Thought For The Day

14 MAR 26

16 MAR 26

Good morning. When societies argue about definitions, it can sound technical, the sort of debate lawyers or policymakers care about. But definitions are about something deeper. They show what a society is prepared to recognise, and what it refuses to ignore. This week the government introduced a non-statutory definition of anti-Muslim hostility. Predictably, the conversation has turned to questions of free speech and its limits. Those are important questions. But definitions of prejudice carry another purpose. They tell us whose dignity we are prepared to defend. As a rabbi, I hear these debates with particular sensitivity. Jewish history contains long periods when hostility towards Jews was so normal it barely needed a name. The word antisemitism only entered common language in the nineteenth century, though the prejudice itself was far older. Naming something does not solve it. But it does change the silence around it. I was thinking about that while sharing an Iftar meal during Ramadan. Around the table were Muslims, Jews and others, gathered to break the fast together. Among them was Maoz Inon, an Israeli peace activist whose story carries immense grief. On October 7th his parents were killed when Hamas attacked their home in southern Israel. Many people in his position might understandably turn inward. Instead Maoz has chosen something more demanding: continuing to work for a shared future between Israelis and Palestinians, insisting humanity must survive even deep violence .What struck me that evening was the atmosphere in the room. Everyone arrived with a strong sense of who they were, Muslim, Jewish, secular. No one was asked to soften their identity in order to sit together. In Jewish tradition there is a phrase, b’tzelem Elohim, that every human being is created in the image of God. If every person carries that divine imprint, dignity is not something we negotiate depending on who we agree with. It becomes something we are bound to protect in one another. The debate about anti-Muslim hatred is therefore not only about Muslims. It is about the kind of country we are still trying to become. A Britain confident enough to protect open debate, but serious enough to recognise when prejudice corrodes our common life. Around that Iftar table it felt possible to glimpse that Britain. Not one where difference disappears, but one where faith and identity are brought honestly into the room. Because perhaps the real contribution of religion in public life is this: the insistence that dignity is not a limited resource. And that a confident Britain will be built not by setting identities aside, but by bringing the best of them into the same room.

12 MAR 26

Good morning. Justice delayed is justice denied. But justice rushed is no bowl of cherries either. In July, Lord Leveson warned that "fundamental" reforms to the jury system in England and Wales were needed to "reduce the risk of total system collapse." But yesterday, a leading barrister argued the judiciary is not diverse and is unrepresentative of the communities it serves, which can be intimidating to victims, witnesses and defendants. On the surface the debate looks like a face-off. There’s pragmatism, which says, ‘Forget juries for sentences under three years, and realise complex fraud trials are beyond a jury’s comprehension’; and then there’s principle, which says, ‘The jury system is foundational to our whole understanding of justice.’ But in reality, principled opponents of change point out that, according to a think tank, only 2 percent of cases may be affected while pragmatic proponents say justice is about more than a set-piece trial. Beneath the surface lie further dynamics like the nature of a legal career and the lack of people wanting to become judges. Above the Old Bailey stands a bronze statue of Lady Justice. Personifying justice implies it’s an absolute – that justice can definitively be arrived at, whereupon other blessings will follow. But justice is not an abstract goal – it’s a set of conventions, arrived at through striving for social order and well-being. Pure justice is an idol; there’s very little that’s pure about human relations gone so badly wrong as to involve the courts. Justice is a system, not an ideal; a best attempt, not perfection. Establishing good conventions is the heart of justice. Those conventions, far from being luminous and eternal, are always in need of updating. But that moment of refining is a very sensitive one. Because conventions, whether in law or in any other institution or relationship, rest on something more fundamental. And that fundamental quality is trust. Criminal cases arise when the trust that underpins all civilised society has broken down, and it seems a person has acted in a way that undermines the confidence we place in one another to function and interact together. Justice is a process by which that trust can be restored, involving a balance of accountability, judgement, punishment, mercy and rehabilitation. When the psalmist says, ‘Oh, how I love your law! It is my meditation all day long,’ he’s saying well-being lies in a balance of giving each their due, which in his case includes giving God God’s due. But to create new conventions, that work for victims as well as authorities, means recognising that justice is about restoring trust, in the system – and in one another.

