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It was both inspiring and painful to find myself alongside John Harvey at the recent Christian Peace Vigil at Faslane Naval Base.

The event, organised by Justice and Peace Scotland, served as an opportunity to reaffirm our Christian opposition to the existence of weapons of mass destruction on the site of the UK’s nuclear arsenal with prayer, hymn and reflection. Led by faith leaders Archbishop William Nolan, President of Justice and Peace Scotland and Archbishop of Glasgow; Moderator of the General Assembly of the Church of Scotland, Rev Dr Shaw Paterson and Bishop Andrew Swift, Bishop of Brechin Diocese, from the Scottish Episcopal Church.

John has been part of countless such gatherings over the decades. It inspires that the retired Church of Scotland minister and member of the Iona Community has never stopped bearing witness in his repudiation of nuclear weapons. It pains that this has meant John making his way to Faslane regularly since the first such assembly he brought together in 1968 - the year nuclear submarines docked in the Gare Loch, with the warheads for them stored at the nearby naval base in Coulport.

When John does so approaching the anniversary of the US dropping nuclear bombs on the Japanese cities of Hiroshima and Nagasaki, responsible for the deaths of an estimated 246,000 men, women and children - the 2024 vigil held almost 79 years after that unimaginable carnage - Mr Nii is on his mind.

A man who became his friend, Mr Nii was a Hiroshima survivor that John took to his first Faslane protest 56 years ago. “I did so to alert people to the true dangers of nuclear weapons,” he said. Mr Nii stayed with him and during his visit the pair attended a Glasgow Film Theatre screening of The War Game. A BBC 1965 docu-drama depicting a nuclear war and its aftermath, it caused such uproar within the Corporation and the government over being “too horrifying” that it was not screened on television until the mid-1980s. Mr Nii’s take was different, though. “When we left the cinema, I asked him what he thought of it and he said ‘very bad, very bad’”, John recalled. “I asked him why and he said: ‘it showed too many survivors’”.

Current nuclear weapons are understood to be 30 times more deadly than those dropped on Hiroshima and Nagasaki. It defies any belief in humanity to imagine there could be circumstances whereby any of the nine nuclear powers would consider justifications for their use, and the mass destruction of life and the environment that would ensue.

In a powerful address at the recent gathering, Archbishop Nolan lamented that such arsenals - and bases such as Faslane and Coulport - were being expanded, and called for governments to focus instead on re-establishing their commitment to the Treaty on the Non-Proliferation of Nuclear Weapons by preventing the spread of nuclear weapons technology and pursuing serious efforts towards disarmament. He demanded a recognition that these weapons, which many countries seek to ban via the UN, serve as no deterrent but rather perpetuate escalation. That those in power could see through the bogus perception of these weapons as a “comfort blanket” - even as moral arguments, and financial arguments, the UK’s renewal of its stock costing £300 billion, do not appear to be cutting through.

As people of faith, the Archbishop reminded us that we too have a special facet in our armoury. “All we can do is pray that our governments and politicians will see that these weapons serve no purpose at all; they don’t make our world more secure but less secure and waste precious human resources,” he said. “Pray the politicians who make the decisions will have a change of heart and cast away their comfort blanket and rid the world of these weapons of mass destruction.”

The Moderator implored that “our present is shaped by the past, our future is shaped by the present”. “Whenever we see images of the attacks on Hiroshima and Nagasaki, whenever we see the devastation to human life, to animal and plant life, we are reminded of the need to care for God’s creation and work for peace,” he said.

Bishop Swift called on peacemakers to be “the prophetic voice” that cries out “not in our name” over the moral offence that is the existence and propagation of nuclear weapons. In a time when those in the global south go hungry and even those in our own country cannot afford to eat and heat their homes.

A thoughtful liturgy crafted by Fr David Stewart of the Jesuits and Rev Sheena Orr of the Church of Scotland, conveyed such messages to those present. A near 50-strong group that covered various religious faiths and none, and comprised all age groups, from teenagers to septuagenarians. With a closing prayer encapsulating the desire of all in attendance.:
Lead me from death to life, from falsehood to truth,
Lead me from despair to hope, from fear to trust,
Lead me from hate to love, from war to peace.

In the latest in his series of blogs, Alex Holmes updates us on his most recent visit to the refugee camps of Calais. 

Calais.
Come the fences,
Come the walls,
Come the boulders;
And then the wildflowers come.

