Pope Francis will commission instruments of peace and love

Was he crazy? Peter Bernadone, feeling ready to explode with anger, thought his son had gone absolutely stark raving mad. Francis, for his part, thought his father was the one who was foolish. It was time for father and son to walk different ways, however painful that might be.

Peter, a wealthy cloth merchant, had been a doting father. When Francis dreamed of knighthood, honour and glory, Peter spent more than was reasonable as he twice equipped him for war. The first time, after a battle against Assisi’s neighbouring city of Perugia, his son had ended up languishing in prison until Peter ransomed him. The second time, he simply gave up before reaching his destination and returned to Assisi telling a story about a dream, a voice and shields. Instead of working for his father, Francis spent long hours praying in a cave. That would not have been too great a problem had not the young man exchanged his clothes with a beggar, inviting ridicule from the townsfolk as he walked home through the streets of Assisi.

Francis, the one-time leader of Assisi youth, no longer saw the world through the materialistic eyes of Peter Bernadone. God was asking something more. No longer looking for fame and fortune, he believed that the crucified Jesus had spoken to him in the ruined church of San Damiano. “Francis, rebuild my Church, which, as you can see, has fallen into disrepair.” The young man took those words literally. He sold some of his father’s bales of very expensive cloth for less than their worth and gave the money to the priest at San Damiano.

Peter, exasperated beyond his limits, dragged Francis to the courtyard outside the bishop’s palace, hoping to settle matters once and for all. What happened next was beyond his worst nightmares. Not only did his son return whatever money was in his possession. In front of the curious crowd, gathered to see what would happen, Francis removed his clothes and gave them to his father saying, “Listen to me, all of you, and understand. Until now I have called Peter Bernadone my father. But, because I have proposed to serve God, I return to him the money on account of which he was so upset, and also all the clothing which is his, wanting to say from now on: ‘Our Father who are in heaven ,’ and not ‘My father, Peter Bernadone.’” The bishop covered the half-naked young man with his cloak and led him away.

The film Brother Sun, Sister Moon, showed the unforgettable moment when the young Francis of Assisi undressed before his heartbroken parents, the people and the bishop of Assisi and walked into the sunshine of his new-found vocation. Renouncing his father’s hopes and dreams, in a single gesture, he abandoned the life of wealth, comfort and fame that could have been his. Instead, he stepped out into a new world of uncertainty, hardship, poverty and controversy. 800 years later, the world still recalls and celebrates that pivotal moment which cost ‘not less than everything’. As far as we know, Peter and Francis were never reconciled.

“Just after he was elected Pope I sent him a letter on behalf of the diocese, reminding him that, as Bishop of Assisi, I live in the place where Francis undressed before his speechless father, Peter Bernadone, eight centuries ago, to free himself entirely for God and for his brothers.” Archbishop Domenico Sorrentino will welcome Pope Francis to the home of his namesake on 4 October. “I took the liberty of saying to Francis: “So Father, it would be great if among your many other commitments today, you came here at least to say the Our Father, as Francis did 800 years ago.” The Pope’s answer really threw me. He said: “The Our Father? But I want to talk about how the Church should undress and somehow repeat that gesture Francis made and the values inherent in this gesture.”

It is no coincidence that Pope Francis should visit Assisi on the feast of his patron. At World Youth Day in Brazil, he recalled, “Slowly but surely, Francis came to realise that it was not a question of repairing a stone building, but about doing his part for the life of the Church.” He told the young people that the Church they are called to help build is not “a little chapel, which holds only a small group of persons”, but rather a “church so large that it can hold all of humanity”. For Saint Francis, and for all of us, what is important is “being at the service of the Church, loving her and working to make the countenance of Christ shine ever more brightly in her”.

The message which the Pope will proclaim to the world is that of the importance of falling head-over-heels in love with God. When St Francis returned his clothes to his father, Peter, he gave himself totally, heart, body and soul, to God. Pope Francis will encourage us to imitate the saint in discarding everything hindering our love affair with God.

St Francis, in a unique way, knew Jesus. His friend Bernard said of him that “he did not so much pray as become himself a prayer”. Two years before his death on 3 October 1226, he was marked with the Stigmata, the wounds of the crucified Jesus. As his Pope Francis recently remarked at Mass, “It is not enough to know [Jesus] with the mind: it is a step. However, it is necessary to get to know Jesus in dialogue with him, talking with him in prayer, kneeling. If you do not pray, if you do not talk with Jesus, you do not know him. You know things about Jesus, but you do not go with that knowledge, which he gives your heart in prayer. Know Jesus with the mind... know Jesus with the heart - in prayer, in dialogue with him... There is a third way to know Jesus: it is by following him. Go with him, walk with him... Here, then, is how you can really know Jesus: with these three languages ​​- of the mind, heart and action.”

Uniquely, St Francis, the ‘little poor man of Assisi’, knew Jesus. He emptied himself so completely that God filled him completely... Pope Francis will tell us to know Jesus by following him, going with him and walking with him. He will encourage us to imitate St Francis’ total openness and obedience to everything God asked of him. He will invite us to unite with St Francis as he prayed, “My God and my all.” Perhaps most importantly, he will stress the all-embracing love which welcomed the leper at the roadside, treating him as a human being with his own unique dignity. We will be once again challenged to focus on the needy and the helpless, the small and insignificant in the eyes of the world. In the very place where St Francis instructed his followers to greet people with the words, “May God give you peace”, Pope Francis will commission us as instruments of peace and love in our troubled world of today.

Our Lady of Bonaria becomes the Pope’s port of call

The rose petals floated away from the ferry on the River Mersey in a beautiful, poignant and deeply precious moment of remembering deceased family members and friends. A nearby passenger sobbed quietly into the enfolding arms of her male companion. Everybody stood or sat in silence, busy with personal thoughts and memories as the chaplain said a brief prayer, the signal for the participants on this special Jospice-arranged cruise to scatter the rose petals onto the waves.

My own ‘special people’ featured my late grandfather, Henry Stuart Knight, whom I never met. His long years in the Merchant Navy and, subsequently, as the Captain of the Duchess of Bedford and the Empress of France spanned two world wars. I remembered my 19 year-old Uncle Frank, shot down into the North Sea as he and his crew returned from Germany a few months before the end of WWII. There were also the two crew members of the Royal Daffodil, to me, forever anonymous, but who saved the crowded ferry, its crew and passengers from a mine which had come adrift and floated between Liverpool’s Pier Head and Wallasey on the opposite bank. Years later, on realising the nature of the large ball with shiny spikes which, at 5 years old, I thought exciting and beautiful, I understood with a gasp why the adults stood in silence, watching the two sailors risk their lives to save us. Something uniquely valued and meaningful tempered the joy of an afternoon on one of the famous ‘Ferries across the Mersey’.