Good morning. This week sees in the Sikh New Year, and I find myself reflecting on the nature of new beginnings and fresh starts. For me and my husband, this is particularly apt, as we have been blessed with the recent arrival of our baby daughter. Before we got married, my husband and I paid our respects at a gurdwara near Amritsar dedicated to Baba Buddha Ji, one of the most venerated figures in Sikh history. According to legend, those who go with a deep faith will have their prayers for a child answered, just as the 5th Guru’s wife did when she visited Baba Buddha Ji’s home some four centuries earlier. Now it’s finally happened for us. As a married gay Sikh man, it’s somewhat of an understatement to say that the journey was neither simple nor straightforward. Her birth was only possible through the extraordinary generosity of a surrogate, someone who’s become a dear friend to us and whose compassion allowed us to become parents. She wanted to make our dream come true, and in doing so, changed our lives. Surrogacy remains controversial for some. There can be fears about it being exploitative or ethically dubious, and it can involve large amounts of money in some parts of the world, creating an imbalance of power. In the UK however, surrogacy has to be altruistic from a legal perspective, with only reasonable expenses being allowed to be paid. The Sikh faith teaches that sewa, or selfless service, lies at the heart of a righteous life. It’s the quiet act of giving without expectation, of sharing what one has for the benefit of others. Even though she isn’t Sikh herself, from my own approach to the faith, I can see that our surrogate embodied that spirit perfectly. She gave of herself, physically and emotionally, so that we could have a child. For my husband and I, her sewa has become the bridge between hope and reality. In the scriptures of the Guru Granth Sahib, the 5th Sikh Guru says “Whoever has good destiny inscribed on their forehead, applies themselves to selfless service”. The opportunity to help others is seen as good fortune, something that one should actively seek out, and not as an obligation to carry out begrudgingly. For some, that service could be making food in the langar kitchens at a gurdwara. For others, it can involve humanitarian work internationally. All important and meaningful tasks, all forms of worship in their own ways. So as the Sikh New Year gets underway, we begin our new chapter as parents, and our own parents begin their journey as grandparents. We will forever be grateful to the sewa given by our surrogate, without whom none of this would have happened. Despite the odds, hope and love has still managed to find a way to shine through.

09 MAR 26

Baroness Louise Casey was refreshingly frank on this programme the other day. As chair of the independent committee on adult social care, she set out some of the grim realities of the present crisis. Many families whose frail elderly members have dementia or other complex needs will identify with her description of the battle to get help as ‘horrendous’: for those with no one close it must be worse. The system relies on exploitation of its workforce, she said, with many earning less than the minimum wage, not reimbursed for travel expenses or getting no holiday pay. Cross-party support was essential for fundamental change. As continuous medical advances mean more of us live longer than previous generations, and often further away from loved ones, it’s not a new problem. That makes it no less of a scandal when some of our most vulnerable are left feeling that they no longer matter. Exhausted families and friends, neighbours, campaigning organisations and community groups of all kinds do what they can – and so do many politicians. But for them Baroness Casey sounded a note of caution: ‘I’d warn any political party to be a little careful about throwing stones until we actually know what we are doing.’ Which is, of course, to ask the question what have you actually done about it? Do you honestly think you’ve made a difference for good? Be careful about throwing stones – that immediately took me back to a vivid story in the gospel of John. As Jesus is teaching in the temple in Jerusalem, a woman is set before him. She’s been caught committing adultery – no mention of the man. He’s challenged by religious leaders and legal scholars, trying to trap him, to pronounce on whether she should be stoned to death. There’s a very long pause, and he says: ‘Let him who is without sin among you throw the first stone at her.’ One by one, they all go away, beginning with the oldest…presumably because they’ve been reminded how much they’ve messed up in their long lives, and maybe realising that if they condemned her, they might be exposed as hypocrites. I don’t think any of this means that we’ve no right ever to utter criticism. Every society needs people who will reveal uncomfortable truths about those who abuse their power, expose mistreatment of the weakest, speak for those allowed no voice of their own. In the interests of truth, verbal stones may sometimes need be thrown, as the Hebrew prophets demonstrated. Jesus refused to condemn the woman, offering her a new beginning instead. But he didn’t condone the men’s hypocrisy either. He reminds us to reflect on our own actions, before standing in judgment on others.

