open to having our minds changed Even by expressing sympathy we imply a willingness to enter another person’s pain in some way. What that might go on to mean for any of us I don’t know. But whether or not we claim a religious faith, if we’re determined to keep away from news which upsets us, we’re never likely to find out.