FOR many refugees and immigrants, the food of their homeland becomes a meaningful way of connecting with their culture. That has certainly been true for me since I left Iran in 1980. For us Persians, rice is a staple part of our diet, and it is prepared in a very particular way. The modern invention of a polo paz, or rice-cooker (it has to be a Persian one) helps; and mine has pride of place in our kitchen. Other rice steamers are available, but it’s only the Persian ones that produce a crispy layer at the base of the rice, known as tah deeg, literally translated as “bottom of the pan”. In essence, tah deeg is formed of the burnt grains of rice that form a shell around the rice cake. In more elaborate cooking, slices of potato or flat bread replace the bottom layer of rice, but the results are the same: a burnt, crisp base which is a prized delicacy of any Persian dining table. Tah deeg is usually in limited supply; so adults will politely offer it around, while any children present are likely to wrangle over who gets the final piece.

I still love Persian food, with its aromas of home and reminders of the centrality of hospitality. But tah deeg, most of all, has assumed an almost spiritual significance for me. Something that ought to be discarded as burned and unfit for purpose becomes the centrepiece; something that seems unworthy becomes favoured and beloved. So often, in life and in ministry, I see those who are burnt and hurt by the fires of life discarded and discounted by many, and yet beautiful, precious, and prized.

SHORTLY after I moved to Chelmsford diocese, I came across a painting of Mary the Undoer of Knots by the German artist Schmidtner, from about 1700.

While I didn’t warm at all to the Baroque style, I found the concept beautiful and powerful. So I was delighted when Sister Gabriella, from the Orthodox Monastery in Essex, presented me with an icon of Mary the Undoer of Knots, written by her, in the Eastern Orthodox style. It now hangs in the small chapel at Bishopscourt, and every morning I contemplate its meaning as I sit for a period of silence, gazing at the image of Mary patiently untying knots, assisted by the child Jesus on her lap. The work of a bishop in the Church of England — especially in recent days — can, at times, seem like an overwhelming tangle of knots. And in Chelmsford we’ve had our fair share of complexities. And yet. . .

My mother was an extraordinary woman, with depths of faith and spirituality which, I am increasingly discovering, must have come from a place of trusting and stillness. I remember, as a child, her skill and patience when it came to untying the knottiest of knots in my shoelaces, hair ribbons, or necklaces. I learned from her what I try to apply to my life and ministry. Large tangles can be approached only one knot at a time, and there are likely always to be loose threads that can never be tidied away completely. So, each morning, Mother Mary comes to me, aiding my untying, urging me on, one knot at a time.

TWENTY years ago, I spent Holy Week in hospital at the bedside of Simeon Omid. The younger of our newly born twins, at one day old, was rushed to intensive care, where he spent ten days before being discharged with an unknown prognosis. I keep the tiny name-tag from around his wrist as a reminder of those uncertain days.

All three of our children (our eldest now 25, and the twins 20) were born a month apart but on the same liturgical date: the Wednesday before Palm Sunday. I always think of them coming into the world as Jesus entered into his own journey towards both the pain of the cross and the joy of risen life. It is what I pray for each of them: that they will know themselves loved, and be motivated to grow in faith and embrace life in all its fullness.

The bracelet — a throwaway item of medical care — reminds me of the vulnerability of children and the fragility of all life. Unlike so many mothers who must face loss and pain, I have thus far been blessed to watch my children grow into flourishing, independent adults. The memory of Simeon’s pain, though, and of the uncertainty that he brought to us that Holy Week remains with me still. Indeed, all my children have given me the gift of learning to trust more deeply in the purposes of God. I have found that it is by fully accepting each of them as a gift, and entrusting them to God’s merciful keeping, that I, too, am freed to continue growing into the person God has called me to be.

Dr Guli Francis-Dehqani is the Bishop of Chelmsford.