As a dog lover and an ordained Christian, one of the questions I’ve been asked the most is, “Do dogs have souls?” It’s a question which is often accompanied by grief and loss, but which also expresses a hope which is so vital to cling to, especially in these turbulent times. It’s a good time of year to be thinking about this, as Crufts, the world’s premier dog show, opened yesterday for its annual event. It might seem trivial to spend four days celebrating all things canine, amidst the backdrop of the volatile situation in the middle east, but perhaps that’s, at least in part, the point. Dogs, with their reputation for simple joy, faithfulness, and love which is unconditionally given, are living proof that there is another way for humans to be, one in which it’s possible to enjoy a flourishing relationship with other creatures, for all that we struggle to model this with one another. It’s certainly true that humans forge strong, unbreakable bonds with their dogs, and when that bond is broken by death, it can be unexpectedly painful. When my dog died I was given a card which included the poem about Rainbow Bridge, which describes the pets who’ve gone before us, waiting in a utopian afterlife for their owners to die too, so they can be reunited. This is folk eschatology, hopes and yearnings about what happens when we lose those we love. It’s the theology of last things. In the febrile, dangerous times we’re living in, it’s unsurprising that people might want to imagine a place which might be free from cruelty. A place marked by peace and the harmony of co-existence, like that described in the book of Isaiah. Here we are given a prophetic vision of the end times, one where all creation will be reconciled in a restored world. No predators or prey, the lion lying down with the lamb, the leopard with the goat…and a little boy leading them all. For Christians, this redemption and healing is only possible because Jesus went before us; living, dying, rising again. He is the reason for our hope in the midst of life and death, and a love which lasts beyond it. In a world where the strong still regularly overpower the weak, a world where lions devour lambs, it gives comfort and hope to imagine something radically different. Martin Luther apparently said to his dog, "Be thou comforted, little dog, Thou too in Resurrection shall have a little golden tail.” I don’t know whether or not my dog had a soul, but she was a soul. Sweet, faithful, infuriating at times, and much missed.

Thought for the Day

04 FEB 26

Good morning. The appearance of a special planetary parade at the weekend was eclipsed by the coverage of the intense military operations in the Middle East that began on Saturday. But, it reminded me of an extraordinary astronomical alignment recorded by sages in India some millennia ago; seen then as an ominous portent of social and spiritual trends they believed would unfold in the times to come. Some of these seem prescient, or at least indicative, of persistent human psychology. They included warnings that wealth, not character, will confer status. To be poor will be seen as unholy. The law will be defined by power. Trade will thrive on deceit. Hypocrisy will become a virtue and audacity accepted as truthfulness. The sages foresaw that ordinary citizens would have to bear the resulting injustice and hardship. In response the most valued Vedic texts were compiled to re-balance such corrupting tendencies. For instance, the Bhagavad-gita describes that when we fear our interests or security might be frustrated or taken away, we behave irrationally, often lashing out in anger for revenge or retribution. The Gita cautions that this is a daily challenge for each of us. It says we must apply measured discriminative intelligence rather than act on our emotions, fears and bias Carl Jung made a similar point: “Until you make the unconscious conscious, it will direct your life and you will call it fate.” The world is watching closely as events develop in the Middle East. Despite being shrewdly orchestrated by intense military analysis and coordination, will the result, as Jung said, seem like fate? A result that can neither be predicted, nor planned. The Gita asks us all to rise above emotional reactivity; and to act in wisdom, free from the belief that unless things go completely our way, there can be no acceptable result or compromise. Today, there is a special observance in my Vaishnava tradition; the commemoration of the birth in 1486 of Sri Caitanya, a powerful social and spiritual reformer. In one of his most cited statements, he rejects being associated with any divisive identity of caste, communal or religious affiliation. Rather, he says, I wish to be known simply as the servant of the servant of that God who serves all those who are innocent, oppressed and who have no other shelter to deliver them from fear and want in this world. I pray that it will be measured conscious wisdom, and not unconscious fate, that delivers a welcome outcome to the current conflict.

