Fathers, Factions and Faith

I’ve been following with interest the story of Ed Miliband’sspat with the Daily Mail over the supposedly ‘evil legacy’ of his father and how he ‘hated Britain’.  It’s been fascinating because it plays on so many levels.  The way in which children honour their parents, even when public figures.  The extent to which free speech ought to be limited in our press, especially in light of upcoming decisions on the Leveson report.  The confirmation, to me at least, of Miliband’s observation, at his recent conference, that it is so tempting, and so much easier, to be strong against the weak but weak in the face of the strong.  The idea that the ‘sins of the fathers are visited upon their sons’ (one of several occasions when the Old Testament has been invoked in the story), both in the Miliband family and with the rather unsavoury history of the Mail itself.  Then there’s the idea of ‘British Values’ what they are, the extent they’re linked to national institutions and what ‘hating Britain’ might actually look like.  So much to ponder.

But today the story took a different turn as Huffington post journalist Medi Hasan has come under fire following his celebrated denouncing of the Mail On BBC’s Question Time this week. It emerges that 3 years ago, he wrote a sycophantic letter to the Mail asking for work, speaking of his admiration of their ‘outspoken defence of faith and Christian culture’ etc.   ‘Oh what hypocrisy’ many cry, but others have seen more nuance here.  Quite apart from the acceptance of a certain amount of toadying when asking for work and the ethics of publishing private, job related correspondence, what might left of centre social conservatism look like?  Is abortion scepticism and support for the ‘family’ inevitably to be allied with ‘woman-hating’ and ‘gay-baiting’?   Are some social values inevitably linked to their darker side and do you have to take the rough with the smooth?

For me this is of more than academic interest.  My faith drives my politics, like it does everything else in my life.  My left leaning convictions about social justice, community responsibility, peace and international relations see me firmly in the traditions of Christian Socialism. I abhor the divisive, dehumanising and destructive politics that seem so often to be the default fall-back position of the right.  As I watched Medi’s eloquence from the sofa I cheered along.  Then, when I read his column-seeking letter, I cringed a little at his enthusiasm but found myself nodding at the need for a trenchant voice for personal responsibility and social conservatism.  Am I a hypocrite too?  More importantly, does our obsession with left/right boxes deny genuine reflection of appropriate faith driven responses to all the questions of our age? 

I’m aware I’ve offered up more questions than answers here but, as a positive starting point, my free church ecclesiology helps.  As a Baptist I don’t regard it as the job of the state to provide the legislative platform for the Kingdom of God, or even to criminalise sin.  At least that leaves space for the prurient to remain private and for us all to work together for the common good – though I still won’t be buying the Mail.             

'What Remains' ... when everyone’s gone.

Another BBC drama series has recently ended.  ‘What Remains’, a slow moving yet haunting and atmospheric thriller set in a large shared house, finished with a climax full of tension, surprises and not a little blood.  Revolving around the mysterious death of a young, single women who occupied the top floor flat some years earlier, the idea of what it meant to be alone dominated from the off. How can it be that no one would report, or even seemingly notice, the absence of a friendly, pleasant, ordinary young woman for all that time?

As suspicion fell on the occupants of the other flats their stories emerged too.  A bachelor, nearing retirement from his teaching career, anxious as to who might care for him in the future, jealous of the stronger pull of ‘family’ even on those he had come to call ‘friends’.  A young couple, expecting their first child, wondering whether this new bond will bring them closer together or expose the distance between them.   A father and son, struggling in the aftermath of the break-up of their family, feeling the pain of guilt and anger and struggling to start again, increasing suspicious of each other.  A lesbian couple, one pathologically obsessive and insecure, needing yet smothering the other who, in turn, is vulnerable yet trapped.  And then the detective, Len, , recently retired but unable to shake off the routine and familiarity of the workplace, drawn to this case, these people, as he continues to mourn his wife, care for his dying brother and wonder what his future might look like.

I won’t divulge any potential plot spoilers, aside from noting that, on reflection, the brief introductions above may have been a tad over-sympathetic and suggest a group of characters who, although flawed, you might actually want to live with.  If that’s the case I would warn you not to rush off to the estate agency too quickly.  However, it did strike me that all these characters, whether living on their own or not, were profoundly isolated.  For some their loneliness was obvious and apparent, for others internalised and hidden, yet none the less painful for that.  The series was dark and brutal, unsettling and disturbing, thankfully it was also pretty far removed from most of our experience of life, and house-sharing, that’s why we can permit ourselves the luxury of enjoying such stories as entertainment.  At the end though, the very last words of the concluding episode found a central character bleeding to death in a hallway as the emergency service banged on the door.  As a comforting friend went to open the door they were pulled back, ‘Don’t go ... I don’t want to be alone.’  As the credits rolled I couldn’t help thinking that there was a sentiment that  was very close to all our lives, and one that we struggle with more often than we might admit even in our everyday relatively drama-less experience.                                 

Broadchurch ...

“The Bible says let all bitterness and wrath and anger and clamour and slander be put away from you along with all malice. Be kind to one another, tender hearted, forgive one another as God in Christ forgave you. After what we’ve been through, I don’t know, but we have a responsibility, to ourselves and to our God, to try.”

And so the much heralded climax in itv’s acclaimed drama series ‘Broadchurch’ turned out to be a word ... a sermon. 

No dramatic last minute plot twist, despite the advance hinting on twitter, but instead the surprising, shocking possibility that, in the midst of the darkness, light can shine.

The series, set in a picturesque Dorset seaside town, lasted 8 weeks and was sandwiched between two harrowing scenes of grief, both powerfully acted; a mother’s realisation of the loss of her son, a wife’s recognition of the culpability of her husband. 

Yet, despite the dark, difficult, harrowing subject matter, the sheer scale and power of the sadness seemed to push out the normal feelings of finger pointing and vengeance.  It wasn’t that there was no anger or bitterness, there was plenty, but through it all, somehow, the overwhelming emotion was sympathy, for families, a community, broken. 

The real sense of ugliness came half way through the series when a vigilante group rampaged through the town and drove an innocent man to suicide.  When, finally, the actual perpetrator was revealed there was a sense of not wanting to give in to those forces again.

And so the whole series concluded, in Church and on the beach, with the most unexpected of twists, a community reborn, a flicker of hope...

“I passed the word, maybe the word was good”