That is why, when Pope Francis visits the Sardinian town of Cagliari, he will tap into a 700 year-old tradition of the perils of the sea and care for all those who sail on her, in war and in peace. Visiting the shrine of Our Lady of Cagliari, also known as Our Lady of Bonaria (good air), he will inevitably pray for all those who travel by sea.

Every year, on 25 April, the statue of Our Lady is taken from the cathedral in Cagliari, becoming the honoured passenger on a similar memorial cruise. In the midst of the noisy enjoyment of an Italian festa, there are also the sombre moments as people remember their loved ones and throw their flowers onto the waves. The difference is that the people of Cagliari recall, not only those who have died, but also those who have been saved from the sea.

According to local tradition, on 25 March 1370, the feast of the Annunciation, a terrible storm overtook a Catalonian ship travelling towards Italy from Spain. In danger of sinking, its desperate captain instructed his crew to jettison the cargo, hoping that, by lightening the weight of the vessel, they would be able to survive the tempest. There seemed to be no improvement and the danger only intensified. He ordered the last remaining large crate to be thrown overboard. Immediately it touched the water, the storm ceased! Also, to the surprise of the crew, despite its great weight, the crate floated, rather than sank.

With the danger over, the sailors retrieved as much of the cargo as they could, but were unable to bring the large crate back on board. Eventually the captain decided to cut his losses and abandon it, returning to his original route towards the Italian mainland.

The crate finally washed up on the Sardinian shore, close to Cagliari and not far from the local church. Local inhabitants, hoping for profitable beachcombing after the storm, came down to the shore. The large chest attracted their attention, but it was far too heavy to lift. Local tradition relates that a child suggested that the priests might know how to move the box and its contents away from the beach, where it was threatened by the incoming tide.

The priests, Mercedarian friars, committed to the redemption of slaves, apparently succeeded in lifting the chest without any difficulty. On opening it, they discovered a wooden statue of Our Lady, holding the Infant on her left arm. Her right hand carried a lighted taper in a boat-shaped holder.  Jesus, the world in his left hand, extended his right hand towards the boat and candle.

Perhaps inevitably, sailors began to look on Our Lady of Bonaria (good wind - ‘bon aria’) as their patroness. After all, she had saved the lives of the crew of the ship in which her statue had reached Cagliari. Several centuries of stories of her intervention led Pope Pius X to proclaim her as Patroness of Sardinia on 13 September 1907. Pope Paul VI visited the shrine on 24 April 1970, whilst Pope Benedict travelled to Cagliari and to the shrine of Our Lady of Bonaria on 7 September 2008. During his time in front of the shrine, he told the assembled crowd:

“Mary is the harbour, refuge and protection for the Sardinian people who have within them the strength of oak. When the storm has passed the oak stands strong; fires rage and it sends out new shoots; the drought comes and it wins through once again. Let us therefore renew joyfully our consecration to such a caring Mother. I am sure that generations of Sardinians will continue to climb to the Shrine at Bonaria to invoke the Virgin's protection. Those who entrust themselves to Our Lady of Bonaria, a merciful and powerful Mother, will never be disappointed.”

The Cagliari statue of Our Lady of Bonaria is one of a group of so-called Taper shrines, one of which, Our Lady of Cardigan in the diocese of Menevia, dates back to the 12^th century. In the period around the date when the Catalonian ship ran into difficulties offshore from Cagliari, their sailors and merchants thronged British waters. Sadly, in 1538, the dissolution of the monasteries under Henry VIII led to the destruction of the original shrine and statue of Our Lady of Cardigan.

There is also a special link between the Cagliari devotion to Our Lady of Bonaria and the Pope’s former diocese of Buenos Aries. Spanish navigator, Pedro de Mendoza, who founded Buenos Aires on 2 February  1536, dedicated the city to Our Lady of the Buon Ayre (Fair Winds), keeping a promise which he had made to the Patroness of Navigators. Later on, when the city was resettled by his countryman and fellow Conquistador, Juan de Garay, in 1580, there was a problem and a compromise became necessary. As Pope Francis explained, “The founders who established Buenos Aires wished to name it the city of Holy Spirit, but the sailors, who had brought [them] there, were Sardinians and wanted it to be named the city of the Madonna of the Bonaria.” He continued: “There was a dispute between them and in the end they negotiated and [...] the name of the city is very long; it is called the Ciudad de la Santísima Trinidad y Puerto de Santa María del Buen Aire (City of the Holy Trinity and Port of Saint Mary of Buen Aire), but it was so long that only the last words remained: Buon Aria, Buenos Aires, but it is due to your Madonna.”

It is no coincidence that the Pope from Buenos Aires in making the sanctuary of Our Lady of Bonaria his port of call!

Fr Murray Bodo, storyteller of St Francis

Experts say that the best way in which to give God a good laugh is to tell him our plans. Perhaps Fr Murray Bodo should have known better than to think he knew his future path after ordination: as a Franciscan, life would inevitably be surprising. If anything, to be a Franciscan means being pre-programmed for the unforeseen ideas of the God of the Unexpected!

“I never expected to spend my life teaching, writing and leading pilgrimages to Assisi. I had thought that, after ordination I would be working with the Navajo people. Life just did not turn out as I had predicted.”

Fr Murray Bodo OFM, Franciscan friar, writer, poet and author of the modern spiritual classic, Francis: The Journey and the Dream, laughed. “I grew up in Gallup, New Mexico quite close to the Navajo Reservation, and my father worked for a while on the Reservation.  We had friends there and knew two of the Franciscan missionaries.  I was also inspired by Fr Berard Haile, who put the Navajo language into writing, inventing a morphology to visually transmit the sound of the Navajo words.  I wanted to be a Navajo Missionary like them.”

The contrast could scarcely be greater. Thousands of people across the world, for more than 40 years, have associated the name of Fr Murray with teaching, writing, poetry and Franciscan study pilgrimages. How did the change of plans come about?

“I ended up teaching literature and writing at St Francis High School Seminary in Cincinnati, Ohio, right after my ordination. I was asked if I would replace the friar who taught English and who was terminally ill. I was assured it would only be for one year.  Twelve years later I was moved from the High School Seminary to our Franciscan college as Professor of English there until it closed two years later.  I then taught English at other universities and colleges, having, by that time, a Master's Degree and a Doctorate in English.  I was writing poetry seriously from my undergraduate studies through my theological studies before ordination.”

The name of Fr Murray Bodo OFM conjures up an image of a gently-spoken American Franciscan, whose book, Francis: The Journey and the Dream, has sold more than 200,000 copies and has been translated into French, Spanish, Danish, Japanese, Chinese, Italian, and Maltese. With more than 30 books in print, several of them collections of his own poetry, it is not surprising that he comments, “Writing is something I just have to do to be me. It’s intimately a part of my identity.”

