What this tragedy can teach us about the TRUE meaning of Christmas

FOR some people, the Christmas story seems like a fairy tale from long ago. For others, it has become a festival of consumerism. But that’s not how it seems in North Kensington.

In my parish, which includes Grenfell Tower, the message of hope and togetherness in good times and bad has never seemed more relevant.

Locals will never forget the terrible night of June 14, when they woke to see the sight of an enormous fire shooting up the sides of Grenfell, illuminating it against the night sky.

We could hardly believe our eyes. The conflagration was like something out of a movie, but was all too real. Debris rained down on neighbouring flats; thousands watched helplessly as their friends died.

As awful as it was for us, who can imagine the terror and confusion inside – of the survivors as they staggered through thick smoke down the single staircase, stumbling over the dead and dying? Or even worse, of those as they realised they would never get out alive? It was impossible to take in.

Even today, the ruined tower looks like an alien object, a weird, blackened intrusion in one of the most prosperous cities of the world. It is a sobering reminder of the shocking truth that even a wealthy, developed country like ours is capable of failing in its basic duty of care towards its citizens.

But there was something else that night and in the days that followed that we will never forget: a spontaneous outpouring of love and generosity.

Shortly after I opened up St Clement’s Church near the tower at 3am, our first visitors arrived – not seeking help, but bringing water, bread, biscuits, fruit and milk. The traumatised residents began to pour in. A church member put a blanket on the floor and played with young children, using her own children’s toys.

THROUGHOUT the night, volunteers arrived in droves, at first serving tea, then breakfast. A group of young Muslim men turned up from East London with piles of blankets and warm clothing. And this was just the beginning.

As the day wore on, many others came, some from hundreds of miles away. As the numbers seeking refuge increased, so too did the volunteers.

By early afternoon, we had to post signs saying we could no longer accept donations. Our church had turned into what one person described as ‘the world’s biggest jumble sale’. In the following days, three lorries’ worth of donations were shipped out for safe storage. Our church railings were covered with prayers, messages of goodwill, and appeals for the missing. Flowers piled up outside. And we were only one of several relief centres.

People’s generosity was staggering. Money arrived through the post, sometimes with a short letter saying: ‘This isn’t much, but it’s all I can afford.’ Restaurants and a coffee company provided delicious food in the beautiful gardens at the back of the church. The first two evenings ended with an iftar, a Ramadan ‘breakfast’. As more people began to receive bad news, our sister community organisation, the ClementJames Centre, found private spaces for grieving relatives. We provided two impromptu prayer rooms: one for Muslims, one for Christians.

In those first days, the media noticed something extraordinary: that our country seemed to have recovered something we thought we had lost for good. They described it as ‘the Blitz spirit’.

People of all faiths and none rallied to care for those who had lost so much in the worst fire the country had experienced since World War II.

Now, six months on, residents have a deep sense of gratitude for the compassion and support they have been shown.

People of all backgrounds have given and received from one another in a way that can begin to restore our faith in human nature.

Schools have had a heavy burden of support, for children who turned up to find empty desks in their classrooms.

Places of worship, community centres and schools have experienced a fantastic spirit of co-operation. The ClementJames Centre alone has worked with Family Action, Place2Be, Child Bereavement UK, the NHS, Latimer Community Art Therapy and Winston’s Wish.

Community organisations and faith groups have drawn together, sharing experiences and initiatives. In a new spirit of partnership, we have rediscovered what it means to love our neighbour as ourselves. We have been reminded that our neighbour is not only someone we help, but also our fellow worker in caring for others.

A spirit of partnership and mutual support was very much in evidence at the Grenfell National Memorial Service at St Paul’s on December 14.

RARELY have I seen such a beautifully crafted act of worship. While the framework was Christian, it was inclusive. Survivors and the bereaved, as well as other local residents, felt that their pain was acknowledged by the nation.

It was fitting the tragedy was remembered in the cathedral which came to symbolise our national resilience during the Blitz. So much has changed since – we are in many respects a different country – but a fundamental compassion endures.

And so it must, because as the Grenfell disaster so brutally demonstrated – alongside the terror attacks in Manchester and in London – human beings are intrinsically fragile.

Beyond each act of violence, each disaster, there are widening circles of trauma. Children, the elderly, and those with mental health challenges are especially vulnerable. But a tragedy on the scale of Grenfell affects everyone deeply.

That is why the Christmas story and the hope it brings to the world carries such an important message. Jesus Christ was born in temporary accommodation, in a cold barn, showing that ‘God is with us’ when we feel at our most isolated and anxious.

The majestic prologue to John’s gospel speaks of Jesus as a light in the darkness, which is real, and potentially frightening, but the light is there, shining among us, often in unexpected places.

The people of Grenfell, and those in other places of trauma, know they face a long journey to healing. But God is with us, especially in times of darkness. As we approach the end of the year, North Kensington is dominated by two symbols – one negative, the other positive.

The negative symbol is blackened Grenfell, which inflicts daily psychological damage on those who see it. The positive symbol is the green Grenfell heart, a sign of solidarity, evoking many acts of compassion.

This Christmas will be a dark and difficult time for many, and there is considerable anger towards those held responsible. We fervently hope the inquiry will get to the truth and lead to justice. In the meantime, the Nativity encourages us to be ‘lights’ to one another.

We stand together in our humanity. Pain is universal, but so is compassion.

The people of North Kensington have seen that compassion and it has strengthened their faith – in their fellow human beings, as well as in God.

The love and generosity shown were staggering