Mona Siddiqui

14 JAN 26

13 JAN 26

12 JAN 26

10 JAN 26

09 JAN 26

Good morning. Over New Year, two elite Premier League clubs decided being in the top six wasn’t good enough, and they needed a new manager. One of them, Chelsea, has appointed the man currently in charge of Strasbourg, Liam Rosenior. Rosenior becomes one of only two Black managers among the 20 Premier League clubs—making him one of just 12 Black individuals to hold a managerial position in the Premier League since Ruud Gullit's appointment in 1996. 43 per cent of Premier League players are black. Yet a contrasting 97 per cent of their exec and non-exec leaders are white. Rosenior’s demeanour taking up the role has been gracious. Unusually, he gave a press conference at the club he’s left, thanking them for the opportunity and expressing his affection for the team. He has a history of writing a column for a national newspaper and raising issues of race and justice. Wayne Rooney’s among those who’ve lauded his coaching style. I have a friend who, when he married a white woman, had to wait six years before he was welcomed in her parents’ home. But I’ve never heard him utter a word of reproach or introduce race as a reason for any denial of opportunities elsewhere. By contrast I have another black friend who’s repeatedly been subject to projections about her volatility, unreliability and lack of organisation, whereas I’ve always found her meticulously well prepared and even-tempered. We’ve often spoken about whether making a formal complaint would be wise or counterproductive. Last week the Australian cricketer Usman Khawaja, announcing his retirement, looked back over his 88-test career. He said, ‘I had to work harder than everyone else, score more runs than the rest, and make sure I didn't give them any excuse not to pick me.’ Like my two friends, Liam Rosenior and Usman Khawaja have had to choose when to fight and call out, and when to put their head down and trust their own ability and the goodness of the system they’re in. Jesus did both. He certainly preached humble faithfulness and self-denying sacrifice. But if that’s all he’d said, he’d never have been crucified. He was crucified because he told the political and religious leaders of his time they were wrong about truth, about justice, and about God, and because he proclaimed and modelled a society where everyone belonged with one another and with him. For him, social change was about setting an outstanding example, but also taking the risk of directly and unflinchingly highlighting where that ideal was being blocked or subtly subverted. Two thousand years later, nothing much has changed.

The Bible doesn’t call them kings, nor that there were three of them. But tradition has come to call them kings, with their famous three gifts - gold for wealth, frankincense for divinity, myrrh for death. And there are other kings in the story. Herod is the tyrant king, the might is right king, the king who will do anything to retain power. And Bethlehem, where all the action takes place, is the City of King David, the harking back to the glory days king. And then there is the child in a stable king, the one who will be crowned with thorns, the one to whom the so-called three kings bow down. Epiphany is a reflection on what makes for a good king. It’s an interesting coincidence that the feast of the Epiphany, on the 6th January, is also the date of that attempted insurrection in Washington DC, where thousands stormed the Capital building to try and overturn the results of the 2020 election. And last year the No Kings demonstrations brought millions of people out onto the streets in protest. American independence was gained by throwing off the authority of George III, which is why someone behaving like a king can feel like a threat to American identity. Back in Bethlehem two thousand years ago, a weak and pathetic baby gurgles in an out-house, surrounded by cattle. For Christians, this child is the presence of God Almighty, the king of kings. But he doesn’t look like a king. “Mild he lays his glory by” we sing. Power and wealth, typically defining qualities of kingly rule, seem to have been set aside by this strange monarch. In adult life he will come to speak about a kingdom, but one quite unlike the kingdoms of the earth. Here the first shall be last, the poor will be robed in ermine, here peace will have more effect than violence, where human love is the battle cry and strength is made perfect in weakness. It is a curious programme of political action – except that over the centuries billions have pledged their allegiance to it. And whilst some have argued that kings have some God given right to rule, others have referenced the kingdom Jesus spoke about as one to whom all, even monarchs, should pay homage. “No King but Jesus” was the revolutionary cry of the Parliamentarians as they sought to bring down the regime of Charles 1st. In that stable in Bethlehem, those three kings cast their crowns before the Christ child. This is the template for genuine Christian rule, an acknowledgement that all are subject to that other kingdom, however glamourous and mighty they might think of themselves. And as for that last gift of myrrh for death, it is a reminder that no kingly rule can last forever. In the end, Christians believe that we will all have to give an account of ourselves. And the mighty of this world will be judged accordingly.

06 JAN 26

05 JAN 26

03 JAN 26