Between the boulders and the wire of the old Stadium Camp, a scarlet and magenta blaze of poppies and wild geraniums. Further beyond, along the foot of the ‘security wall’, tower the tall stems of wild mustard studded with small yellow blooms. Russet and orange daisies mass across the roundabout where hazardous games of football were once played. 

Displacement – Eviction – Replacement

And then the wildflowers come. Irrepressible, tenacious, the expression of an unbounded freedom.

‘When you have a dream, you have motivation….I will be a professor in America’. Ariam’s teenage exuberance lifts spirits. He’s sitting in the doorway of his tent swiping at the flies that buzz around him. His spoken English is near perfect. He freezes as a wasp is drawn to the honey that he’s spreading onto his breakfast bread. ‘There’s a different vibe today’ he says. All around the camp, a bustle of preparation; bags are being packed, shoes cleaned. ‘White shoes for UK,’ grins Temey as he re-laces his scrubbed-clean white trainers. ‘I leave my black shoes in France’. A round of farewells and he’s off with his friend Mebrahtu. ‘Breakfast in England….see you in Old Trafford’.

A warm but insistent wind blows in from the south-west. Mesfin is sweeping up rubbish using a willow branch. Eyob, the architect, bangs home a final nail into the windbreak he’s constructed from discarded pallets. He then turns his attention to another of his creations: the fire grill. It has a wooden block nailed to each corner and each block is set into an empty tin can filled with water. The fire is blazing, lunch is cooking and the tins need a top-up of water to prevent the blocks burning. Suddenly a call of ‘Gendar’*. Six police cars swing into the nearby car-park; it’s displacement time, again. Twenty police officers walk in single file towards the camp then fan out through the spaces between the tents and the trees. ‘Allez, allez’. It’s a well-rehearsed ritual, repeated every second day, designed to undermine any sense of permanence. The guys must move their tents into the car park; anything left behind will be taken away. The atmosphere is mostly cordial. One policeman sings to himself. After fifteen minutes, they have gone and the tents are re-pitched, cooking resumes, the day moves on.

A clearing in the willows and Adonay’s solitary tent. In the gaps between the trees, a wall of wild thistles. The purple blooms are transitioning; soon the feathery seed hairs will disperse with the wind. A blue half-barrel is filled with water; it serves as the duck pond. The well-fed camp ducks, a pair of mallard, sit in the willow shade, one of them tentatively dipping his bill into the water.

‘I really cannot stay in Calais any longer’, says Adonay. He is one of the ‘old guard’, here in the camp for eighteen months. Looking lovingly at the ducks he wonders why they don’t lay eggs.

‘Because they’re both males’ replies Negus, another of the ‘old guard’.

‘Why don’t they fly away?’ 

‘Perhaps you’ve given them too much food; they’re fat ducks!’

Adonay’s phone is tuned into the BBC World Service; Justin Welby, Archbishop of Canterbury, is interviewing the musician Nick Cave. Negus suggests a change of tone. 

‘Watch this, it made me laugh till I cried’.

It’s a short animation called ‘Before Time, in the Beginning’. A pupil is being taught how to say ‘beginning’. He tries and tries…‘in the beninging…in the beninanging’….but it’s a step too far and he walks away. ‘Where are you going?’ the teacher demands. ‘I will go home now and start in the beninging’.

‘I will go home now.’ Negus dreams of home, of his mother, of a time before time…in the beginning. A strong gust blows through the clearing lifting a puff of thistledown. Soon the feathery seeds have vanished, gone with the wind.

*’Gendars’ (Gendarmes/police)

Refugees; the gospel in Britain is a reflection written by the St Andrew's & Edinburgh Caritas, Justice & Peace Group.  In it they look back on history, at our responses to refugee crises and ask do we really have a long and noble tradition of welcoming the stranger?

Since February 2022, a new crisis has been unfolding in Eastern Europe, following the invasion of Ukraine by Russia leading to a huge number of people having fled their homes – or what is left of their homes – to find safety elsewhere. Many have been welcomed in neighbouring European countries but in comparison far less by Britain. This is merely the most recent, development in the ongoing challenge of the British response to refugees.  Despite the hundreds who have drowned in the channel and the thousands in the Mediterranean these are merely recent examples in a decades-long history of such human suffering. They reflect a small proportion of the multitude of people who have been displaced from their homes worldwide as a result of war, government oppression, violence and social collapse. More than half of these were ‘internally displaced’ (i.e., refugees from their homes but remaining in their own country).  The vast majority of these are refugees in poor neighbouring countries.  Only a very small proportion have succeeded in finding their way to Europe, and an even smaller proportion are seeking to enter Britain.