Fr Murray did not simply wake up one morning and decide to write Francis: The Journey and the Dream, a poetic, story-like version of the life of St Francis of Assisi. He points out, “I was asked to write the book by Father Jeremy Harrington, OFM, who was at that time the editor and publisher of St. Anthony Messenger Press.  The thought was that there would then be a book on St. Francis released at the same time as Franco Zeffirelli's film, Brother Sun, Sister Moon.  I was sent to Assisi for three months to work on the book.  It is a mystery to me why it has been so popular and been translated into so many languages.  St Francis must have been using me as an instrument to speak to others in a way that touched a chord in people all over the world.”

Forty years later, Fr Murray wrote Francis and Jesus, another small book and one which is, in many ways, a continuation of Francis: The Journey and the Dream. What inspired him to write Francis and Jesus? Why is it so different from its predecessor?

“I wrote this book because I found the writing voice I had used in The Journey and the Dream.  I was working with a scene from Francis's life, and suddenly that voice was there again, and I just went with it to see where it would lead me.  The book is different because I was forty years older and had spent those years working three months of the year in Assisi and doing research on Francis's life.  I had also grown in my understanding of the inner life and the Franciscan charism.”

Many insights enshrined within Francis and Jesus are the result of long years of reflection and life experience.

“The book, Francis and Jesus, grew out of the silence that lies between the lines of what St Francis said about himself and what was said about him by the early biographers.  He says so little about himself and only the imagination, I found, could give me access to what was inside the lines, what was contained in the silence, in the unsaid, as it were.  As with my first book, Francis: The Journey and the Dream, so, too, in this book, when I began to explore the inner silence for what was inaccessible to me historically, St Francis began to emerge on the page as a developing character who had feelings and thoughts, dreams and aspirations, discouragements and disappointments, fears and triumphs, sadness and joy.  And above all he emerged as someone deeply in love with God whom he saw concretely in Jesus Christ.  Jesus was for Francis, in an extraordinarily powerful way, the Incarnation of God, a God whose love was so great that Francis could do nothing but return that love with his own love.  Jesus was his all, his everything. I let Francis lead me on the page, let him speak and think and lead me where he would.”

St Francis was the first recorded person in history to receive the Stigmata, the wounds of the crucified Jesus in his hands, feet and side. This happened on the mountain of La Verna, a mountain in northern Italy, given to Francis and his followers as a place for prayer and solitude. Despite the passage of 800 years and countless thousands of pilgrim feet, its forest-clad rocky slopes, sometimes ghostly with mist still seem pristine and untouched.

Francis received the Stigmata on 17 September 1224, two years before his death. Since then, Franciscans across the world have celebrated the memory of that unique event. Do his Stigmata have any relevant meaning for us today? Fr Murray is convinced that it has.

“I believe it has great relevance because it seals St Francis and his way of living the Gospel with the sign of the Crucified Christ in whose footsteps Francis had walked all his life following his conversion as a young man in his early 20s.  The Stigmata is a sign of God's approval of a way of living and of St Francis himself.  It says that in Francis we see an image of God's own son, Jesus.  In fact, in the Middle Ages St Francis was called, Alter Christus, Another Christ, and also, Speculum Christi, A Mirror of Christ.”

One thing is certain: on 17 September, celebrated as the feast of the Stigmata of St Francis, Fr Murray Bodo will simply be one of many thousands worldwide to thank God for ‘the little poor man of Assisi.’ Their thanksgiving, however, will be deeper and more real because of Fr Murray’s writings.

The Pope who wins hearts one by one

“He drives in the Ford Focus, and his car number is SCV 00919, instead of SCV 1, and is carrying his own mitre as he walks to the church!! His mitre is not even in an expensive case: it’s only in a cloth bag.”

On the Feast of St Augustine, Pope Francis travelled to the Rome church called after the saint who once prayed, “Lord, give me chastity – but not yet.” His intention was to preside at the opening Mass of the Augustinian’s General Chapter. He also touched at least one priest’s heart, however, by his simple gesture of carrying his own mitre rather than having someone else carry it for him. Neither did the Pope travel in one of the luxurious papal limousines. Instead, he used the navy-blue Ford Focus which has, within the space of a few weeks, become his hallmark mode of transport. Heads of State (and even cardinals!!) might opt for the more spectacular and vastly more expensive Mercedes, but the Holy Father deliberately selected one of the least spectacular cars of the Vatican fleet – and moved at least one person by his purposeful sign of his ‘option for the poor’.

But Pope Francis has touched many hearts, one at a time, since his election. His former newspaper vendor and shoe repairer in Buenos Aires will surely treasure their papal phone call for the rest of their lives. No doubt their families, friends and customers (as well as the press) will be told and re-told of how he rang them to cancel his newspapers and to ask that the pair of shoes which he had left for mending be sent to the Vatican! Similarly, the hotel desk clerk who received the payment for Cardinal Bergoglio’s stay directly from the hands (and wallet) of Pope Francis will cherish a unique moment which will stay with him for ever.

There have also been other occasions when the Jesuit Pope has imitated St Ignatius of Loyola, who worked to win “one soul at a time”. Likewise, he has followed the path of St Francis of Assisi, not only in remembering the poor, but also in “speaking to a multitude with as much attention as if he spoke to a single person, and to a single person with as much care as if he spoke to a multitude.” Within the last few weeks, stories have emerged to show a man of outstanding thoughtfulness, kindness and sincerity.

At the beginning of July, thieves shot and killed petrol pump attendant, 51 year-old Andrea Ferri during a robbery at a filling station in the Italian coastal town of Pesaro. Andrea’s younger brother, Michele, wrote to the Pope, telling him of his inability to forgive the killers. Imagine the unexpected comfort and support that Francis gave to the family when he phoned Andrea’s mother and brother, to pass on his condolences. "He told me he cried when he read the letter I wrote to him", Michele said afterwards. 

The following month, Stefano Cabizza, a 19-year-old engineering student from Padova, attended the Pope’s Mass on the Feast of the Assumption on 15 August, carrying a letter he had written to the Holy Father. Handing it to a passing cardinal with the request that it would be given to its intended recipient, Stefano expected nothing more. To his amazement, three days later, Pope Francis rang Cabizza’s home, found him out, phoned a second time and chatted to the student for a full eight minutes!

Those are two families which have been changed for ever by a single unexpected phone call. Touchingly and unforgettably, there was no formality about the greetings. "Ciao, Michele. It's Pope Francis." The word ’ciao’ is so friendly and affectionate, the Italian equivalent of ‘Hello’ – the greeting used by family members and friends.

Whilst still on the theme of informality, the Pope recently posed with three young people who wanted a group photo with him using a mobile phone, making himself the first-ever Bishop of Rome to make a ‘selfie’. Little imagination is needed to imagine the many hundreds of times that photograph will be shared with others! Yet, at the same time, by his simple and spontaneous gesture, he gave three young people a “Wow!” moment which created an unforgettable moment of intimate personal involvement with the Church.

