21/12/2024
Writing in today's Yorkshire Post, Archbishop Stephen suggests that feeding the world, must also mean feeding the heart, feeding the mind, feeding the spirit. The article follows in full
In 1984, Bob Geldof and Midge Ure brought together a group of remarkable artists to create “Do They Know It’s Christmas?” Released under the name Band Aid, this song captured the hearts of millions, inspiring generosity and hope for those in desperate need. It was one of those moments in history that is etched onto the memory of those who were alive at the time.
The song is still well remembered, re-recorded and re-released, though some of us cringe slightly at the line, ‘Do they know it’s Christmas?’ since some of the oldest Christian communities in the world are African. And of course there is snow in Africa.
Nevertheless, forty years later, we are still inspired by that unprecedented galvanisation of people who discovered a shared energy to make something happen, to feed the world.
We need such a galvanization today. We need to come together, not just because we face such enormous challenges - the rising cost of living, the plight of migrants seeking refuge, a strained healthcare system - but because as well as war and conflict continuing in Ukraine and the Holy Land—the very birthplace of Jesus – there is war and turmoil in our hearts too.
Social media pushes us away from each other into siloes of fierce belonging and exaggerated opposition. We are in danger of forgetting that we belong to each other and that our interests are tied up with each other and that if we want to be fed and clothed and have the security, prosperity and hopeful futures we long for, then we must pay attention to the need of our neighbours, whether they are literally the people living next door or our neighbours across the world.
The Christmas story gives us this hopeful narrative, because the whole world is invited to the stable at Bethlehem, shepherds from the nearby fields and kings from afar.
I am also filled with hope when I see so many little stories of hopeful renewal and of individuals and communities rising up to live a different kind of life.
Like the people of all ages in Hull who the morning after the summer riots this year gathered in the city centre with brooms and bin bags to help clean up. That same day council workers had been clapped and cheered as they worked through the night to clear away the debris.
I see local charities, churches and businesses working together across Yorkshire to bring light and life to those in great need. I know of one church and foodbank charity here in York who have teamed up to supply hampers full of food and Christmas treats to struggling families in their area. Many of the donations were generously supplied by their local supermarket.
I've even been inspired (and horrified) by the Channel Four documentary Swiped, the story of the school that banned smartphones. It follows a group of Year 8 pupils as their phones are locked away in a glass cube for three weeks. I'd quite like to take part in a similar experiment myself. But there are some seriously disturbing statistics in this programme; like the child who woke up to 3,000 notifications on her phone and the fact that by the age of 11 a quarter of children have already watched pornography. No wonder so many children and young people suffer with so many mental health issues. No wonder the rest of us often feel the same way.
Feeding the world, must also mean feeding the heart, feeding the mind, feeding the spirit. And with such unfettered and often unregulated access to, well, everything, childhood itself is squeezed and diminished. All of us tipped up in a land of dizzying and noisy poverty. A spiritual poverty, where we are constantly bombarded with either frivolity or anger.
Christmas offers the possibility of something else. First of all, a silence and a stillness. A wonder. The birth of a child. A wonder that is both the most everyday – the birth of a child, just like all the thousands of new births that happen every day - and the most wondrous and the most extra-ordinary, the birth of a child who will, at last, show us how to be human without the clamour and the chatter, the violence and the greed.
The invitation of Christmas, if you can wade through all the Christmas clamour itself, is to enter into this stillness and this silence and simply pause in adoration before the manger at Bethlehem.
This isn’t an easy thing to do. After all, just like those Year 8 Pupils, we are locked onto our phones like they were an extra limb or a life support system. You may even be reading this article on one.
So in a minute, put it down. Switch off the television. Take out your ear buds. See if you can hear angels singing instead. The promise of peace on earth. Goodwill to everyone. All my neighbours, and especially the ones I don’t know whose well-being is bound up with mine.
Stop. Ask yourself what you really want for Christmas.
Is it not this peace? Is it not this good will? Is it not this hope?
See it, seek it and savour it in the very best that you can be, and in the best of what you see around you in courageous leadership that seeks peace, and in all the tiny acts of kindness that oil the wheels of goodness.
As we gather with loved ones this Christmas, let us also think of how we can extend the spirit of the season to those who are alone, suffering, or in need.
In the last month, the Church of England has been humbled by our failures to keep children and vulnerable adults safe. The Christmas story places a vulnerable child at the centre. This is a lesson for all of us to learn. Putting the need of others first. Let us work toward building a world - and a church - that reflects the love and generosity at the heart of the Christmas story. Let us feed the world.
