Being the difference

Two O'clock this morning I left a casualty department and with it an incredibly large number of victims of what to me looked like a major incident. The cause? England and the World Cup! Having been drinking since the early afternoon, the euphoria having died down, and the alcohol levels having risen such that those who had earlier been brothers now found themselves as combatants on opposing sides!

"Ooh, that's pretty," says a nurse as she prepares the stuff required for a suture to a gash on the cheek, "Been out having a good time have we?" I smile and ask myself what a 'bad time' must look like if this was the result of a good one!

A few days before, engaged in conversation, I am informed that the area in which I serve has exactly the same teenage pregnancy rate as a place a few miles hence. One is decided badly regarded and the other is considered to be a place that is 'nice' I was a bit surprised at this news (I don't know why - perhaps I still thought 'nice' places begat 'nice' people) but was stunned by the next bit of information. The pregnancy rate was the same but the teenage birth rate here was three times that of the 'nice' place!

I assumed this was because there were health implications. Perhaps the difference could be explained by drink, drug or even lifestyle. The shock came when I was told that here, for some, it was merely a career choice! This and the fact that 'nice' parents have the opportunity to procure abortions privately to remove the stigma of an out of marriage and teenage pregnancy whereas here, it was the norm and nothing to be considered any differently than the sun rising each day. It's regarded by many as merely normal (I met a great grandmother who was a few weeks short of her forty-third birthday recently).

The option before us are easy. We can tut and turn over the pages of our newspapers bemoaning the 'world today' or we can get stuck in and be the difference to the place where we live.

Jesus never stood in a pulpit lecturing those in the sea of (often self-made_ poo but got in and led those in it to a place of safety and healing. Words are cheap but actions both painful and costly.

"At the sixth hour darkness came over the whole land until the ninth hour. And at the ninth hour Jesus cried out in a loud voice, “Eloi, Eloi, lama sabachthani?”—which means, “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?” When some of those standing near heard this, they said, “Listen, he’s calling Elijah.” One man ran, filled a sponge with wine vinegar, put it on a stick, and offered it to Jesus to drink. “Now leave him alone. Let’s see if Elijah comes to take him down,” he said. With a loud cry, Jesus breathed his last. The curtain of the temple was torn in two from top to bottom. 39 And when the centurion, who stood there in front of Jesus, heard his cry and saw how he died, he said, “Surely this man was the Sonc of God!” Mk 15: 33 - 38

Doesn't come any dearer than this!