There's nowhere to hide. 

During the past year, we've seen the net close. Close around criminals on the run, trying to evade justice in Spain. Close around some of the last remaining Nazi war criminals. Close around men guilty of crimes against children and vulnerable adults. Close around those whose actions have been dark, whether those actions were publicly known or whether they were formerly hidden in secret.

There's nowhere to hide, and justice has been done.

It's a stark image of Advent; of the coming of Christ, when the secrets of all our hearts will be disclosed. Judgement may not be a popular theme - at least, not if we're to be the ones in the dock - but Christian teaching is clear: we are accountable to God, and will eventually answer for our actions. It's imperative for us to call on God's mercy here and now, to repent and seek his renewal in our lives. Those who call upon the name of the Lord will be saved.

Advent is therefore a season of penitence as well as preparation. At the Eucharist, we omit the Gloria but sing the Kyries: 'Lord, have mercy upon us. Christ, have mercy upon us. Lord, have mercy upon us.'  'Kyrie eleison. Christe eleison. Kyrie eleison.' The words form a focal point in church, written as they are (in Greek) on the High Altar frontal. And even more important than the words is the way we conduct our lives, seeking forgiveness from God and our neighbour for all that has been amiss, and serving Christ more fully in the needy of the world.

One of the vows made in the Benedictine monastic tradition is the vow of stability. Stability means that members of religious communities should not move from one place to another when the going becomes hard. Instead, they commit to stay where they are, living in community even with those they dislike, misunderstand or find difficult; living in community with those whom they may have wronged or offended, or who may have wronged or offended them. Only by so doing can all those concerned learn how to give and receive forgiveness, to grow in love and understanding, to become the people of God amongst whom the presence of Christ will be revealed.

Stability isn't popular today. All too often, we choose a different path. When we find the life of the church challenging, we run away. We assume that a fresh start somewhere else, among people more agreeable to ourselves, in circumstances that are different, will be the solution. Occasionally, that may even be the case. But usually, we take the problem with us because it's part of us. We try to run away from it, but it catches up with us again. We can't escape from ourselves, try as we might. Indeed, the challenges may arise precisely because God is bringing to light within us the truth about ourselves in order that we can grow spiritually. One outcome of running away is that our failure to grow through adversity stifles our spiritual life.

And if we spend our life trying to escape from ourselves, from those aspects of our character which need to be overcome or redeemed, how will we stand before God at the last?

During Advent, therefore, we examine ourselves and repent. We seek to make a fresh start. We open our lives more consciously to the voice of God, heard as we worship, pray, reflect on Scripture - and relate to other people. We try to be more honest with ourselves and others, and before God. And we learn, little by little, to work through the challenges presented - presented not so much by others, but by our own self in relation to them. The only way we can escape from ourselves is to be transformed, to become re-created in Christ. In so doing, we find our feelings of blame, guilt or anger give way to peace, joy and redemption.

Thank you to the person who wrote to me about the Israeli/Palestinian issue. I'm sorry you didn't include either an address or a legible signature - it means I can't give you the courtesy of a personal reply. I hope you find this rather more public reflection thought-provoking instead.

Presumably your letter is in connection with the display of artwork by the children of Gaza. Have you come along to look at it? If so, you'll know that it expresses a longing for peace and hope, but it also reveals all too clearly their exposure to armed hostility, tanks, bombers, injury, destruction, and death. Would you agree that it is scandalous that the lives of these children are blighted by violence and trauma? Would you accept that for a fair hearing in this or any other situation, the voices of all parties should be heard?

You don't mention whether you have ever visited either Israel or Palestine. I have. Twice. I'm certainly not an expert, but I can speak from my limited first-hand experiences of the situation there.

I met good, decent, educated people from all three major faiths and both states. 

I met Israelis who were as horrified as Palestinians that land continues to be taken from Palestinians for roads and settlements without proper consultation, agreement or redress. That was even before the days of the wall which partitions off the Palestinians living in the West Bank and the Gaza Strip, a partition which has made their quality of life (and, indeed, the survival chances for some of those seeking medical care) immeasurably worse. Have we never learned the lessons of history - that oppression and injustice eventually have devastating consequences? Do we not understand that living in mutual fear and hatred dehumanises us?

I met Palestinians (Muslim as well as Christian) who were as dismayed as Israelis at the attempts of those in their own state to resort to violence. (Admittedly there are those who hold other views, who ask whether they will ever enjoy freedom, justice and peace without an armed struggle.) Like many Palestinian people, I certainly don't condone violence, especially arbitrary violence against innocent civilians. And I worry about which views will come to the fore in the next generation, given the trauma evident in the artwork.

I met extraordinary, ordinary people working for peace, people who know that true peace will only be achieved when injustice is acknowledged and addressed, when mutual dignity, respect and rights are established, and when light is brought to bear on the various grievances and, to be frank, prejudices held on both sides.