Good Morning Viewed from the comfort of our kitchens and living rooms, global conflict can all too readily resemble a twisted form of spectator sport. Commentators describe the flow of action, their remarks interspersed by expert analysts, who seek to clarify exactly what has happened whilst offering opinions as to what might next ensue. As news about the Israeli and American attacks on Iran began to break on Saturday morning, I found myself drawn into speculation about possible military and political outcomes. Who might win and who would lose. Would the UK be drawn into the conflict, and if so how? It being a Saturday in Lent, later that morning I joined my wife in her church for a seasonal practice known as Stations of the Cross. Helen, the priest leading our devotions, invited us to reflect on each of fourteen traditional images. These mark successive moments in Jesus’s journey, from when he’s condemned to death to the laying of his body in the tomb. The reflection jolted me out of spectator-mode and reminded me that ….. Whatever the political outcomes of events in and around Iran may be, ….. the cost in human suffering, in lives destroyed, in minds and bodies left permanently maimed, will be immense. My thoughts turned to the many Iranian Christians I’ve come to know and admire, and who are active members of my churches here in Manchester. I doubt if any of them will be mourning the death of the leader of a regime that has brutally ruled their homeland for almost half a century. But many have family members and friends still in Iran, whose lives are now at heightened risk. I thought too, of the Jewish community who live in the streets surrounding my home in Salford. Alongside their heightened fears for loved ones in Israel, they know all too well, in the aftermath of the recent terrorist attack on Heaton Park Synagogue, that actions of the Israeli government can expose them to reprisals here at home. The Stations of the Cross remind me that even as Jesus journeys, literally, to Hell and back, there are moments of comfort and consolation, where humanity breaks through the horror. Simon of Cyrene helps carry Christ’s cross, Veronica takes up a cloth to wipe blood and sweat from his face. Both saw something more than the political machinations that were manoeuvring Jesus to his death. They focused, rather, on the human being caught in the centre of the suffering. As events continue to unfold across our screens and airwaves, we cannot avoid politics, but we can, perhaps, follow their example, refuse to be mere spectators and keep the need for human compassion in response to human suffering at the forefront of our thoughts.

Good morning! It seems like everyone’s at it - Muslims, Christians, and soon Jews will be too. Don’t be alarmed - I’m talking about fasting. On Ash Wednesday, some Christians began fasting for Lent, which can involve giving up certain foods. This week Jews will observe the Fast of Esther confirming what the Qur’ān says that it’s not just Muslims who fast, but so do others. My wife and I, like many Muslims have the mammoth task of waking everyone up at 4 o’clock for suhūr - the pre-dawn breakfast as we prepare to fast from dawn until sunset. No food and drink in between, and yes, not even water. At sunset families, friends and neighbours get together for iftār - the breaking of the fast. It’s a joyful time uniting everyone – you don’t have to be Muslim to get involved.This Ramadān I was invited to JW3, the Jewish centre in London. Lanterns and flowers adorned the tables, bunting saying Ramadān Mubārak hung from the ceiling.. It was a wonderful time to meet old friends and make new ones. It renewed my hope for peaceful coexistence as we learn about one another to cultivate mutual respect. As we said our goodbyes, many Jews came and appreciated my talk and said how much it spoke to them also. They delighted in our similarities The Qur’ān says that the purpose of fasting is to help us become God consciousness, pious, righteous and God-fearing. The spiritual dimension of fasting is most important. The fasting of the tongue - not to backbite, lie or swear. The fasting of the ears and eyes - see no evil, hear no evil. Seeking purity of the mind and cleansing of the heart from hate, anger, revenge and all the spiritual ills and replacing them with goodness, love and forgiveness. The Prophet Muhammad (peace be upon him) said that God is not in need of our hunger and thirst, but He’s after our piety. Many a fasting person gains no spiritual benefit from their fast except the pain of hunger and thirst, he warned. During the day, I sometimes find myself all alone in the house, but I don’t go and help myself to a sip of water or a secret bite because I know that although my family may not be around to catch me, God is watching. Like speed cameras and CCTV make me try my best to be on the right side of the law so should my awareness of God’s presence prevent me from doing any wrong for I will have to answer to Him.

