As we welcome the news of a long-awaited ceasefire agreement between Israel and Hamas, the Ven. Dr. Rachel Mann, Archdeacon of Salford and Bolton, shared this Thought for the Day on Thursday, 16th January 2025 on BBC Radio 4.
Good morning. Ceasefire. As words go, it is remarkably recent. In fact, it only acquired its current meaning, as a cessation of fighting, in 1916, at the height of what was then the most terrible war the world had known. Though it should not be confused with that even more potent word, ‘peace,’ yesterday’s announcement of a ceasefire in Gaza has been welcomed around the world.
I wonder how those Israelis who are still waiting for family members who are hostages are feeling, though. I wonder too what emotions ordinary Gazans feel as they, ever so cautiously, look to rebuild their communities. Both Gazan and Israeli, I suspect, will, initially, have a sense of relief.
Behind that I suspect there will be a dawning sense of fear. Will the ceasefire hold? For Gazans it will also mean reckoning with all they’ve lost, the thousands of loved ones killed, and millions of homes damaged or destroyed. And the realisation for Israeli families that they will now begin to discover who among the remaining hostages is still alive and who is dead. A ceasefire has come, but I imagine that peace of mind and heart for those on all sides whose family members are dead will feel light years away. Behind relief, a deep grief will be lurking.
What on earth can faith have to say into such a painful, complex situation? Well, the Christian tradition, alongside Judaism and Islam, suggests that no one should ever seek to bypass grief quickly. The Psalms, for example, are a songbook which offer, among other things, a kind of honest wrestling with grief and suggest that hope – however precarious – can only be lasting if we face up to our pain and loss.
They have been stress tested across millennia by people crying out from the depths of their distress in search of relief and promise. When the Psalmist cries ‘My God why have you forsaken me?’, he speaks into the way grief can make anyone feel alone; but in acknowledging this he slowly begins to recognise that ‘God has not despised nor abhorred the affliction of the afflicted.’
The rituals of lament offered by faith are no more an end to grief than a ceasefire is an end to conflict. In my ministry, sometimes with people who have lost loved ones in dreadful circumstances, I’ve discovered that to work through grief can be a task not only of years, but decades, and even across generations. The same is true of the challenge of working to find lasting peace in complex situations. However, I also believe that, if lament, prayer and ritual cannot be an end to the pain felt by both Israeli and Gazan, they can at least offer, like a ceasefire, a hopeful place to start.
We join together as a diocese in prayer for all those affected by conflicts in the Middle East and around the world.
