Skip to main content

Walking Holy Week with refugees


Our church sanctuary has been transformed overnight.  Instead of a conventional worship space with rows of comfortable chairs, the space is criss-crossed with anti-climb heras fencing and barbed wire.  Fixed to the fencing are beautiful black and white images of migrants from refugee camps in Calais and Lebanon.  The photographer has sought to re-create the stations of the cross through images of the people he met in these camps.

The photographs were commissioned by Premier Christianity: www.premierchristianity.com .  Their website explains:

The Stations is an artistic re-interpretation of the traditional 'stations of the cross' through the images and stories of today's refugees. Creative director Marksteen Adamson met and made friends with many of the refugees he photographed in Lebanon, Calais and the UK.

I've walked through the exhibition once and I'm planning to go again - there's just so much to take in.  This morning I was most struck by the story of a Syrian refugee who is caring for her two disabled sons in a tiny flat in Lebanon.  I cannot imagine the difficulty of taking her children, aged 17 and 24,  on the dangerous journey from a war zone to their current temporary home.  Christ carried a wooden cross; she carried her children.  They are a precious burden, whereas Christ's burden was a terrible one; nevertheless, she knows what it is to struggle under a load almost too great to bear.

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

Halloween

It's that magical time of year again - that one night when my small neighbours knock on my door asking for sweeties.  This year, I'm properly prepared: I have two pumpkins (I wanted five, but decided to be thrifty), a big tub of sweets and a tube of 100 glow sticks.  The sweets are my concession to popular demand; the glow sticks are an attempt to represent light in darkness (a symbolism which will doubtless be lost on the kids).  I'm seeing the pumpkin as my main opportunity to communicate something of my Christian faith to my neighbours. One year, while I was at theological college, Halloween fell on a Sunday.  The new housing estate church I was assigned to met in a church hall on Sunday afternoons and many of the congregation were unaccompanied children.  I googled 'Christian pumpkin carvings' and guess what - there are a lot of ideas out there, America being a country which is big on Halloween and big on Christianity too.  I decided to carve a simple f...

Only connect

Last year on Ash Wednesday I attended an ashing service at St Paul's Cathedral.  The service focused on confessing our sins and asking God's forgiveness.  During the service a berobed priest made the sign of the cross in ash on my forehead.  I thought this was pretty cool and refused my husband's request that I rub it off for the train journey home.  Then we ran into an old work colleague of mine and I felt rather stupid. Ash Wednesday, the first day of Lent, is all about sin and repentance - 'sackcloth and ashes' and all that.  But I wonder how many people in the UK today identify with the idea that they are sinners in need of forgiveness?  My final year dissertation at theological college focused on the dilemma of how to call to repentance people who do not think they have anything of which to repent.  I certainly didn't think of myself as a sinner when I first started exploring Christianity.  I knew I wasn't perfect, but hey, who is? I have hea...

Broken at the altar

A new drama series by Jimmy McGovern finished a couple of weeks ago on the BBC. Broken  tells the story of Roman Catholic priest Father Michael Kerrigan, a broken person ministering to other broken people in an unnamed northern city. It's still available on BBC iPlayer and I would encourage you to watch it - only be prepared for a few grim hours. I'll try to avoid spoilers here. Michael has a problem: whenever he celebrates Mass (which I think in the Roman Catholic Church is every day), he has flashbacks. At the moment of consecration - the point at which, Catholics believe, the bread and wine physically become for us the body and blood of Christ - he remembers every shameful thing he's ever done, and every shameful thing that has been done to him. We see his mother screaming at him that he's a dirty, filthy little boy; young women crying because he has treated them badly; mistakes he has made as a priest; people he has let down. His voice falters and he struggles ...