An Argentinean woman recently wrote to the Pope in despair after being raped by a policeman in Cordoba. The mother of six children and foster mother of six others, three of whom “have disabilities”, Alejandra Pereyra found her children repeatedly hassled after she tried to report an incident of police harassment. In her letter to Pope Francis, Alejandra told her story: “With all the pain I carry in my heart dear Holy Father, I ask you for your help because after all the talk of rape, they finally did it. One night in September 2008, around midnight, a police car turned up at our house and a policeman who presented himself as Police Chief Sergio Braccamonte, got out.” Mr. Braccamonte asked her to follow him to the police station but instead drove her to an isolated place “where he pointed a service pistol at my head and raped me.”

“When I heard the Pope's voice I felt like being touched by God", Alejandra commented shortly afterwards. "He restored faith and peace in me and gave me strength to carry on fighting." In that one conversation, Pope Francis offered love, hope and healing, not only to one suffering family, but also to the many thousands of rape victims across the world, degraded and traumatised by the lust of others.

Yet he has not only reached out to the suffering. Leandro Martins, a Brazilian cyclist on a 2,300 mile ride wrote to him: "I know I am not an important person, a Head of State, an authority or even a Catholic, but maybe I am also a sheep of God (or at least a neighbour of the Pope) and that makes me feel that if I believe from the bottom of my heart that it is possible, it really van happen. As everything I got in life, as this trip that was a huge impossible dream, but now it is happening. So I thought: why not try?" – and Francis met Leandro, chatted with him and signed the cyclist's Brazilian flag.

He wrote a thank you letter to Fr James Martin SJ when the priest sent him Spanish translations of his books, autographed a child’s plaster cast on her broken leg, gave a young man with Downs Syndrome a ride on the swivel seat in the Popemobile... It really does not take much to make a person feel special. The Pope has the gifts of intuition, compassion and spontaneity. He does not consider himself too important to pick up the telephone and chat to someone. This is what he meant by advising the bishops to become ‘shepherds who smell like their sheep’. By means of such simple gestures, he proclaims God’s Gospel of love from the rooftops, even to those who had thought themselves deaf to such a message.

The Pope who touches hearts one by one also wins hearts one by one.

Do as you would be done by

No wonder prisoners in Guantanamo Bay complained of music torture in 2008! One report declared that the same five pieces of music blared relentlessly through the loudspeakers strategically placed around the detention facility. Apparently it was not the volume which caused the problem as much as the unending monotony of the selection which nearly drove inmates crazy.

As a result of Clapham’s August Bank Holiday weekend, perhaps the prisoners in Guantanamo Bay had little cause for objecting. Perhaps the music festival on the Common and the fairground less than 100 yards away both kept their sound levels within legal limits. To residents, the noise from one music festival plus one fairground still meant double the overall volume of disturbance.

Three days of a constant rhythmical pounding of drums (no music could be heard above them), from 11.00am until 10.00pm quickly had more than nuisance value. Windows rattled. Doors shook – and still the seemingly endless din continued. Double glazed windows offered no protection. Earplugs did not work. Complaints had little effect. As a result of raising grievances, music festival event organisers sent a technician to measure their own sound levels to ensure compliance with legislation. “It’s not us. It’s them”... and he left, happily justified that he had done his job. The fairground? A group of men shrugged their shoulders. They could not see what the trouble was: without loud music, who would know that there was a fair as well as a music festival?

Meanwhile local residents felt trapped, the sick and the housebound more so than the mobile, some of whom, driven from their homes, became refugees beyond the Clapham boundaries and the constant noise. Others, their weekend spoiled by others’ thoughtlessness, waited longingly for that blissful moment when, at 10.00pm, blaring loudspeakers at last became silent.

Yet the thoughtlessness of the few against the many did not only affect Clapham residents and their aching eardrums. Elsewhere the lack of consideration and thinking ahead led to generous individuals risking their lives to rescue unnecessary victims. In one of its busiest summers on record, the Royal National Lifeboat Institution (RNLI) said that, this summer, the number of rescues performed by its courageous and unpaid volunteers has increased by more than one-third over those of 2012. The Newhaven lifeboat recently reported fourteen launches in a single month. This summer has also witnessed the tragic heroism of rescuers who lost their lives in saving others. A fisherman who worked on trawlers in the North Sea once remarked, “We know the sea and are afraid of it”. Often, the emergencies have been entirely avoidable, but, yet again, people just did not think ahead or listen to advice. As the proverb declares, ‘Fools rush in where angels fear to tread’.

A man recently needed the services of a North Wales Mountain Rescue team because, by way of a change, he wanted to climb a mountain in Snowdonia by night. Close to the summit, he discovered that he carried the wrong map of the area and felt vulnerable on finding that he did not know his way in the dark. On a mild, starry night and in no immediate danger, why did he not simply wait until dawn, when he would see a well-marked path, trodden annually by countless thousands of visitors? Why summon the search and rescue helicopter?

There are the genuine emergencies which happen when ill-equipped and inexperienced individuals suddenly become selectively deaf, ignoring expert advice not to climb, walk the fells or sail in the prevailing weather conditions. There are those who always carry an umbrella “in case it rains”. Yet, as soon as they see a blade of grass and the open countryside, they seem to believe that suitable footwear and clothing are unnecessary. Sooner or later, they are surprised to find themselves stranded, perhaps seriously injured or in a life-threatening situation and call for help. Many rescuers must have thought, “If only you had listened to my warning in the first place, this never would have happened”.

People always find it easier to point the finger at someone else rather than to accept responsibility for wrongdoing. All of us can make excuses. Children are experts. Somehow all sorts of things happen “just like that”. The difficulty is that some people do not grow up. What happens when the matter is serious and many lives are at stake?

The news at present is filled with constant reports from Syria and Egypt. In Syria, first of all the Government and then the opposition blamed each other for appalling bloodshed, violence and devastation. The air is filled with cries of, “I didn’t do it. He did!” That is the sort of blame game to be expected of small children, not of grown adults and so-called Heads of State. It is far more serious when the mutual shifting of responsibility surrounds the use of chemical weapons with thousands of casualties and hundreds of deaths. The many innocent victims are helpless in the face of the overwhelming lust for power of the few.

It is easy to see the horrors perpetrated at a distance and to be unaware of those closer to home. The time-wasting 999 call might divert emergency services from a genuine emergency when a rapid response means the difference between life and death. On one occasion, an emergency control room received a trivial 999 call about poor restaurant service at the same time as a witness reported a hit and run accident involving a young child. At least three times this week in London, someone has committed suicide in front of a moving train: how many were facilitated by the thoughtlessness, selfishness and perhaps undisguised cruelty of others?

Pope Francis, when he visited the shanty town in Rio de Janeiro pointed out that giving "bread to the hungry," while required by justice, is not enough for human happiness. Thoughtlessness and selfishness need to be replaced by consideration. A policeman complained as he returned from a major road accident with multiple fatalities, “People enjoy the speed and the added danger of swerving around corners and between lines of traffic. They forget that I am the one who has to deal with the immediate consequences. I am the one who helps to pick body parts off the road. I am the one who has to go to the family and break the news. I am the one to go home to my family and cannot let the traumas of my day overflow onto my wife and children. People see that I am a policeman, but they forget that I am also a human being, a husband and a father.”

