Mona Siddiqui

Good morning. The strike by resident doctors highlights the severe tensions faced by the National Health Service. The tragedy of the dispute, and any disruption experienced by patients, is that all sides involved no doubt very much want health services to improve. So as resolution is sought can this also be a moment to ask again an increasingly pressing question. What exactly is health? The issue often came to the fore when I worked in the NHS. My role was as a psychotherapist in a psychiatric hospital. We worked with older adults who had often suffered for not just years but decades. Their pain was substantial and entrenched. What could be offered to such folk? What did we mental health professionals think we were doing? There were no easy answers. Suffering is hard. But a light might flicker in the darkness when a patient felt heard. They realised, even momentarily, that they were with someone who didn’t have any immediate remedy but did appreciate the depth of their torment. Many doctors will know such moments. There is a glimpse of connection that is potentially healing and powerful. But why? The answer provides a clue to a notion of health that is not only about an absence of symptoms, valuable though that most certainly is. With a patient who feels heard, you together enter a field of existence that is wider than the previously isolated, suffering soul knew was possible. A dimension of life, not determined by having solutions, is discovered as a release or expansion. The word “health” itself recognises the possibility as it comes from the old English for “whole”. Believers in God will recognise that wholeness as an intuition: our existence as individuals is actually a sharing in the existence of God. We are as many reflections of the one divine light. A shift of perspective, a kind of conversion, is required for this transcendent awareness to become a steady part of life. The difference with this fuller notion of health or wholeness is that you don’t privately possess it, let alone control it, but rather it holds you and you might collaborate with it more fully. The NHS will likely continue to struggle with the demands it faces, even as - and perhaps because - remarkable improvements in treatments will continue, too. In this context, a cultural and spiritual conversation about the wider nature of health is crucial. Like the patient who feels better because they are heard, a more expansive vision of what health entails, and indeed what it is to live well, will alleviate stresses on us all.

09 APRIL 26

08 APRIL 26

Along with joy, there’s a lot of fear in the days after Easter – no less for Jesus’ disciples than in our news today. It has made me think about doors. The door behind which Jesus’ disciples hid after his death, the heavy stone that blocked the tomb where he’d been laid, the doors today that keep people out, or in, or protect property or borders. And symbolic doors – to peace or security – that still feel so definitely closed. This morning the metal-shuttered door at the Whitechapel Mission in the east end of London opened as it always does at 6 AM – exactly on time so guests can count on it. Breakfast service will start in a few minutes at 8, and it’s likely over 200 will eat a full English, complete with mushrooms and bacon, sausage, egg and hashbrowns. Today these homeless guests will be served by wonderful volunteers who left their own doors well before dawn. Having a key to open my front door and a safe place to live is a real blessing – I like being safe. And yet I think about the women who went up to Jesus’ tomb to anoint his body on Easter morning: wisdom would say stay home hiding with the men. And having left the safety provided by one door, they didn’t know how they’d get through the next. The Gospel records their conversation: who would move the stone to open the tomb ? Yet, they went. We might think of Jesus’ resurrection as a miracle, but it was actually just what he said would happen, even if no one had understood. God will redeem the world. However these women going out while the danger was still present - that feels to me a miracle no less real, hiding in plain sight. And it gives me hope. Easter is not about things being safe, but about things being different. Doors open where we do not expect. The power to do miracles given to people forgotten by headlines – women and men who go out in faith and change history. On Saturday I heard the BBC’s Lyse Doucet speculate about one possible turn of events in Iran: ‘…God help the world,’ she said with real emphasis. …God help the world indeed … because, I fear, nothing else has.’ Maybe, this Monday, the beginnings of the miracles we hope for are in our power already. Long term solutions to intractable problems – they are not cost free. But in the end real safety doesn’t come from bigger doors or stronger locks.

04 APRIL 26

Thought for the Day

03 APRIL 26

02 APRIL 26

Good Morning. Tonight is Seder night, the start of Passover, the Jewish Festival of Freedom, when we recall the Exodus from Egypt, our people’s journey from slavery to liberation. It’s a story which embraces all our stories. My mother, aged a hundred, tells how she escaped Nazi Europe. A woman whose husband is imprisoned in the Congo says, ‘May God who freed your people, free him.’ A Muslim guest who fled for his life stands up and exclaims: ‘Your story is my story too.’ For, far from free, so much of the world suffers beneath oppression and war. Maybe that’s why the Seder ends with a song, Chad Gadya, which means ‘one little goat’ in Aramaic. It’s a ditty in the style of The House That Jack Built: a cat eats the goat, dog bites cat, stick hits dog, fire burns stick, water quenches fire, cow drinks water, butcher kills cow, the angel of death despatches the butcher. But then comes God and slays the angel of death. I have a vivid memory of my grandfather, aged and weak, catching my eye and whispering at what he knew would be his final Seder, ‘after death comes God.’ That was his faith, his hope. But does God have the last word in our violent world? It hardly feels that way today. I phone family in Jerusalem: we’re in and out of bomb shelters. My heart goes out to them. I call an Iranian friend: ‘No word from my sisters in Tehran.’ ‘My hometown’s just been bombed,’ a Ukrainian acquaintance texts me. So that Chad Gadya song feels like a metaphor for history, only it’s not goats and cats, but humanity who’s the victim. In their heart-rending shared memorial service, bereaved Israeli and Palestinian families sing that song in Hebrew and Arabic together. Yet, I still see my grandfather’s face and hear his whisper: after the angel of death comes God; life is greater than death. But I hear those words as a question: What world is this? What do we want it to be? Of death, or life; oppression or freedom; cruelty or compassion? I pray this Passover will truly mark our journey towards freedom, so that we can celebrate God’s world together, knowing that the same sacred spirit flows through us all, whatever our faith or nationality, giving life to all that breathes. We’ve had too much of cat eating goat, human devouring human. May this Festival of Freedom mark our liberation from hatred, violence and fear, for my people, and every people.

31 MAR 26