Touching on a serious matter

Today is Valentine’s Day.  

If we forget the commercialism of it all, it’s a timely moment to think about a topic that is loved, hated or best avoided, depending on your point of view: hugging and touching.

Hugging is a way to tell someone you care about them. It can show a lot more than words can say.

One of the amazing things about my closest family is that we hug a lot. There are people who love hugging their mums, dads, children, grandmas, granddads, brothers and sisters. Others don’t hug.  Some people who are not in traditional families hug a lot; others do not like to be touched.

Sometimes friends put their arms around each other for a quick hug when they are having their picture taken or when they just see each other for the first time that day.

Now most of the people reading this will be English (with apologies to the Scots, Danes, Pakistanis, Brazilians and others who regularly read the blog).  As a nation, we English sometimes we find it hard to understand when it’s OK to touch or hug someone and when it is not.  When someone isn’t comfortable with touching or hugging, they often step back or pull away from you.  When this happens, we step back also – showing that we respect their preference.

Maybe it’s a generational or a cultural thing.  When I was a child, men didn’t seem to hug at all; now footballers hug on the pitch.  Many of my male Muslim friends give one another a swift hug on first meeting each day, as well as a firm handshake.  Our French neighbours will greet family, friends and colleagues with a kiss on each cheek!

In lively charismatic churches, where people may be very demonstrative, there is now a bizarre kind of open hug that shows affection while straining to avoid any appearance of invading personal space.  It seems more than a little forced.

So what’s the purpose of this reflection on touching and hugging? 

I used to avoid any hugging beyond immediate family, in view of the complexity of knowing whether it would be welcomed and the embarrassment (or worse) arising from getting it wrong.  But I am a tactile person:  if I have affection for someone then that, for me, is naturally shown in touch as well as expressed in words. 

Happy Valentine's Day! 

A saintly lesson, which speaks to us all

As the regular reader of this blog will know, I tend to write about politics and current affairs, leavened with favourite recipes and some Christian themes. To my shame, I find that I have written little devotional material for quite a while.

So, as we stand on the eve of a feast day in the church calendar on 10th February, here's a heart-warming tale from 7th century France. It is the story of St Austrebertha.  

One day, this pious lady went out to look for the donkey which carried the dirty laundry of the monks back to her convent, for the nuns to wash.  On her way she encountered a wolf.

Such was the holiness of this dear lady that the wolf was stricken with guilt and immediately confessed to having killed the donkey, so depriving the monks of their door-to-door laundry service. However, the wolf pleaded for forgiveness, which the saintly lady readily granted. 

As a penance, Austrebertha commanded him to carry the washing himself. So great was the depth of his contrition that the wolf carried out this task faithfully to the end of his days. 

The lesson here is very plain and I think any commentary from me would be superfluous. 

Happy St Austrebertha's Day.