In The Water Babies by Charles Kingsley, Mrs Be-Done-By-As-You-Did was a stern, inflexible woman who taught the babies that if they did not like someone’s behaviour, then it is best not to imitate it and inflict those same actions on someone else. If I believe that I deserve respect and consideration, then I must respect and consider others, however difficult or inconvenient that might be. Clapham’s weekend of music torture might seem trivial to some. The same cannot be said of the emergency service personnel who risked their own lives to save the thoughtless.

Animal or human priorities?

Three beautiful photographs showed a leopard and a minutes-old impala, standing shakily between the legs of the big she-cat. Naively, the tiny antelope even tried to suckle the leopard whilst its real mother stood at a distance, helpless to do anything to protect her youngster from its inevitable death. Two days later, the same free newspaper portrayed two more expert images from Africa. This time a stalking lioness found itself hotly pursued by the herd of buffalo amongst which it had tried to find a meal.

Wildlife photographers perform a massive service in bringing to our eyes the sights and sounds of a world we cannot encounter when busily occupied in the daily commute and the routine which is part of earning a living here in Britain. The photographers’ skill is a constant wonder, joy and stirrer of all sorts of emotions.

However, within a couple of hours of seeing the images of the leopard and impala, an e-mail from India arrived in my inbox. Written by a Catholic journalist who campaigns on behalf of the indigenous peoples (Adivasi) of Gujarat, Mari Marcel Thekaekara often creates word pictures which also make a permanent home in people’s minds. Mari also wrote of wildlife, on this occasion an elephant, but on this occasion, the victim was a woman.

“On March 30, Kokila, an Adivasi woman, was collecting firewood with a few friends... when she was charged by an angry elephant... The elephant kicked her around like a football and smashed her into a pulp. An Adivasi who saw the incident said, ‘It was terrible. She was smashed to pieces... We could not prepare her for burial according to our rites. There was no body left.’

...Kokila was a lively, feisty, irrepressible woman... I recall her taking a lead on stage in dramas. She was bold and theatrical, making everyone laugh, dancing infectiously with abandon, urging everyone to join her. How do you compensate the death of such a woman? Of any woman for that matter? Can you replace the person for her family? Her children? Her people?”

Perhaps Mari’s article came too soon after the photographs of the leopard and impala in the Metro, beautiful pictures with a touching story. Yet this woman, who, during the brutal massacre of Christians in Orissa in 2008, travelled to London to personally plead with journalists to write about what was described as ‘the worst anti-Christian violence since India achieved independence’ does not forget the needs of endangered species: she merely challenges us to take a closer look at our priorities:

“What does one do when a tiger's life is apparently more precious than an Adivasi's?...  I believe we must protect our tigers and our elephants and the less exciting unknown species that co-exist with them...[but] It's hard to explain to ordinary people... why a tiger's life is deemed so much more important than our laughing, dancing, full-of-the-joy-of-life Kokila. A tiger's death mostly makes it to every newspaper in the country; each life is precious, counted, documented by tiger lovers in London and New York. It makes for eye-catching, sexy photographs too. Our Kokila will never make headlines...”

Sadly, Mari is telling an all too-familiar tale. Conservation of the environment and of wildlife is vital. Species which cannot speak for themselves need advocates and money. We are well-accustomed to seeing campaigners raising publicity and funds on behalf of whales, orang-utans, foxes, badgers, grey seals and so on (interestingly, never for spiders, slugs or snails!). Time and again, London’s Victoria Station is graced with defenders of the orang-utans, dressed in orange look-alike suits. Yet I have never seen groups of people crusading on behalf of the Adivasi of India, Australian Aborigines, Alaskan Inuit or the Amazonian tribes whose land is continually taken over by greedy and profiteering multi-national companies.

Some years ago a camera team discovered a hitherto unknown group of people living in the Amazonian rainforest and stayed for a while, living with the tribe, filming them and producing a wonderful photographic record of their stay. As the team left the area, their leader commented that they would probably be the first and last outsiders ever to encounter the indigenous group. “We may be carrying bacteria from all sorts of diseases which they have never had to face and for which they have developed no resistance. The fact that we have stayed here will probably kill them.” If this were to be the case, how could an historical or anthropological film possibly justify the deaths of an entire group of people?

Mari Marcel Thekaekara comments, “Poor people battle for their lives, their livelihoods and their precarious homes.”

Fr Xavier Manjooran SJ a long-time worker on behalf of the Adivasi (indigenous peoples) and Dalits (Untouchables) of Gujarat, explains:

“People from outside with different value systems and worldview have pushed the original inhabitants to the interior forests and mountains, and snatched away their land and rights over the resources. As time went by and more outsiders came into India, the British took control of the forest and forest resources and started using these resources to make profit. This approach was quite different from that of the indigenous people who have dealt with forest, land and natural resources from time immemorial. Besides, the rules and regulations created by the British, which were continued in India even after Independence, made the Indigenous people ‘encroachers’ and law breakers in the forest and in their own land. Thus the original inhabitants were pushed to the receiving end. It is a fact that the majority of Adivasis or tribals continue to live below the poverty line, have poor literacy rates, suffer from malnutrition and disease and are vulnerable to displacement and seasonal migration. They are also subjected to physical, psychological and sexual exploitation... the poor are becoming poorer and increasingly dispossessed. The majority of the poor and the displaced are from the indigenous communities.”

In our multicultural society, it is easy to forget that some of the immigrants against whom strident voices are regularly raised, suffer intolerable burdens in order to provide for their families back home. Yes, there are many who are benefit frauds and tricksters, but there are also those who need and deserve compassion. A journalist recently interviewed a homeless Indian living near one of the bridges on the Thames. Rajiv dare not let his family know that he is destitute because they are completely dependent on what little money he can send them. He entered Britain legally, but with the credit crunch, he lost his job and soon found himself homeless. Now, he lives under a bridge and depends on food supplied by The Passage and the Salvation Army so that he can still send money home to his family.

In the early Church, we hear that nobody was hungry because the new Christians shared all that they had and cared for each other. Is their level of generosity possible or impossible in today’s world? We can respond magnificently to natural disasters and raise huge sums through Children in Need, Sports Relief and other such charities, but, sadly, these are annual one-off occasions. Is there an answer to someone leaving many thousands of pounds to a cat’s home when people are starving? To quote Mari Marcel Thekaekara, “What does one do when a tiger's life is apparently more precious than an Adivasi's?”

Cardinal Van Thuan, a prisoner for Christ

‘My name is Francis-Xavier Nguyen Van Thuan, and I am Vietnamese, but in Tanzania and Nigeria, the youth call me Uncle Francis, which is a bit simpler, or, even better, just plain Francis. 