26 FEB 26

According to Professor Hannah Fry, people’s lives are enriched by artificial intelligence. It makes problem-solving easier, helps medical diagnosis, and can improve productivity. Yet as she points out in her new BBC2 documentary, AI Confidential, there are risks: that jobs will be lost to AI; that we might lose the bedside care that comes with human diagnosis as machine intelligence takes over. She also warns AI provides what she calls emotional junk food that demands nothing of us, by offering AI romantic partners. And then there’s tech grief, highlighted in a recent EastEnders storyline, when video and voice notes are used to create an avatar of a dead character to console his father. Real mourning is put on hold. But it seems to me there’s another risky aspect of AI – that it rewrites temptation. Temptation is traditionally thought to be about testing will-power. Take Lent and Ramadan, currently being observed by Christians and Muslims. If a Muslim fasting all day has a little snack at lunchtime, or a Christian giving up sweets for Lent, eats chocolate, they’ve failed in their discipline. But AI is a different, and remarkable tempter, encouraging people not to fail in some way but take the easier option that in some ways seems sensible. Why read a book, for example, when AI can give you a quick summary, or make the effort to cook for dinner guests when AI can help locate a fancy restaurant in seconds and order a takeaway. And instead of the regret that comes from conventional temptation, AI offers something else. It’s all too easy to console yourself that you have done something good. You’ve saved time. The easy option has advantages. The Desert Fathers – early Christian thinkers who retreated to the desert – did so because they believed a hard life was good for them. They believed it brought them closer to God. And with temptation, even if you give in to it but then regret it you can grow as a person by learning something about yourself. Pope Leo who has expressed concern about the impact of AI on humanity has now urged priests to resist the temptation to use the short cut of AI to write sermons. AI might be clever, but there’s something lacking in AI preaching: it doesn’t come from the heart. Perhaps this Lent and Ramadan, it might be worth not only giving up something that tests our will, but pondering something that appears helpful yet is temptation on another scale, reducing our need to think. After all, as Descartes said, I think, therefore I am. What am I, if machines have seduced me to do so much less thinking for myself?

25 FEB 26

24 FEB 26

Good Morning, Coming down from Yorkshire to London I usually walk through Marchmont Street. I often stop and look up at a Blue Plaque over a shop that was once a hairdressers. It’s where Kenneth Williams spent the first part of his life. I worked with him in the late 1970’s when I was a young producer with a missionary society. We were looking at new ways of getting the Christian faith to resonate with young people. I’d heard somewhere that the Ayatollah Khomeini, then exiled in Paris, was flooding Iran with messages on audio cassettes to topple the Shah. It may seem quite a leap but it prompted me to wonder if we too could use cassettes to reach out to the next generation. So we hired four famous comedians to retell the life and parables of Jesus . Soon we were in the studio with Derek Nimmo, Dora Bryan, Thora Hird and - Kenneth Williams recording a sparkling script by Jenny Robertson. Yesterday marked the Centenary of Kenneth Williams’ birth – one of Radio 4’s famous voices who knew the power of comedy to shock, to scandalise and to deflate the pompous. But he was also a sensitive man who prayed at the end of each day out of the depths of his own tortured soul. He excelled in recording these cassettes and captured the way Jesus himself used stories to cut the powerful down to size, especially religious ones. One of Jesus’ amusing stories was told against the hypocrisy of the judgmental - of two men, one with a plank shooting out of his eye trying to pick a spec out of the other’s – a comic sketch worthy of Basil Fawlty berating a hapless hotel guest! The paradox of humour is that comedy can pack a serious punch which is why the powerful, especially dictators hate being made fun of. Nor can they tolerate the freedom the media give to voice such protest. 50 years on, Iran’s latest Ayatollah, while recognising the role media played in bringing them to power , now appears to be tightly controlling the internet, in what is widely seen as an attempt to stem the flow of information about a government crackdown on protesters. Memories of Kenneth Williams today make me nostalgic for a more spacious world where the freedom to speak out and even to make fun of each other were the signs of safer times. Kenneth Williams – rest in peace and in the memory of our laughter.

21 FEB 26