The Friend

Dear self: Nim Njuguna writes a letter to a soul under siege

‘Humans are the only species on the planet who follow dysfunctional leaders.’ - Cesar Millan, The Dog Whisperer

Dear self,

I know it’s hard not to feel you are living in politically-deranged times. You are faced with an unprecedented cascade of political failures, which might in the end lead to polycrisis. No wonder your trust in the democratic process is shattered, and at times you are overwhelmed by sadness. No wonder you feel a sense of betrayal: fearful, uncertain, and befuddled, as if your soul is under siege. 

Eyes on the prize: Marian Liebmann wants Friends to nominate a Nobel candidate

This year has been one of turmoil and war, and many of us are near to despair. But here is one small action you can take: you or your Meeting can nominate someone (or a group) for the Nobel Peace Prize. 

A call to chaplaincy: Emma Roberts says charity begins at home

At Swansea Meeting for Worship on St David’s Day we reflected on the famous last words of Dewi Sant: ‘Byddwch lawen, cadwch ffydd a gwnewch y pethau bychain’ – ‘Be joyful, have faith, and do the small things’. This led to some ministry and reflection about charity, which may extend across continents, but begins at home.

Built to scale: Geof Sewell on renovations at Thirsk

Covid was a terrible shock to Meetings like ours, in small market towns with old buildings and an aging demographic. Our Meeting house needed serious building work, and we moved to a nearby centre for wellbeing and spirituality for so long that local people assumed we had closed. Just over a year ago, Thirsk Meeting appealed for funds. Our Grade 2-listed cottage was cold and damp; the kitchen was in a poor state; the stairs were too steep; and the windows needed specialist work. The nineteenth-century toilet extension had to be demolished. After six months of building work, we were able to return to our much-loved building in June. The job has just been completed, and we would like to thank all Friends who contributed so generously. 

Poem: God

God.

A stone word, crude and squat
as the hacked hulk of rock ten thousand years ago,
menacing in the desert
and men kneeling sweaty and afraid.