Until 23 April 1975 I was, for eight years, bishop of Nha Trang in central Vietnam... On 23 April 1975, however, Pope Paul VI named me coadjutor archbishop of Saigon. When the Communists arrived in Saigon, they told me this nomination was the result of a conspiracy between the Vatican and the imperialists to organize resistance to the Communist regime. Three months later... I was placed under arrest. It was the day of the Blessed Virgin's Assumption, 15 August 1975.’

19 years of imprisonment, 9 of them in solitary confinement, followed the arrest of the future Cardinal Van Thuan. Facing suffering and perhaps torture and death, at the time of his arrest, his thoughts were, nevertheless, not for himself but for his flock. Years later, he described his agony: 'My people, whom I love so dearly: a flock without a shepherd! How can I reach my people in the very moment when they most need their pastor? The Catholic libraries have been confiscated, the schools closed, the Sisters and Religious who were teachers have been sent to work in the rice fields. The separation was a shock that destroyed my heart.'

Still under house arrest, his prayers received an answer. “One night a light came. “Francis, it is very simple. Do what St Paul did when he was in prison: write letters to the different communities.” Very early next morning, he summoned a 7 year-old boy, telling him to ask his mother to buy some old pads of paper and then, every night for the next two months, Van Thuan wrote his messages to his people. Each morning the same child would collect his work and, with his brothers and sisters, would copy and distribute the prisoner’s words. Scared of being transported elsewhere before he had finished, during those few weeks, Van Thuan wrote 1,001 pages to comfort and support those he would leave behind.

Eventually Van Thuan’s house arrest ended and the anticipated moment of transfer to prison arrived. Yet again, his thoughts were for others: “When the Communists put me in the hold of the boat, the Hai-Phong, along with 1,500 other prisoners and moved us to the North, I said to myself, ‘Here is my cathedral. Here are the people God has given me to care for. Here is my mission: to ensure the presence of God among these, my despairing, miserable brothers. It is God's will that I am here. I accept his will’. And from that minute onwards, a new peace filled my heart and stayed with me for thirteen years.”

At first, Van Thuan was with other prisoners. “I was taken to prison empty-handed. Later on, I was allowed to request the strict necessities… I wrote home saying ‘Send me some wine as medication for stomach pains’. On the outside, the faithful understood what I meant. They sent me a little bottle of Mass wine, with a label reading ‘medication for stomach pains’, as well as some hosts broken into small pieces. The police asked me: ‘Do you have pains in your stomach?’ ‘Yes.’ ‘Here is some medicine for you!’” Then, with three drops of wine and a drop of water in the palm of his hand, he celebrated Mass. “At 9.30 every evening when ‘lights out’ rang, everyone had to be lying down. I bent over my wooden board and celebrated Mass, by heart of course, and distributed Communion to my neighbours under their mosquito nets. At night, the prisoners took turns and spent time in adoration.”

Gradually Van Thuan started teaching, not only prisoners, but also his guards. Even lessons on the French and Latin languages and history were opportunities for catechesis. A combined group of prisoners and guards began studying Latin. “One of my guards was in the Latin class and one day he asked me if I could teach him songs in Latin. ‘There are so many and they are all so beautiful’. ‘You sing and I'll choose,’ he retorted. And so I sang Salve Regina, Salve Mater, Lauda Sion, Veni Creator, Ave Maris Stella. You'll never guess the song he chose: The Veni Creator! I can't begin to tell you how moving it is, to be in a Communist prison and hear your guard, coming down the stairs at seven every morning on his way to the gymnastics yard for physical exercises, singing the Veni Creator.”

Van Thuan was freed on 21 November 1988 and forced into exile, carrying with him to Rome the tiny wooden cross which he had made in his cell and had hidden inside a block of soap. Mounted in silver, this became his pectoral cross, which he wore until his death from cancer on 20 September 2002.

Finally, in July this year, Vatican Radio announced the closure of the diocesan phase of the beatification process for the Cardinal whom they described as a ‘gentle hero’. Two miracles are required for a candidate for beatification: at present three possible miracles are under consideration.

The first possible miracle is that of Sister Marie Thi Lan, of the Congregation of the Daughters of Mary Immaculate, whose eyes were healed in 2009 without the surgical intervention which was considered essential if her sight were to be saved.

The second also occurred in Cardinal Van Thuan’s home diocese of Hue, where Mrs Mary Le Thi Than, aged 70, was bed-ridden for over 40 years because of a severe form of neuralgia. She prayed to the Cardinal and has recently resumed a normal life.

The third involves a seminarian from Denver, Colorado, Joseph Nguyen, who went into a 32-day coma during a ‘flu-like illness’ which was actually H1N1 ‘Swine Flu’, and severe pneumonia. Placed on life support, his death certificate had already been written when Nguyen suddenly and unexpectedly emerged from his unconsciousness. “During my coma, there are only two things I remember,” he said. “The only two things I remember are two visions of Cardinal Van Thuan … He appeared to me twice.” Within a few days, Nguyen had recovered full health.

Cardinal Francis-Xavier Nguyen Van Thuan never once said that his imprisonment, with its hardships and humiliations, was easy. Perhaps, somewhere in Heaven, he might compare notes with the late Bishop Hong of North Korea, also imprisoned by a brutal Communist regime, and the late Cardinal Adam Koslowiecki SJ of Zambia, who survived 5 years in Dachau and Auschwitz. Cardinal Koslowiecki often declared that his incarceration was the most fruitful learning experience of his life. One thing is certain: both Cardinals Hong and Koslowiecki would identify with Van Thuan’s prayer:

"I am happy here, in this cell, where white mushrooms are growing on my sleeping mat, because you are here with me, because you want me to live here with you. I have spoken much in my lifetime: now I speak no more. It's your turn to speak to me, Jesus; I am listening to you."

Cardinal Van Thuan, a living saint in our midst

“From the very first moment of my arrest, the words of Bishop John Walsh, who had been imprisoned for 12 years in Communist China, came to my mind. On the day of his liberation Bishop Walsh said, "I have spent half my life waiting."

It is true. All prisoners, myself included, constantly wait to be let go. I decided then and there that my captivity would not be merely a time of resignation but a turning point in my life. I decided I would not wait. I would live the present moment and fill it with love. For if I wait, the things I wait for will never happen. The only thing that I can be sure of is that I am going to die... Alone in my prison cell, I continued to be tormented by the fact that I was forty-eight years old, in the prime of my life, that I had worked for eight years as a bishop and gained so much pastoral experience and there I was isolated, inactive and far from my people.

One night, from the depths of my heart I could hear a voice advising me: "Why torment yourself? You must discern between God and the works of God - everything you have done and desire to continue to do, pastoral visits, training seminarians, sisters and members of religious orders, building schools, evangelising non-Christians. All of that is excellent work, the work of God but it is not God! If God wants you to give it all up and put the work into his hands, do it and trust him. God will do the work infinitely better than you; he will entrust the work to others who are more able than you. You have only to choose God and not the works of God!"

