letter

I could see from the pained expression worn by the woman at the check-in desk that she was genuinely sorry. I took a deep breath and took in the news that she gave me. It was hard to feel angry with her following the cancellation of our flight. It wasn't even the airline's fault. Without warning, baggage handlers at Venice's Marco Polo Airport had walked out, leaving the departures board ablaze with the repeated word "CANCELLATO" in glowing red letters.

The airport was full of people who, like me, "needed to be home". There were queues at the public phones, queues for the computers in the business lounge, queues at the hire car desks.

I needed to be in Bristol the next day to conduct a wedding of friends. I needed to be in Oadby a day later to preach and baptise seven children. Within minutes it became clear that I would be able to keep neither of these important appointments.

Two weeks later, at the time of writing this article, the skies are empty all across northern Europe, as ash from the Eyjafjallajökull volcano has left hundreds of thousands of passengers stranded, with little idea of when they might reach their destinations. My delayed return from Venice prolonged our post-Easter holiday by three days and messed up my diary. It left me feeling wretched about being unavailable for commitments that I had made. But it wasn't as prolonged or as uncertain as the disruption caused by the volcanic ash cloud were for countless stranded passengers around the world.

During last year's long walking pilgrimmage from Paris, I discovered something unexpected. I had predicted that being a long way from home would be difficult, at least from time to time. But in fact it was quite exciting, as long as I was moving. Being homeward-bound was actually quite delightful when home was getting closer and when I knew I was making progress each day. Being stuck a long way from home though, is different.

Jesus tells a sceptical audience a story about homecoming. Professionally religious people were shocked that he was socialising with the underclass. They couldn't understand why he wasn't enforcing the kind of respectable morality that they thought he should. So his story begins with two brothers - the older a decent, hardworking man, the younger a waster and a rogue. The younger sibling outrageously asks his father for his inheritance. He might as well have wished his dad dead.

Spending his new wealth recklessly, indulging all his appetites and dreams, he eventually slides into poverty and despair. He's a long way from home now - both literally and metaphorically. But he's not completely stuck, there is a way back.

The young man remembers his father. And with uncertain steps and a doubtful heart, he begins his homeward journey. We can imagine the first long part of his homeward trek; how guilty, hungry, tired and broken he was. The poignant moment in Jesus' story occurs before the prodigal completes his journey, when his father sees him. He isn't accepted once he's paid off his debts, nor even when he's given a full explanation and apology. He isn't met on the doorstep. Instead the father rushes out to meet his son while he is still a way off. The young man is swept up into his dad's arms and held in a long embrace. He completes his homeward journey in the company of his loving father. While he is homeward-bound, he's met and forgiven, restored and loved.

Jesus' Parable of the Prodigal Son promises forgiveness for even the most desperate person who accepts the restoring love of God. If this were a promise for at the end of our lives, it would be a wonderful assurance. But the stunning grace which is at work here is even more wonderful because it's for now, for those of us who aren't yet home but who are travelling slowly and hopefully.

Airport chaos perfectly demonstrates something about the times in which we live. Modern airports are busy places, brightly lit, full of promise and stashed with what the in-flight magazines call "opportunities to purchase". But close the departure gates and the pain is apparent within moments. Because no one is at home at an airport. And while the departure boards are red, no one is homeward-bound. "We're stuck. It's sheer hell." said one desperate passenger to reporters.

With volcanic ash in the skies, the air traffic lanes paralysed and governments uncertain, some people are yet managing to make progress, finding their own unofficial routes through the logjam. Lifts have been offered. When good news about ferry crossings or rail tickets is discovered, it is quickly shared on social networks. When I was stuck in Venice, we saw similar small kindnesses that made things much better. Fellow travellers, who had been strangers jostling for places in the queues began sharing news, offering help, lending mobile phones and generously indicating where the rare hotel rooms could be found. The sympathy was real and the help practical. Which makes me wonder again about desperate souls who long to get back to God.

The professional religionists of Jesus' day had blocked the homeward-bound journeys of ordinary people. They had barred the routes which might lead to redemption for the poor and the outcast. The task for the Church in our day is to get alongside those who are stuck and bewildered, to bring encouragement and hope, and to pass on the whispered good news that there is a way start a homeward-bound journey with God.

Simon Harvey

February Letter from Revd Simon Harvey

Faith is political

Even before we finished the mince pies and sang Auld Lang Syne the press began to speak of this as Election Year. Unlike the United States and many other democracies, the governing party chooses a date for a General Election, subject to an absolute limit of five years. So whatever else this year brings, we can be sure that on or before my forty-seventh birthday, the third of June, the great British electorate will be invited to cast its votes.

I know that for some readers, the prospect of months of driving past billboards on which party leaders beam their white-teethed smiles is deeply depressing. Many people do not look forward to daily media reports of debate about policy and personality.

"Politics" itself has become a rather grubby word. And it's getting worse. Thanks to the scandal of MPs expenses, politicians are treated by many with as much appreciation as car park clampers, or bankers. A record number have already announced that they have enough, and won't be seeking our votes for their re-election.

True, the quality of the argument is sometimes likely to be depressing. We shall probably weary of the distortion of opponents' policies, groan at the crass sloganeering, and roll our eyes at the weak jokes. But could it just be that we get the politics we deserve?

This is, of course, a chicken-and-egg kind of a situation. Which comes first? Misbehaviour by politicians, or a disengaged electorate? If the stakes were small, say limited to the careers of a few hundred ambitious individuals, it probably wouldn't matter so much. But politics, whatever we feel about it, is serious stuff.

Politics is the decision-making process in which choices are made that affect us all. It involves the negotiation of ideas. It gives legitimate powers and holds authority to account. It listens to grievances, creates and restrains freedoms, sets priorities and makes investments for the welfare of individuals and communities. It's hardly unimportant.

There's a particular tendency among the English to treat politics a bit like religion, as though both are somehow essentially private matters, inappropriate for conversation unless one is sure one is among like-minded friends. Perhaps our bloody history makes our national psyche more nervous than other nations in talking openly about our political views and our personal faith. There are families in which neither are spoken about. Some husbands and wives don't talk about how they vote or how they pray.

The challenge at the start of an election year for Christians, is not a simple matter of asking which way Jesus would vote. For one thing, we can be sure no single party perfectly embodies the values of the Kingdom of God, and no party official, MP or Prime Minister will be perfect. But neither should we give up on the political process.

Let's be thankful that there still are men and women who are motivated to seek office for the sake of public service. Let's appreciate that while cynicism and manipulation play their part in every democratic system, our MPs generally seek to change things for the better.

To follow Jesus seriously means being concerned about the way that our society is ordered. His first followers did not bow to earthly powers and declare "Caesar is Lord!" But they did understand that matters of justice, poverty, inclusion, freedom and equality were vital faith issues. In our day a loving Christian response to the issues is not withdrawal from the political sphere. It's to engage, listen, discuss and to participate. The minimum we should do is cast our votes.

Finally, let me go one stage further and dare to suggest how you should vote in 2010: prayerfully and selflessly.