 ‘When seeing is not believing.’ (Rob Toews) While Hurricane Melissa was wreaking real and devastating havoc in the Caribbean yesterday, reports of an incoming super-typhoon wreaked havoc of a different kind in the Asia Pacific. Deep fake news reports triggered disaster risk reduction measures, people raced out to panic buy emergency supplies and the prices of essential goods soared, hitting the poorest the hardest. The government’s meteorological authorities sent out urgent counter-messages to reassure a very nervous public – but who could know which messages were real and which were fake? This felt like a dark glimpse into an AI-generated future. Let’s be honest. Media news reports have always contained subtle (and some not-so-subtle) blends of information, drama and propaganda, but global politicians, social media and deep fake technologies in malicious hands have created a whole new era of confusion. How can we know what’s real and true when fake masquerades as truth and truth is framed as lies? Aspiring dictators create and seize on mass bewilderment and anxiety to offer simplistic solutions with claimed-clarity and security. As I reflect on this critically and reflexively, I can’t help but do some personal soul-searching too. How far is the persona I present, for example as a follower of Jesus, genuine and true? Jesus himself called out spiritual leaders of the time as hypocrites (literally, those who wear a mask), of hiding their true selves behind a façade to win approval. They had fallen into an elaborate form of deception, a self-destructive self-deception, akin to imposter syndrome in reverse. If we believe our own lies, what hope is left for us? God, help me be an authentic agent of truth.
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 ‘Bad things do happen in the world like war, natural disasters and disease. But out of those situations always arise stories of ordinary people doing extraordinary things.’ (Daryn Kagan) A recent qualitative research study in Peru in the aftermath of El Niño (2025) could have equally applied to life and communities in places like the Philippines. In terms of psychosocial impacts of ‘natural’ disasters and their intersecting contributory causes, the pattern is all too painfully familiar. People and communities in various parts of the Philippines this week are living with the physical, psychological and emotional aftershocks of shattering earthquakes, compounded by the damaging effects of devastating typhoons. I hesitate to use the word natural. Although we wouldn’t attribute the underlying causes of earthquakes to human activity, we couldn’t say the same of violent tropical storms where human-impacted climate change is an increasingly significant factor. A disaster occurs when hazard meets vulnerability. The poor are often the most vulnerable to the causes and impacts of hazards, including the ability to avoid, mitigate or recover from them – and poverty, albeit a complex phenomenon itself, is far from a ‘natural’ state. The research report I alluded to above identifies a number of interrelated issues that impact on psychosocial health: personal memories and lived experience of previous disasters; chronic and acute effects of the disaster (‘It’s not a now problem; it’s an always problem’); attributing blame and responsibilities; coping and resilience (including faith and relational dimensions); psychosocial distress (including personal and vicarious trauma); perceived (un)fairness in aid distribution; systemic corruption and distrust. Against this complex and, in some ways, overwhelming backdrop, I’m still inspired and find hope in the faith and actions of those people who transcend self-interest to stand alongside those in need. Jasmin lacks the material and political resources to address the macro issues, yet persistently steps out of her comfort zone directly into disaster zones equipped only with a spiritual presence (a ‘sacred encounter’) – Divine love – that, in its own unique way, offers deep psychosocial healing and hope – and the strength to go on.  ‘My scars remind me that I did indeed survive my deepest wounds.’ (Steve Goodier)
The earthquakes that shook the Philippines recently shook me too, albeit on the other side of the world. On hearing that her parents’ simple home made from timber and corrugated iron had collapsed, one young woman trekked there from a city with emergency supplies of water and food. I try to imagine what that must feel like. News reports had shown that one family’s home nearby had been buried by a landslide triggered by the earthquake. Only their baby survived. This young woman didn’t know what to expect. Mud tracks were blocked by fallen trees and communications were down. Still, she persevered. On approaching what had been a village, desperate people pleaded with her with open hands for some drinking water. What a terrible ethical and emotional dilemma to face. To save her own family or to save these strangers? (I feel sure I’d prioritise my own loved ones, then try to learn to live with the guilt as well as I could). Thank God, she found her parents alive, living alongside others under makeshift tarpaulins. Pouring rain at the wet tail end of a typhoon hadn’t helped. People were forced to lift their few salvaged possessions as high as they could off the ground to keep them dry, then to sit on the muddy ground, clasping their knees, until it passed. This determined young woman, she herself poor, will head back again this week armed with faith, hope and love – and all the supplies she can muster.  ‘Heroes need monsters to establish their heroic credentials. You need something scary to overcome.’ (Margaret Atwood) Today I received my first ever ‘digital credential’. To be honest, I wasn’t sure what it was at first. I had imagined receiving an embossed paper certificate through the post that I could laminate and put in my neatly-labelled qualifications folder. Turns out I’m old school, still catching up. I now know a credential of this type is designed as a “secure, verifiable online record of a person's qualifications or achievements.” (You can tell I Googled that). Saves on paper too, I guess. It got me thinking about this idea of credentials and how the word itself has the same linguistic root as credibility. To all intents and purposes, it’s about influencing what other people believe about us. It can have an impact on what we believe about ourselves too. After running over 100 Action Learning training and facilitation events for Action Learning Associates, I decided for congruence’s sake it was time to put myself through the same paces I put others through. I also did a postgraduate diploma in Coaching Psychology. I remember vividly how I had three critical reasons for doing it and for driving myself to achieve a distinction grade: to make a difference in clients’ lives and work by becoming the best psychological coach I could be; to honour the Christian INGO that had generously sponsored me; to prove to myself in my more insecure coaching moments that I must know something of what I’m doing and talking about. So, in my mind, confidence (what we believe about ourselves), competence (what we’re actually capable of doing) and credibility (what others believe about us) are very closely linked. Credentials are like symbols, badges, visas in passports that can open doors, make something possible, remind us of something important whilst also demonstrating it to others. For me, the most significant 'credentials' question is how to be what God values most. How about for you? [If you'd like to hear more about Action Learning and how it could benefit you, get in touch!]  ‘The German Bible calls the Holy Spirit the Beistand – literally, the One who stands beside us.’ Prayers for Peace. For over 3 years now, since Russia invaded Ukraine, this small and dedicated group of people have met every Wednesday evening in a cold stone church building in Germany, often warmed only by flickering candles and their burning desire to see a different world. The crucified Saviour in the background felt especially poignant tonight. The focus was on Israel-Gaza, praying for all sides of the conflict and standing in spirit beside all people suffering unspeakable pain. As we arrived, I stood slightly outside of the group, leaning against a wooden pew. I’d been sitting down all day writing an article and I needed to stretch to avoid discomfort I have with nerve pain. Just before the prayers were about to start, one of the leaders tip-toed gently across the room and stood silently beside me, without looking at me or saying a word. I’m a visitor from England, a stranger and yet, in the midst of the darkness, I too was touched by their simple act of solidarity.  ‘Modern toleration is really a tyranny. It is a tyranny because it is a silence.’ (G.K. Chesterton) At the end of this week’s Christian leadership retreat which drew on Action Learning at its core, I was struck by one participant’s feedback that, ‘This was the first time I’ve experienced authentic community.’ We had opened the event with trust-building activities, getting to know and understand one another as different people before introducing and practising Action Learning techniques. We also chose our own ground rules from the outset. The retreat was interspersed with times of prayer, biblical reflection and sharing of meals together. This reflection on community struck me as significant because it says something profound about what happened within the group, and is also a comment on outside-of the group. The participants were from very diverse personal and professional backgrounds, thrashed through some pretty tough issues together with honesty and care – and found this experience unique. It contrasted starkly with superficial conversations elsewhere, or with experiences of diversity that have resulted in avoiding, ‘othering’, polarisation, tension or conflict. I arrived home last night to hear the news on TV of a public activist’s murder, apparently by someone who didn’t agree with his views and influence. Then, today, I watched a huge protest crowd in London clash with a smaller group of counter-protestors, with embattled police holding the sides apart. It felt symptomatic of people, groups and societies that have lost their willingness and ability to tolerate difference, to tolerate truth, and to hold rigorous debates without feeling the need to silence with a bullet or with an arrest for free speech.  ‘It's not how much we give but how much love we put into giving.’ (Mother Theresa) ‘I don’t own a purse because, with God’s help, I give everything away.’ As this humble Filipina revealed a rare glimpse of this personal dimension of her life of faith, I was struck by how she said it with absolutely no air of virtue-signalling. It was so matter of fact, as if speaking a self-evident truth for all followers of Jesus, everywhere. It challenged me as I glanced at my own wallet on the table. I’ve never met anyone so principled. I mean, it’s one thing to share from the edges of our excess wealth. It’s quite another thing to be very poor and not to cling on hard to the little we have. Yet I’ve seen her live out this faith, day after day and year after year. It’s humbling and inspiring and I’ve never witnessed so many miracles as those I’ve seen God work through her. True faith = love + trust.  ‘If you judge people, you have no time to love them. Peace begins with a smile.’ (Mother Teresa) Jasmin sets off today for a 1-month visit to the UK. It feels important. After all, it’s not that often that a ‘wild jungle girl’ (as she calls herself) gets to fly across the world to such a different place. I’m always intrigued by the unique world she brings with her too – her presence, her stance, her culture; the profound experiences that have shaped her life and, through her, mine too. It feels like hosting a totally unique person who, although she regards herself (at 5 feet tall) as very small, lives like Mother Teresa and has an incredible impact in the lives of the poor. I’m aware of feeling a deep sense of anticipation as I write this – something like a strange mix of excitement and dread. Although we speak online ever day, I haven’t seen her in person for almost 3 years. Will I be aware and sensitive enough to her needs? Will I find myself being over-protective when she encounters things here that could surprise or hurt her? I’m painfully aware, for instance, of our relative wealth, the ease with which we spend and indulge while she lives among those who have hardly enough to survive. It feels shameful and embarrassing. Yet I notice she doesn’t judge or, if she does, that she hides it well. She’s too focused on God (whom she calls her own Father) to become distracted by the things that so often and so easily preoccupy us in this world. She believes the poor – and the rich – are precious to God and that that’s what matters most. She views every interaction with a person (even the hostile Filipino immigration officer who confronted her harshly at the airport today) as a ‘sacred encounter’, an opportunity to follow Jesus by sharing his compassion and love. I want to be more like her.  ‘Sometimes I arrive just when God’s ready to have someone click the shutter.’ (Ansel Adams) I was completely blown away this Easter weekend by a presentation by world-renowned Peter Caton: a ‘documentary photographer with a social conscience’. I found it incredibly inspiring to see a follower of Jesus using his gifts and talents so powerfully on behalf of the poor and most vulnerable people in the world. This was faith in action, love in action, hope in action. As Peter shared brief glimpses of his experiences over the years, ranging from gruelling days spent in crocodile and mosquito-infested waters in South Sudan to precarious hours in harrowingly dangerous refugee camps in Somalia, I felt myself gripped by his resilience and courage. I was moved and impressed by Peter’s personal ethics and humility too. He has no interest in parading himself before the world’s media. Instead, his goal is to raise awareness of the plight of those living, surviving, sometimes thriving in some of the most challenging of circumstances imaginable, to engender action. He always asks permission first, explains exactly how photos will be used, and avoids insensitive or intrusive images of distress. He builds authentic, caring relationships and takes his striking pictures from low-down, looking up at his subjects to preserve and reinforce a sense of human dignity. Peter calls each person by their name. Respect.  ‘Let’s set the world afire.’ (Francis Xavier) If you’re unfamiliar with Ash Wednesday, it’s a Christian ritual that marks the beginning of a season of preparing ourselves spiritually as we approach Easter. In some traditions, it’s marked by receiving a symbol of a cross of ash on the forehead: a sign of our own weakness and our need for God. It’s a time to face up to, in ourselves and in the world, what Francis Spufford calls the ‘human propensity to f*** things up’. Lent, the period that leads from Ash Wednesday to Easter, is an opportunity to do just that. It challenges us to speak truth to ourselves about our part in the mess; to look at God as if in a mirror and to see ourselves and the world through his eyes. It calls us to look beneath our daily distractions to Someone infinitely more important. On this theme, I loved reading Meghan Ashley’s reflections (below). With real honesty and a touch of light-hearted humour, she expresses the spirit of Ash Wednesday beautifully: ‘I STILL get excited to see what type of cross the priest gave me and if he gave me a good one. Last year, I got a really light one that looked like a smudge. I went to work, and a coworker informed me that I had something on my head. MAJOR FACE PALM. Why couldn’t I just get a good cross to match my coordinating outfit?! I was prepped and ready for a good one!! Ughhh. However, I learned a good lesson that day. The lesson totally makes me realize that I’m a little distracted by the facade and should focus on the crazy, mind-blowing meaning… right?! My ashes remind me to grieve my division from God because of my sinning. That is BIG stuff. Grande. We have such beautiful rich traditions and spirituality, that it’s so easy to take it at 'face' value.’ And today, more than ever, I remind myself: ‘In a time of universal deceit, telling the truth is a revolutionary act.’ (George Orwell) |
Nick WrightI'm a psychological coach, trainer and OD consultant. Curious to discover how can I help you? Get in touch! 
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