Pause for Prayer

A few minutes ago, three fighter jets flew by the house in close formation. Hopefully, within a few minutes more, there will be another fly past.  Will they be the Red Arrows, I wonder? The iconic RAF display team is wonderful to watch, and, at sunset, if they trail the red, white and blue smoke, they will look wonderful as they dart over the Thames, past the Houses of Parliament and circle

Buckingham
Palace.

There will also be a gun salute which, in the quieter atmosphere of evening, should be in hearing distance, even if the guns will be fired from the battery stand close to
St. Paul’s Cathedral.

Hopefully, within the space of a single hour, Princes William and Harry will have helped to raise £1 million for those military who have been injured in Iraq and Afghanistan and who are being treated at the special hospital and rehabilitation unit south of
London.

It is a special event, to be sure, but would it not be even more special were it to be declared this evening that war, fighting and bloodshed were to be abolished throughout the world and for ever?

This morning, I had occasion to interview a priest in
Myanmar about the terrible tragedy that has devastated the country during the past few days.

Hearing a firsthand account over the telephone was considerably more real than listening to reports on radio or television.

Would it not be wonderful if the world could change and, instead of the power and greed of a few, there could be the generosity and courage of the many leading the way?

Prince of Peace and King of Love, may your kingdom come and not mine.

May your will be done, and not mine.

God bless,

Sr. Janet

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Why bother about sleeping? Underneath the window, the Council has come to dig up and repair a road that seemed okay to me less than three hours ago.

The first vehicle was fascinating. It sucked up the tarmac as though it were a starving beast, spewing out the road surface into the truck immediately ahead (and successfully dodging a tree in the process).

Then a second contraption, this time with a large bucket affair to the fore, scraped up any tarmac that had missed its massive predecessor.

Four men, each wearing a luminous yellow jacket marked ‘safety inspector’, performed their inspections. Were they the dreaded Health and Safety Executive? I have no idea, but their eventual departure to the side of the road made it possible for the pneumatic drills to begin working.

The sequence continued with a motorised vacuum cleaner winding backwards and forwards, ahead of a truck laden with rolls of blue-something…

…and then the process began all over again as a second strip of tarmac was removed from the previously intact and innocuous road.

The whole business would be fascinating were it not already quite late at night.

Why is it that some people’s work is never convenient to others? There would be complaints were the road to be closed and resurfaced during the day. There are different complaints when it happens at night. There are some battles that are never won even though they must be fought.

It is all rather like the chiselling away that God does. He does not always mould me into the person he wants me to be at a time that is convenient to my own schedule. He works according to his own timetable, which seems interminable on some occasions and then rather too rapid at others. The trouble is that he is dealing with eternity, which is rather different from our concepts, which are limited to time.

Yet, just as surely as the noisy contraptions outside my window will have, presumably, laid a new road surface by tomorrow morning, even at a measure of cost to those of us who are trapped in its immediate vicinity, so God will work steadily and unendingly until I have become exactly who he knew me to be from all eternity. He does not sleep either!

God bless,
Sr. Janet

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Standing at a bus stop one day, I was distracted by a painting on a nearby wall. I did not agree with the theme, but I had to admit to myself that the image of an irate husband and his anxious wife looking out of a window whilst the dishevelled lover dangled by his fingertips from the window ledge, was extraordinarily well drawn. Who on earth had spent the time necessary to paint such a scene, in such an inconvenient location and without being caught?

Unknown to me at the time, I had just spotted a piece of work of the famous and never-seen artist, Banksy.

This weekend, graffiti artists from several countries and, yes, Banksy himself, (or herself??) have exercised their skills on the walls of a short tunnel near Waterloo Station. Cans of spray paint have given birth to the name ‘Cans Festival’ (with no apologies to Cannes!)

Graffiti can be unsightly, but it can also be beautiful.

It was amazing to see a lengthening line of people waiting to see the graffiti for themselves. Some of them would never dream of visiting an art gallery, and yet, there they were, standing patiently and happily for their turn to enter the tunnel. There must have been thousands of photographs taken of images that would otherwise perhaps been dismissed in a different context.

Everybody, in the right context, is an artist capable of creating something beautiful for others to enjoy.

Each and every one of us is God’s own work of art.

That is definitely worth celebrating!

God bless,
Sr. Janet

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Today, London elects its new mayor.

Last night, as I hurried past the Houses of Parliament, through the heavy rain, one of the two men walking towards me, was one of the mayoral candidates. On this occasion, he was not electioneering and was merely deep in conversation with his companion. He appeared exhausted, bedraggled and very human. He had no umbrella and was merely becoming increasingly wet.

Recently, a friend who is ‘in the know’ remarked in a conversation that “Gordon Brown is a thoroughly decent person” but that “it’s not fair because the media does not give him a chance.”

Regardless of Party politics and policies, what is it about our society that automatically puts up someone in public life as one to be pilloried? Somehow there is a tendency to criticise, sometimes cruelly, sometimes unjustly, politicians and celebrities in a way that we would never dare with those who are in our immediate circle. It is almost as though, once an individual ‘goes public’, they lose their humanity and their right to a good name or to personal privacy. If, on the other hand, we are denied the right to criticise, then somebody, somewhere, is acting against ‘our right to free speech’.

When does our exercise of ‘free speech’ become merely a gross lack of charity?

Why do we sometimes allow the media to direct our thinking and acting, so that we, albeit unconsciously, assume their bias as our own without stopping to evaluate the reality of the situation? We speak of a ‘media bandwagon’, see the damage it does, and yet, somehow, fail to push that same media to use its power for good.

In a few minutes time, I will join the large number of people at the polling station. In one sense, it is free and fair. There has been an enormous effort made to portray each candidate in a balanced fashion, such that most voters can list all the good and the bad points of each candidate. I do not intend staying up tonight in order to hear the election results: they will, no doubt, be exhaustively covered by all the media tomorrow morning.

Yet, as I go to cast my own vote, my thoughts are turning back towards one very wet, very tired, mayoral candidate who, whatever his chances, has exhausted himself in the election process. The media did not portray a human being like the rest of us, trying his best to persuade the voting public. He will be covered in glory should he win, although his will be an unenviable responsibility, but, should he lose, who will be there to ease the disappointment and to inspire him to ‘keep on going’?

When does our exercise of ‘free speech’ become merely a gross lack of charity?

God bless,
Sr. Janet

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It was a tiny, inconsequential but thought-provoking incident. An elderly woman glared disapprovingly as I pulled out and used a hairbrush. I knew it wasn’t the place for it, but tossed up between good manners and tidiness. She was not to know that I had just worked an eight-hour shift and walked four miles in the wind and rain to reach the meeting.

How often do we jump to conclusions about others, especially when they are complete strangers? How often do we make allowances for circumstances of which we know nothing?

How often do we allow charity to triumph over our own, possibly faulty, conclusions?

God bless,
Sr. Janet

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