Nevertheless, whatever the numbers coming here, the Church regards all these people as children of God, made in his image, whatever their nationality, culture or creed.  We owe each of them the fraternal love which arises from the recognition of our shared humanity, and our sharing in that image of God. This means that we cannot avoid our responsibility, when faced with their powerlessness and vulnerability, to work for their survival and their well-being. Of course, it is true that the arrival of large numbers of asylum seekers on our shores will present all kinds of difficulties: pressure on resources etc.  But the command to love our neighbour was not conditional, and it certainly was not conditional on it being easy or devoid of difficulties.

In the past refugees, while they may have been in need when they arrived in Britain, have subsequently contributed hugely to our community by their skills, their work, their culture, and their humanity. British government rhetoric around refugees, and the difficulties presented by their arrival, is often prefaced by reference to ‘our long and noble tradition of welcoming the persecuted’, and such like phrases.  These phrases are almost invariably followed by ‘but ....’.  And some new repressive measure is announced.

Is it actually true that we have a ‘long and noble tradition’ in this respect?  During the greatest moral test of the twentieth century, at least regarding refugees, this country did not demonstrate great generosity.   While six million Jews, and countless others of different ethnic and social groups, were annihilated by the machinery of the Third Reich, the UK admitted only around 60,000 Jewish refugees - about one percent of the number who perished. While around the world, governments blocked and hindered attempts by European Jews to find a place of refuge many Churches worked ceaselessly and often at great risk to find places of safety, to hide Jews from their persecutors, to work behind the scenes to rescue those in dire distress.  

We should perhaps therefore say that it is the Church which has a long and noble tradition, even when government institutions have failed.  In this perspective we should note the words of our present Pope, on the island of Lesbos on 16 April 2016, where thousands of people were arriving in flight from the civil war in Syria: ‘We are going to see the greatest humanitarian tragedy since World War II.... We hope that the world will heed these scenes of tragic and indeed desperate need and respond in a way worthy of our common humanity.’ 

But the Pope was not satisfied with pious wishes for ‘the world’ to heed the ongoing tragedy.  He sought concrete action - not only from governments and their agencies but he called for Christians and church communities to take direct action: ‘I appeal to the parishes, the religious communities, the monasteries and sanctuaries of all Europe to ... [each] take in one family of refugees.’ The Holy Father noted that, ‘It is violence to build walls and barriers to stop those who look for a place of peace.  It is violence to push back those who flee inhuman conditions in the hope of a better future.’

This is the authentic Christian language of the ‘long and noble tradition’.  It is a language the Church needs to recover, to amplify, and to act on, in a context where governments routinely violate it. The Church has a teaching about the dignity of human beings.   It is in the human person that we see the image of God.  It is our response to the hungry, the homeless, the frightened, the incarcerated, that constitutes our response to Christ himself.   If we place borders or social and economic order above the God-given vocation of love of neighbour, if we allow such things to silence our conscience and stifle our merciful response, we commit idolatry.  For we will have given to Caesar those things that belong to God.

We do not claim to have the technical expertise to resolve all the difficulties surrounding the growing number of refugees, forced migrants, displaced people.   But the situation requires not only a technical response, but a moral and spiritual one.   The humanity of the migrant or refugee demands a loving response.  

In the light of the foregoing:

• We urge our Christian brothers and sisters to respond to the call of Pope Francis for all parishes and religious congregations to offer hospitality to a refugee or refugee family.

• We call on government to prioritise not the inviolable sanctity of borders, but the inviolable sanctity of human lives, and especially the lives of the most powerless.

• We call on all Christians and all men and women of good will to work, to organise as communities and citizens, to bring the violence of ‘fortress Europe’ to an end, to create a continent of hospitality, and to commit to the creation of an international order in which the dignity of all is recognised. We urge our government to act together with the international community to address as a matter of urgency the situations around the world – situations of war, oppression, natural disaster, life-threatening poverty and political unfreedom – which cause people to flee their homes and seek refuge elsewhere.  This international action must involve governments, financial institutions, diplomatic and legal collaboration.

• We call on Christians, and all men and women of good will, to reject the language of hostility and suspicion towards refugees that is increasingly on offer, and to make that rejection known to our political leaders, to the media, and to our fellow citizens; thus we may learn to speak as a nation in a voice that is the true heir of that ‘long and honourable’ Christian tradition of hospitality.