People attending a recent vigil. Photo: Courtesy of Independent Catholic News.
Cold comfort: Anne M Jones attends a vigil for refugees
‘Each person has – had – a name, a story, a family.’
I really did not want to leave the house. The temperature was at zero. But beckoning me was the monthly vigil for refugees outside the Home Office. At times like these scepticism preys upon my procrastination: what has changed in the five years we’ve been gathering? Does praying change anything? The jury is out on the latter, and everyone knows the answer to the first.
When I eventually got to Marsden Street, the reflective (and appropriate) hymn ‘In the bleak midwinter’ opened our vigil. Then we heard Psalm 8: ‘What is man that you should keep him in mind?’
‘Keeping in mind’ is a phrase used in psychotherapy, to describe the mutual expectations of the counselled and counsellor, the former needing undivided attention, the latter alert to offer it. If God has us all in mind, then, to paraphrase Job, I ask ‘Where are you at times of tragedy?’
At the core of the vigil is the reading of the list of people known to have died while seeking refuge. This chilling information highlights the human tragedy: over eighteen days of last year’s January, the approximate death count is 132. A Senegalese woman died from grief and exhaustion after her baby starved during the crossing. The bodies of a brother and sister were found near the Turkish border. Forty people were presumed drowned when a boat in distress went missing off Sfax. Two teenage boys were found frozen in a refrigerated shipping container. Each person has – had – a name, a story, a family.
‘Like the Magi who went searching, it is among the weakest where one finds God.’
Today, a Roman Catholic priest gives a compelling talk. He is angry, too. ‘Five thousand! The number of people in Westminster sleeping rough, with the minimum covering, in this cruel weather, on our streets, many of whom are refugees.’ He is incredulous at the growing inequalities in our society: ‘I sense hearts often restless, wondering what impact we have in an increasingly unjust society… but, like the Magi who went searching, it is among the weakest where one finds God.’
It would be so simple, it seems to me, to seize upon some good will, to turn hostility into a welcome that says, ‘We feel pleased so many people want to come here. We will value you, gratefully receive the contribution you are keen to make, and get our own act together on a kindlier basis.’
Afterwards, unable to converse much through the numbness, I felt a sense of calm. These tragic losses can never be recovered, but at the very least these people have been held in mind and remembered outside a place where people of good will do listen, from time to time.
Like a dripping tap, I know these vigils make a difference. But I was grateful to step back once again into my less-icy house!