Cardinal François-Xavier Nguyen Van Thuan died on 16 September 2002. Just over one year later, a press conference at Vatican Radio launched his biography, written in Italian and with a couple of cardinals leading the gathering in the Sala Marconi, the large room in which such events are held. To be quite honest, I had no idea why I attended. I had never heard of Cardinal Van Thuan and with my abysmal Italian, I could be guaranteed to miss much of what was said. Unexpectedly, the press conference was an unforgettable experience. It seemed as though half of Vietnam had come along for the book launch. Every seat was filled. No standing room remained. Eventually someone fixed open the room’s two sets of double doors so that late arrivals could still (with some difficulty) hear what was happening.

I sat amongst an audience in which every single person was convinced that the late cardinal was a saint – and that included his brother cardinals. It was an amazing experience. One person after another seemed to be saying, “I knew this man personally and I believe he is a saint”. The only question seemed to be when Cardinal Van Thuan’s canonisation would take place since, at that particular moment, his official cause had not been opened.

Cardinal Van Thuan was appointed Coadjutor Archbishop of Saigon six days before the fall of Saigon on 30 April 1975. He was immediately arrested by the Communist Government and then detained in a ‘re-education camp’ for 13 years, nine of them in solitary confinement. He was eventually released on 21 November 1988.

Fortunately, some of Van Thuan’s experiences in prison are known to us in his own words:

“I was taken to prison empty-handed. Later on, I was allowed to request the strict necessities like clothing, toothpaste, etc. I wrote home saying "Send me some wine as medication for stomach pains". On the outside, the faithful understood what I meant. They sent me a little bottle of Mass wine, with a label reading "medication for stomach pains", as well as some hosts broken into small pieces...

I will never be able to express the joy that was mine: each day, with three drops of wine, a drop of water in the palm of my hand, I celebrated my Mass.

The six Catholics in my group of 50 prisoners tried to stay together. We lined up the boards we were given as beds; they were about 20 inches wide. We slept close together in order to be able to pray during the night.

At 9.30 every evening when lights out rang everyone had to be lying down. I bent over my wooden board and celebrated Mass, by heart of course, and distributed Communion to my neighbours under their mosquito nets. We made tiny bags from cigarette paper to protect the Blessed Sacrament. At night, the prisoners took turns and spent time in adoration. The Blessed Sacrament helped tremendously. Even Buddhists and other non-Christians were converted.”

Working slowly and gently, Cardinal Van Thuan also made friends with the prison guards, teaching them to read and write, carefully explaining books in terms of Christianity, although they did not realise what was happening. One guard even asked if he might learn songs in Latin! Van Thuan reflected, many years later, on the effects of offering to teach the man whichever song he chose: “And so I sang Salve Regina, Salve Mater, Lauda Sion, Veni Creator, Ave Maris Stella. You'll never guess the song he chose. The Veni Creator! I can't begin to tell you how moving it is to be in a Communist prison and hear your guard, coming down the stairs at seven every morning on his way to the gymnastics yard for physical exercises, singing the Veni Creator.”

After his release from prison and until his death, Van Thuan wore, as his pectoral cross, a tiny wooden cross which he had shaved from a piece of wood in his prison and had kept hidden inside a bar of soap. In another prison, a guard secretly helped him to make a chain for his cross, using a piece of wire.

“This cross and chain are not only my souvenir of captivity, as precious as that may seem. They are a constant reminder that only Christian charity can bring about a change of heart. Not arms, not threats, not the media.

It was very hard for my guards to understand when I spoke about loving our enemies, reconciliation and forgiveness."Do you really love us?" "Yes, I really love you." "Even when we cause you pain? When you suffer because you're in prison without trial?" "Look at all the years we've spent together. Of course, I love you!" "And when you get out, will you tell your people to find us and beat us and hurt our families?" "I'll continue to love you even if you wish to kill me." "But why?" "Because Jesus taught us to love always; if we don't, we are no longer worthy to be called Christians."

On 1 January 2012, Cardinal Jean Baptiste Pham Minh Man of Ho Chi Minh City announced that the Congregation for the Causes of Saints has approved closer examination of Cardinal Van Thuan’s life with a view to possible future beatification or canonisation. Many already believe that he was a very holy, very brave man whose life was eminently ‘worthy of imitation’. Perhaps we really did have a living saint in our midst.

Homes, not houses

An advertisement for furniture showed some very attractive settings for kitchens and bedrooms, boasting that the company’s strength is its low pricing.

The kitchens displayed in the poster were immaculate.  Every part of every surface of the cooker, microwave, dishwasher and cooking utensils gleamed spotless and unused. Unblemished cupboards, newly-painted and pleasing to the eye, flanked equally pristine working surfaces.  Not an item stood out of place, positioned as with a ruler.  Uniformly white, unscratched, cutting boards lay symmetrically positioned on the working surface. ‘Master Chef’ could do no better!

Looking at the bedroom furniture, items were strategically placed to maximise space.  Delicate bedside lamps bent gracefully ‘just so’. Bed-sheets showed the perfect creases of the newly-unwrapped-from-the-packet. Perfectly-fastened wardrobes and cupboards proved that the householder believed in absolute tidiness and order…

…and the posters gave the impression of vacant houses, where people might exist, but in which nobody actually lives. No dumped mugs or magazines.  No scuffed doors where small children came into collision with hard wooden surfaces. No evidence of meals shared, of work accomplished, of ventures started.  No sign of ‘family’. 

The posters were beautiful…and sterile.

Many years ago, I escorted a wealthy Arab couple who were interested in the possibility of buying the millionaire’s house near the convent.  The millionaire was away at the time, so the gardener acted as tour guide.  Showing us around the garden, equipped with pinewood sauna and teardrop-shaped swimming pool, he stopped at the rose garden, which had been planted within the two or three days before the owner brought his wife to see their new residence. “Do you know which is the best rose bush here?” he asked, extending his hand towards the exquisite £2,000 worth of perfectly pruned roses. “That one”, he indicated. “And do you know how much it cost? It was free with four gallons of petrol!”

Tidiness is a very valuable aspect of life, but there is something about the actual process of living that is not tidy and does not go according to plan.  Anybody with small children has to cope with crumbs on the new carpet, shoes anywhere but on the feet of their owner, piles of dirty washing waiting for attention and plates of leftover food in the fridge. Bedroom cupboards are valuable dumping grounds for all sorts of items waiting to be put away ‘when there is time’.  The parents of small children have to cope with the unexpected shock of little ones trying their best to be good, but rather unconventionally so. (One of my sisters found her 3 year-old ‘helping Mummy’ by cleaning the bathroom with my sister’s toothbrush!)