Those prejudices are deep-rooted and all too easily spread. You use the word 'propaganda', and the reality is indeed sharply differing perspectives on history: the perspectives of the victor and of the disenfranchised. Naturally enough, given the cultural and linguistic ties and the events of history, it's the victor's account which dominates in the Western world - and the voice of the disenfranchised which focuses the grievances, real or imagined, of others. You clearly have a great deal of sympathy with the Israeli side; have you ever tried to listen to the Palestinian voice? One needs to hear both in order to arrive at a balanced understanding of the situation. 

Perhaps, then, you may care to visit and listen to some of the Palestinian people still living in refugee camps, following their expulsion from the land their families had inhabited for generations? Before doing so, take a look at the map below, and reflect on it. How would you feel if it was a map, not of Palestine, but of the UK? Perhaps you might read the text in the other photo, and ask yourself why children's art should be censored. Could that reflect an unwillingness to face the truth it conveys - or to allow others to hear it? Perhaps you might like to read through the resolutions adopted by the UN Security Council (which you can access here); the Israeli/Palestinian situation has been a running sore and a matter of serious concern to the international community for over half a century. Your assertion of good neighbourliness would still ring as hollow today in Lebanon, Syria and Palestine as it would in the UN Security Council itself.

Knee-jerk reactions from either side merely inflame the situation. Of course it's unacceptable that civilians in any land, of any faith or culture, should be subject to violence and insecurity. But seeking to load the blame on one side or the other is futile. Each side feeds off the other. The violence and distrust is a cycle, which neither side alone is powerful or courageous enough to break.

The main and, I believe, the only realistic hope for a better future will come with listening, understanding, and careful negotiation. The fact that it won't be easy is well attested by the number of failed attempts over the years to broker a peace process. Despite that background, we have learned from lands such as South Africa and Northern Ireland that political progress is possible from positions of entrenched views, deep distrust and outbreaks of violence.

But until we grasp that the situation is not cut-and-dried, that there are voices to listen to other than those we've already heard, we're unlikely to make any progress. Presenting a different perspective on the issue, allowing other experiences to be shared, is a constructive and necessary contribution to the debate. I for one am glad that we are able to help in some small way by hosting this exhibition. If you have not already done so, I hope you will come along and see it, reflect on it, and use it to broaden both your outlook and your prayers. 

Fr Christopher

On the waterfront of the Macedonian resort of Ohrid stand three imposing statues. One depicts Ss Cyril and Methodius. Another is of St Clement of Ohrid. The third (pictured) is of St Naum of Ohrid. 

These four men worked to bring the Gospel to the Slavic people during the ninth century. They preached, founded churches and monsteries, and developed an alphabet for the Slavic language (hence 'Cyrillic script') in order that the Gospels and the liturgy could be translated and read in the native tongue.

Later in his life, St Naum founded a monastery (which now bears his name) on the shore of Lake Ohrid, a few miles from the town. He died there in the year 910. I visited the monastery over the summer, and did what most tourists and pilgrims do: knelt on the floor next to his grave and put my ear to it. And sure enough, I heard what others had spoken of: the heartbeat of St Naum.

Our guide suggested it was merely the sound of one's own heartbeat, somehow reflected back. I don't believe that. Looking at it rationally, I think it may have been the sound of an underground pump taking water from the lake. But actually, I'm content to think of it as his heartbeat after all; a claim which has symbolic if not literal truth.

Because a heartbeat is a sign of life. And the heartbeat of St Naum, and the heartbeats of his companions, still beat wherever their churches and monasteries flourish. They still beats as Cyrillic script is used - not only in the liturgy, but in the wider life of the world. They still beat through the values, traditions and attitudes they implanted. They still beat through the lives and prayers and deeds of the faithful who are today's bearers of the faith stirred up and handed down by these four men.

And the same is true in our own land. The heartbeats of the great heroes of Christian faith still resonate in our society - Augustine and Anselm, Hilda and Julian, Wycliffe and Wesley, and so many more. They can be heard in our churches and Christian institutions, in our worship and our acts of service. So, too, do the heartbeats of the faithful who, generation by generation, have quietly and sincerely lived out and passed on the faith of Jesus down to our own day. So, too, must our own hearts beat with the good news of the Gospel by which we live.

The saintly Edward King, Bishop of Lincoln, died just over a century ago. His heartbeat still sounds in his great Cathedral and Diocese. He wrote these words, with which I close:
'We know the machinery now for saint-making, and we have got the stuff, only we must work and make them. I want to see English Saints made in the old way by suffering and diligence in little things, and the exercise of unselfish, untiring love.'


This is an abbreviated resume of Fr Christopher's Sermon for All Saints' Sunday, published (appropriately enough) on the Feast of the Saints and Martyrs of England.