Today storms and rage tides hit the east coast of England and Scotland. The chancellor announced that the UK economy is improving, but he didn't tell us why more people than ever are going to food banks or having to choose between heating and eating, or why hard-working young professionals can't afford to buy their own homes. And later, as we talked about these troubles - one natural, one man-made - we learned that a great soul had gone to heaven.
I can't remember a time when I didn't know the name of Nelson Mandela. It seems astonishing to think that when I was a girl, there were loud voices shouting for him to be hanged. I remember very clearly watching him leave prison, all of us watching it on television. Sunday lunch happened very late that day. Now that he's passed everybody will tell you Mandela quotes and stories, so I'll tell you something else.
About ten years ago I was talking to a group of children at a church club and asked them who they thought should be in charge of the world. Who would make the best job of it? Several - probably the majority - said 'my mum' or 'my gran'. Very good answer. A few said 'Mother Theresa'. And quite a number, to my delight and surprise, said 'Nelson Mandela'.
How did they know about him? Because they'd been taught about him at school. God bless those teachers, who knew that the children needed food for their hearts as well as their brains. And that's another reason why we need to keep telling stories - because children need heroes of real stature, who persist for justice even though it takes decades, who work their way through natural and man-made suffering, through personal and public buffetings, and continue to walk that Long Road to Freedom, beating down the thorns so that the rest may follow.
Go with God, Madiba.
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2 comments:
Excellent post, Mrs. McAllister! :)
Thank you
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