Angry Crochet

…or Prayer as Protest.

Thoughts from our Wednesday Eucharist…
The news is full of speech about protest, and violence and racism, and looting. Much of it is inexcusable and frankly incomprehensible to many of us. Whilst the violence and aggression and racism deserve to be named as such and condemned, it can be hard to work out exactly what our response here should be. What might be the right way to counter such action? How might we protest the protests?

 I want to suggest that prayer can actually be protest. That an appropriate response may involve the very subversive act of prayer.

A couple of years ago I went to the arms fair in London for the first time. I went with a group of Christians from all sorts of backgrounds, led by the Quakers. I don’t know what the police were expecting but I’m pretty sure we weren’t it. There was a lot of security, and we were stopped from taking our peaceful protest into the grounds of the arena, with just a few of us allowed past the gates. But those inside were able to form a semi circle and join it through the fence with the other semi circle those of us on the outside had made. A peaceful circle cut in half by the high fence around the arms fair. And we lit candles, and we stopped in silence and we prayed. And we confused the security guards. They were expecting chants and placards and speeches, we came with crafted bunting from students, candles from the divided town of Bethlehem and silent prayer. And in that moment, the most subversive act became for me a group of Christians praying for peace.

Prayer as protest and lament is of course deeply biblical. Protesting at God, protesting at the evil we see flourishing, demanding answers to the big questions are all part of our canon of scripture. Lamenting at suffering, railing against the loss of three innocent lives, is entirely consistent with our Bible; a God who can deal with our raw emotion and pain and frustration is at the heart of everything we know.

A return to the Quakers reminds us that their experience of worship leads them to try to change the world for the better. There is an almost cyclical nature to this, prayer influences action, which in turn influences reflection and prayer.

It is counter intuitive perhaps to pray. Prayer looks as though we are doing nothing. But prayer in the face of violence and injustice an oppression has the power to break a cycle, to change everything. Prayer is tapping into the divine force, the Love who holds the world, who willed it into being. Prayer is to align ourselves with that Love, to resist being defined by hate; it is to work for reconciliation and not to foster division.

Fighting fire with fire leads to a bigger fire. We fight fire with water, hate with love, darkness with light, despair with hope. And we can only do that effectively by connecting with that source of love and light and hope.

“Peace cannot be kept by force; it can only be achieved by understanding. Darkness cannot drive out darkness; only light can do that. Hate cannot drive out hate; only love can do that.” ~ Martin Luther King

Prayer looks as though it is doing nothing, standing passively by. But to think that is to misunderstand what prayer is. Prayer is transformational. It changes the pray-er and it changes the situation. Prayer changes everything.

But I know too that prayer can feel odd, or tricky, or something we don’t quite know what to do with. Let me share with you two things that I find helpful – because even priests find prayer hard sometimes.

Firstly, let me point you back at the Quakers. Prayer with no words is powerful. Prayer in silence with others is tangibly powerful. The glorious thing about sitting in silence with the Quakers is that you don’t have to say anything! You don’t have to worry about getting the right words, and if your mind wanders you simply bring it back. You might feel you want to share something course, but I don’t think I have ever done so. Simply sitting intentionally in God’s presence is prayer, ‘holding someone in the light’ is prayer.

But secondly let me introduce you to craftivism, or to what I have described as “angry crochet” this week. Sometimes I find it easier to pray, or think about stuff (and what’s the difference?) if my hands are occupied. This week my hands have been occupied with crocheting small hearts. Love to counter hate. Crochet to share a message of love. They’re sitting in St Edmund’s, along with some labels. They will be heading to a refugee charity I have links with through my daughter. It’s not functioning this week. Its doors have closed for safety reasons. The holiday activities planned for children have been cancelled. The families have been warned to stay at home. The social media for the charity is paused so that others can’t see what they do. And I’m angry. I’m very angry. Young children who have nowhere else to go can’t paint, or play, or do drama this week. Those adults who want to learn English to get a job will have to wait for their lessons. The cookery that provides lunches and company and a taste of home won’t happen.

I can’t do much. But I can pray and I can do angry crochet and I can send my hearts – with your messages of love too if you choose – from the heart of England here to the refugees in this charity. To those who have seen the dark side of Britain this week, I can send a little light. Those who have heard shouts of hatred might read some words of love. We are all one. Our veins course with the same blood. There is that of God in us all.

And when the immediate danger is past, we will continue the work of prayer and the work of reconciliation. But for now I pray. And I do angry crochet.