 ‘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.
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 ‘None of this is about morality, or religion, or dogma, or big fancy questions of life after death. The capital-T Truth is about life before death. It is about making it to 30, or maybe 50, without wanting to shoot yourself in the head.’ (David Foster Wallace) The seagulls woke me with their loud cries. I couldn’t tell if they were singing or screaming. Perhaps it was both. Still, it's better than the bellowing bark of the neighbour’s dog that shatters the sleep, silence and solitude most days. There are no lights outside on my house. Only a single candle with a flickering flame inside: enough, I pray, to hold back the darkness. Tis the season to be jolly and yet, as the sun rose this morning, I felt more like Neil Young’s lonely boy: ‘Can't relate to joy, he tries to speak and…can't begin to say.’ I felt lost for words. Mindfulness won’t bring peace on Earth and no amount of positive psychology will shift the mood. I can’t fake a façade, a smile – and I refuse to do it. This is spiritual, existential. I listened to and felt Anna Robbins’ words: ‘So here it is. The incarnation of God...is not a sweet baby Jesus moment. It is light in the midst of the deeps; meaning in chaos; presence in isolation…(It) remembers his coming, celebrates his presence. and anticipates a future coming when all will be made well. Which means all is not well right now…in an uncertain world filled with conflict and disorientation.’ ‘If you don't feel excited about the usual preparations, there is nothing wrong with you…(and) if you feel out of sorts, it's because we all are, and you choose not to pretend anymore…Honesty about what a mess things are enable(s) us to receive the light of Christ as reality in which we participate, rather than simply offer our carols as spiritual whistling in the dark.’ That resonates. It feels for me like touching a fundamental reality, a rock bottom from which the only way is up. It’s deep and it matters. It’s only against the backdrop of darkness that the nativity, the coming of Jesus – Light of the world – makes sense. As I look around and see worldwide poverty, violence, oppression, corruption and injustice, that Light is hope.  ‘Every child you encounter is a divine appointment.’ (Wess Stafford) Words can’t capture it. Photos can’t express it. I can’t find a way to do it justice. The sheer, vibrant joy and excitement of 127 children this Christmas on receiving what they had asked for – a bag each with bright-coloured notepads, pens and a handful of sweets. Rewind for a moment. These kids live in a city cemetery in the Philippines. Yes, a cemetery, among the gravestones and broken down mausolea. Desperately poor, their families cling to the edges of society, surviving invisibly at meagre subsistence level. Imagine it. A Filipina saw them. She remembered vividly and painfully how, as a child living in dire poverty too, she never received a Christmas gift. Other children did and that felt sad and confusing. In her child's mind, she concluded that she must have done something wrong. It was only later in life that she learned that wealthier parents had paid Santa to distribute gifts to their own children. This experience burned deep in her soul. She’d always returned home heavy-hearted and empty-handed. She determined that these kids wouldn't. Back to now. The children knew something special was about to happen. She’d asked them in advance what they’d love – if God enabled a way to make it possible. ‘School bags!’ they replied. It was a humble and humbling request. As she arrived, the tension was tangible, the kids straining in eager anticipation to see what she’d brought. The Filipina had packed every gift individually, beautifully and prayerfully so that each child would know they are seen, valued and loved. The children skipped, sang and danced. A sacred encounter. What a gift. Remember the poor. We can be hope.   ‘Who, being loved, is poor?’ (Oscar Wilde) Jasmin asks the poorest kids who live in a cemetery: ‘What do you dream of for this Christmas?’ ‘A school bag!’, they reply. This isn’t the answer I had expected. They live outdoors, playing and sleeping among the marble tombs and mausoleums of those who, in this life, had the benefit of greater wealth. It’s a precarious existence for these kids and their families with the risks of starvation, poor health, injury or criminal activity on the one hand, or of being suddenly and unceremoniously evicted from their makeshift home by the police or local authority on the other. It’s a safeguarding nightmare and some locals say the poor make the place look messy, untidy. Jasmin, a poor Filipina among the poor, does the maths. There are 127 children living there. One robust, durable, waterproof, cleanable and (importantly) cool-looking school bag each, plus 8 notebooks in each bag (one for each subject at school), plus pens and pencils. And a handful of special chocolate Christmas treats for each child too! For Jasmin, this isn’t just a project. It isn’t just about providing practical assistance to these families in material need. It’s a symbol, a sign, a positive action, that demonstrates to these children that they are seen…and that God sees them…and that they are loved. It’s about a sacred encounter with Jesus on Christmas Day. I love that. We too can be hope.  ‘Great coaches help you see what you can be, not just what you are.’ (Ara Parseghian) There are all kinds of legitimate reasons why people engage in commercial business activities. For many, it's to create dividends on investments for shareholders or to generate funds to improve one’s own social status, lifestyle and opportunities. There are also those who seek to generate profit through business with the explicit purpose of enabling social change. This is quite different to charitable ventures or conventional public sector (that is, not-for-profit) services, even though the desired outcomes may well be similar. Same ends, different means. My own coach challenged me on this recently – and rightly so. I commented glibly in a session that, quite frankly, through my work, I had no interest in helping the rich to get richer. There are other people in my professional field who would be better suited and more aligned values-wise to that goal than me. I explained that I work with people and organisations that are beyond-profit, that exist to enable social and spiritual change, particularly in the lives of those who are poorest and most vulnerable in the world. That seemed, to me, quite different to business. My coach pushed back: ‘What about a business that exists for a social-spiritual purpose?’ That stopped me in my tracks and I was keen to explore it. It got me thinking about profit-for-purpose and social enterprise; concepts and models that are, ironically, characteristics of my own work too and yet had lain largely outside of my awareness. It inspired me to stretch my horizons and extend the reach of my work, to support social entrepreneurs who share a radical vision. I, too, experienced afresh the power of coaching to remove blinkers from the eyes.  ‘The first essential component of social justice is adequate food for all people.’ (Norman Borlaug) For long enough, we had an excuse. We couldn’t see the world, except through black and white pictures in newspapers or, for those with sufficient wealth or other means, by international travel. With the arrival of the internet, however, that distant world has come to us. We can now see the poor directly, if we are willing to see, and if we can resist closing our eyes for just long enough to catch a true glimpse. The images on screen can leave us shocked, cold or confused. A temptation is to withdraw, to shift our gaze and attention elsewhere, or to find and create ways to justify how things are and, in doing that, to attempt to absolve ourselves too. If we look for too long, we may start to look critically at our own world and view our own lives differently, and that can feel deeply unsettling, unnerving and anxiety-provoking. Easier, perhaps, to tell ourselves something like this: ‘The poor are happy.’ ‘They don’t know any different.’ ‘They wouldn’t like it here.’ ‘Poverty is not having any money to worry about!’ We can try to justify ourselves too: ‘They’re poor because they don’t work as hard as we do.’ ‘I’m not rich. My wealth and lifestyle are normal in this country.’ Or the most cynical rationalisation of all: ‘Jesus said the poor will always be with you.’ In UK history, in rural communities, a successful harvest – or not – meant quite literally the difference between life and death. Yet there are still so many in the world who live on that sharp edge. Climate change with resulting drought or floods is forcing people into abject poverty or to flee. War and conflict are doing the same. People in such situations need help. We can change our own priorities and do something. We can pray in the spirit of Jesus who said, whatever you do for the poor, 'you do for me.’ We can advocate on behalf of the vulnerable, e.g. write to your MP. We can provide relief for those who are destitute; e.g. give to a disaster appeal. We can support development efforts to build sustainable livelihoods; e.g. join or support an international charity. We can help address economic justice, e.g. buy Fair Trade. Bottom line: 'Live simply, so that others can simply live.’ (Mahatma Gandhi)  ‘We don’t need to be rich to help the poor, needy and hungry. We need to have a heart.’ (Kevin D’Cruz) I felt humbled and inspired last week when a teacher in the Philippines, who earns just 9000 pesos (£150) per month, gave her entire salary to a poor student. The student’s brother had become seriously ill with pneumonia and is too poor to pay for medication. The teacher, who lives with her daughter at subsistence level, gave without hesitation, even though it would leave her with just 60 pesos to pay for her own food and expenses until the end of the month. I was astonished. She told me to have faith and not to overthink: ‘Do it for love of Jesus.’ This week, the teacher opened her own home to 6 of the poorest students in her class who can’t afford to pay any rent. ‘It’s a way to help them continue with their education. If they had to work to earn rent, they would have to drop out of university and their studies.’ Curious, I find myself wondering if her generosity risks creating an unhealthy dependency in these young people. Yet she assigns practical tasks in their spare time so they feel like they’re contributing and retain their self-respect. I'm impressed. This is love in action. We can be hope.  'The supreme happiness of life is the conviction that we are loved.' (Victor Hugo) Bursting with excitement would be an understatement. These poor Filipino children today know that something very special is about to happen, but neither they nor their families know what it will be. Living in a very poor community that exists at subsistence level in a cemetery, they don’t normally expect to be seen, let alone be treated to gifts. When Jasmin, her daughter and her small team of helpers appear, the whole community goes wild. Supported by friends in the UK and Germany, every one of the 127 children receives a mattress to sleep on. Christmas gifts and food parcels are distributed too. With wide smiles of joy, the whole community springs spontaneously into song and dance. God is amazing. Love in action. We can be hope.  Today is a dark day. The wind and rain outside reflect the deep, dark feeling inside. One of the women who featured in small things, the video, in July…has died. She didn’t die from an accident or a serious illness. She died because she is poor. She loved to help others and brought joy to the lives of those who live on the far edge of hope. That is her tribute – her simple, beautiful legacy. With no shoes to wear, she got a small cut on her foot. Not wanting to burden her family with the cost of help that they too could ill afford, she hid it from them and didn't say anything. She wrapped a makeshift bandage around it, but couldn’t keep it clean. With untreated diabetes, no sanitation and being too poor to access doctors, hospitals or medication, the wound festered and killed her. I hate that the poor are so vulnerable. And I’m trying to remind myself: we can be hope. ‘Not all of us can do great things. But we can do small things with great love.’ (Mother Teresa) Small things are big things in the hands of the poor. Imagine this: you live in dire poverty, in a cemetery. You and your neighbours each have only a handful of possessions – mostly a few clothes – and have nowhere to keep them clean or dry. In fact, you live life day-by-day, moment-by-moment, and have no discretionary income whatsoever. No-one sees you, and no-one helps. Then, today, a woman appears, as if out of nowhere, carrying sturdy plastic boxes and offers them to you freely, as ‘a gift from Jesus’. At first, you can’t believe it. Your face lights up as you realise: they really are for you and for your friends. A woman in your group, who hasn’t been able to hear or speak since birth, rushes to this woman, throws her arms around her neck…and cries. A box full of love. A beautiful hug. Small things are big things. We can be hope. |
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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