Living is not tidy and compartmentalised.  If it were, it would be boringly predictable, utterly sterile and with no opportunity for personal growth, for appreciation of others, for fun, or for relaxation.  Ask any mother if she really needs to put in pride of place the wilted weed she’s just been presented by her toddler. She will ensure that it goes exactly where she and the little one can see and enjoy it, even if it’s the most public place in the home.  Most fathers will be oblivious of the mess (or more oblivious than usual!!!) as they help a child to fix a broken toy.

Yet take that one step further. When we go to church, is it a house or a home? I ask this after hearing a radio programme in which the presenter remarked that, years ago, her mother was asked not to attend her local church (fortunately, not Catholic) because ‘people would be offended’ by her colour!

Does that sound extreme? Hopefully, these days, it would not happen and, in any case, seeing the racial mix of Catholics generally, it would be unlikely. However, another true story of recent recounting was only too possible. A man went to Mass wearing a cap, which he wore throughout the celebration and in spite of several tactful reminders that, ‘here, we don’t wear caps in church’. As he left, he pointed out to the parish priest that, in the two years he’d been attending that particular church, nobody had said a word to him and yet, that day, because of his cap, three people had spoken to him!

How often do we make an effort to greet a newcomer to the parish? Does the Sign of Peace also extend to be a handshake of welcome, of peacemaking and of friendship rather than a perfunctory ritual?

Have you ever noticed that, in exchanging the Sign of Peace, people smile at each other? Doesn’t it go one step towards changing the church from a house into a home? It’s not as if we mean to be unfriendly, but it is very easy to shake hands whilst thinking of something else ... and yet the person to whom we turn might, at that moment, be urgently in need of the genuine sign of friendship and support that is so easy to offer through a handshake and a smile.

God doesn’t expect us to do everything right all the time.  He’s a father. He knows that our days are sometimes a bit messy in spite of our best efforts…but then, he has made this world, not a house, but a home.

“There’s always room for a baby”

“You saw me crying in the chapel.

The tears I shed were tears of joy.

I know the meaning of contentment

Now I am happy with the Lord”

Most people across the world would hear this song and would think of Elvis Presley. For me, those very words have a completely different connotation. Elvis released the song as a single in October 1960, but when the record hit the charts in this country, it coincided with saying goodbye to a very special baby whom my family had fostered and loved with all our hearts. We knew that she was going to a family who would love her every bit as much as we did, but, at that time, we did not know that we would see her again and, until today, would maintain precious communication with her and her adoptive family. For the five months during which we fostered this special baby, until the day she was adopted, she was dearly loved. After she left us, every time that the radio burst out with Elvis Presley singing “You saw me crying in the chapel”, the words came too close to home and the tears started again.

I am proud to say that, having had eight children of their own, my parents fostered no fewer than eighteen infants until the Child Protection Society, as the Catholic Children’s Society was then known, located a family for them. My mother freely admits part of their motivation was because she and my father could not bear the thought that my youngest sister to be the only family member who had no experience of a new baby in the house. “There’s always room for a baby”, she declared on more than one occasion.

“There’s always room for a baby”, or words to the same effect, were probably on the lips of Lou Xiaoying, now 88, and her late husband, Li Zin, who died 17 years ago, a Chinese couple living in dire poverty on the edge of a rubbish dump in Jinhua, in the eastern Zhejiang province of China. This phenomenal couple saved no fewer (and possibly more) than thirty abandoned babies, starting with a baby girl whom Lou Xiaoying found in the street in 1972. “Watching her grow and become stronger gave us such happiness and I realised I had a real love of caring for children. I realised if we had strength enough to collect rubbish, how could we not recycle something as important as human lives?” she explained.

Lou Xiaoying and Li Zin already had a daughter. The State’s one child policy would not allow them to have other children – but there was no law to stop the couple rescuing babies whom their own parents had discarded. Because they only survived by recycling rubbish from the dump, there was no way in which, after the fourth adoption, they could provide a home for all the little ones whom they found. There were, however, other couples who longed to have a baby and would happily open their homes and hearts. Thus it was that Lou Xiaoying and Li Zin managed to find homes for at least another twenty-five infants whilst, in spite of their ‘extreme poverty’, somehow providing the best home that they could for their own expanding family. Their adopted daughter, 33-year-old Zhang Juju, remembers her mother going out to the dump several times each day in the hopes of finding sufficient recyclable materials to keep them all alive.

As happens in most large families, the children helped to look after each other, thereby creating an unbreakable bond between them in spite of their impoverished surroundings.

When Li Zin died, Lou Xiaoying continued with the work that she and her husband had begun so many years earlier. Her youngest child, Zhang Qilin, retrieved from a dustbin, is now seven years old. “He looked so sweet and so needy. I had to take him home with me,’ she said, ignoring the fact that she was 82 at the time and not really well enough to care for the many needs of a small child.

Now, Lou Xiaoying is very ill and has little time left to her. One of her concerns is that there are still innumerable abandoned babies, nearly all of them girls, many of whom will die unless other compassionate people take on the responsibility of rescuing them. Yet, elsewhere in the world, increasingly complicated government regulations have led to a reduction in the number of international adoptions.

One organisation which specialises in cross-border adoptions, says that those babies who become available for adoption in China "are generally 8 months to 5 years of age at time of referral. Primarily they will be infant girls between the ages of 10 to 14 months old. Some boys are available, primarily with special needs. Generally the health of the children is good, but developmental delays are to be expected. The children are cared for in orphanage or foster care settings."

One of the difficulties, of course, is that some unscrupulous individuals know that there are couples who are desperate to adopt a baby but are impeded for one reason or another by the official channels. The cost of an international adoption can range between £9,500 and £22,500 because of the mountain of legal fees and paperwork involved. This offers some criminals an unequalled opportunity for making money by setting themselves up as apparently legitimate agencies and then selling trafficked babies. Adoptive parents believe that the agency is bona fide, happily take their new baby home and, unknowingly, leave a distraught family wondering what has happened to their abducted child.

China has its own trafficking problems which have come about as the direct result of its one child policy. More boys are allowed to survive than girls, so that there is a shortage of girls when the boys reach marriageable age. The dire poverty of some rural families leads to them selling a baby or two. A boy is worth approximately £5,000 and a girl, £3,000.

In Britain, there is an ongoing debate about whether or not same sex couples should or should not be allowed to adopt. Yet we also periodically hear of married couples who are would-be adoptive parents but are turned down by the authorities because of their weight or their age. Recent legislation has made it easier for inter-racial adoptions and has quickened the frequently long drawn-out process of form-filling etc.

Lou Xiaoying simply got on with the job. She and her husband saw the babies and rescued them. After 40 years and more than 30 rescued infants, she is now being hailed as a heroine and, many would say, a living saint. Reports have said nothing about her religious faith or lack of it, but God is surely deep within her heart. The same might be said of her late husband, Li Zin.

“There is always room for a baby.” What a tragedy that not everybody agrees! Three cheers for those who foster and those who adopt!