THE listening tables at the Unite the Kingdom rally were an idea developed by a few friends from Red Letter Christians and from Better Story, which is a network of Christians offering an alternative to the far-Right narrative of the Christian faith. As Area Bishop of Edmonton, I turned up to support their work and to be one of the people listening to anyone who wanted to talk about their experience of participating in the march (News, 22 May).
I must confess the personal difficulty of being in that position as someone from a minority community, listening to rather aggressive language directed towards Muslims, ethnic minorities, refugees and asylum-seekers, and the LGBTQ+ community, all unhelpfully lumped together as the main reason for the ills of the country: “I am not a racist, but you know. . .”
It was overwhelming to see young children draped in Union flags and carrying three-foot crosses, walking with their parents and shouting, “Christ the King” and “We want our nation back.”
As I listened, it dawned on me that these grievances were not isolated outbursts of hate. They formed an interconnected anatomy of abandonment, a sense of being neglected: “No one is listening to us” was a common refrain. There was a genuine ache beneath the aggression.
THE issues behind these feelings, such as the cost-of-living crisis, growing disparity, and problems with housing and access to resources, stemmed from a sense of abandonment by “mainstream politics”, which had left a vacuum. My sense was that, in their lack of representation, a toxic perception had filled the void.
There was a feeling of “My country does not care about me. We need to take our country back.” Many clearly said that they no longer had a community to which they belonged. They came to the march to connect. They wanted to belong.
The more I interacted with them, the more I oscillated between my desire to defend minorities (myself included) and my desire to lecture them about the dangers of Christian nationalism. But I had to hold myself back and, instead, show them what my Christian faith really looks like.
As I stood there, reflecting on the calling of the Church today, I found myself wrestling with the deep complexities of our shared challenges. Stepping into these spaces requires us to embody a justice that refuses to be neutral, a justice so expansive that it actively includes everyone and refuses to exclude anyone: the kind of inclusive justice that the Old Testament prophets advocated.
I feel the profound weight of my own identity; I must figure out how to speak of justice with complete integrity and authenticity as a person of colour and a bishop in the Church of England, while simultaneously creating a welcoming space for people such as a white, working-class single mother who feels entirely marginalised by the current conversation. How can I hold together integrity and hospitality in my Christian calling?
We must find a way to break through and dismantle the exhausting “us” and “them” binaries of our current culture and finally begin to live out the “us” that God always intended. We live in an interconnected and interdependent society: what affects one affects all of us.
Looking around our nation today, we may well feel that our politics, social institutions, and economics are in free fall. In the face of lives that are deeply fragmented, fractured, and divided, we must confront the reality of what is genuinely at stake if we fail to bridge these gaps.
FAITH was on display across the country last week through the campaign A Million Acts of Hope. More than 1000 activities took place in communities across the UK, in churches, synagogues, mosques, other places of worship, where people came together to show that hope and compassion are everywhere. Different faith groups openly discussed how to build more solidarity; hospitality was offered to refugees; churches hosted warm-welcome spaces; and volunteers gave out essentials at foodbanks.
There is a need to create “brave spaces”, such as community meals or listening tables, where raw frustrations can be spoken without immediate excommunication or judgement. Through opening up honest conversations, I believe that we can guide people away gently from divisive ideology and poisonous dogmas to a place that feels healing and hopeful. Let’s listen to one another
At a time such as this, the Church’s ultimate calling is to discover how, rather than mirroring the divisions of the world, we can can truly become the healing, unifying presence for which this nation so desperately aches. Christian faith is uniquely positioned to bridge this divide, because its values are not conditioned by this political world.
By refusing to demonise any particular disenfranchised group, whether it is on grounds of race, class, gender, or sexuality, Christians can accompany those who are in need, and, in doing so, steer people away gently from extremist beliefs and back towards a compassionate, loving politics that works for everyone. By refusing to be co-opted by hatred, Christians can advocate lovingly for hope.
As a bishop, I often wonder about the true reaction of my church community if we began to introduce these honest listening spaces, and the profound shift that would occur in our streets and neighbourhoods.
Dr Anderson Jeremiah is the Area Bishop of Edmonton in the diocese of London.
millionactsofhope.org