There is a time to mourn.
Tomorrow we will have a service of remembrance in the evening for families who have been bereaved during the course of the past year. And there will be candles. And there will be hymns. And there will be mourning.
Tonight I am mourning. I am not mourning so much the dead – I pray they are at peace. I mourn the suffering of the living. It has crept up tonight like a mist and enveloped me, the aeroplane crash in Sinai; the refugees fleeing Syria, and dying in Greece and in the ocean and everywhere they flee to; the children in this country whose parents are little more than children, whose own parents are also children who have not learnt how to take care of each other and who are now more and more finding that there is no one and no money to help. The women who needed the support of refuges that have just now shut because there is no money. The children who thought they were being rescued after an earthquake and instead were traffiked and sold. This world where everything has a price and souls are traded for exclusive rights and book deals, whilst children even from safe homes dream only of one day making money from their famous or infamous identity. I mourn those scientists who shut down parts of their brain and write off parts of humanity for fear of being infected with religious beliefs, and I mourn those religious people who shut down parts of their brain for fear their image of God may not survive interrogation
I am mourning for all of us – for humanity. We are so precious and so full of tears… about two thirds full I think. Tomorrow I will be strong and speak quite honestly of hope. But I must also weep – because we all hurt so much, and because although I cannot reach or cannot help very many people, it does not mean they do not matter – and just because I am not with them does not mean I do not care. We humanise one another, we are all bound together – and tonight I weep for those I will never meet and for those who believe that no-one weeps for them. I do.