Archbishop Jonathan Blake

The Most Reverend Jonathan Blake, Presiding Archbishop of the Open Episcopal Church B.A. (Hons), Dip. Pastoral Studies. Bishop's Haven, 105 Danson Crescent Welling DA16 2AS U.K. Mobile: 07767 687711 www.bishopjonathanblake.com bishopjonathanblake@ntlworld.com www.openepiscopalchurch.org www.twitter.com/bishopjonathan The Church is a member of The International Council of Community churches and the World Council of Churches. Married and a proud Dad.

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Location: London, Kent, United Kingdom

Gassed in Tehran, seized in Kabul, helped Mother Teresa, almost murdered, raised £300,000, ordained 1981, street sleeper, pilgrim to Auschwitz, Kenya + Pakistan 4 peace, began 1st inter-faith NHS chapel, wrote text on Parliament, arrested, relinquished his 12 year Anglican post 2 be independent, baptised 1000's in homes, on Mt Snowdon + in circus ring, did wedding underwater, wrote ‘For God’s Sake Don’t Go To Church’, nailed 95 Theses to Canterbury cathedral, arrested, co-founded the Society for Independent Ministry, was consecrated a bishop, co-founded the Open Episcopal Church, did 1st gay wedding on prime time TV, sued Associated Newspapers 4 defamation, co-consecrated 1st women bishops 4 England. Wales + Scotland, accommodated the homeless, took Mass 2 sex workers + posted it, elected Archbishop, arrested 4 taking kids on roof, not charged, founded ‘When No One’s Watching', became an ICV, did Jade Goody's wedding , invited 2 Downing St, wrote 'That Old Devil Called God Again', arrested 4 times campaigning against child abuse, had harassment conviction quashed on appeal, appealing a conviction for breaches of restraining order 2 stop a paedophile

Tuesday, May 10, 2016

ZAINAB AL-KHAWAJA - A LIGHT IN THE DARKNESS

PLEASE READ HER LETTER FROM PRISON AND SHARE IT WIDELY

 "I am a mother with a job. I will carry my baby with me and continue on my path, so that I can clothe him in resilience and feed him in dignity."


As Hadi dozes off, I quietly get out of bed. I put my folded prayer mat by the bars of my cell so I can get some light to finish reading my book. I underline: “Power in defense of freedom is greater than power on behalf of tyranny and oppression, because power, real power comes from conviction which produces action”. As I finish underlining I remember– no, I close my eyes and relive a memory, as prisoners often do. I had spent months and months worrying about how my arrest would affect my 6-year-old daughter Jude; and the day had finally come. The police were at the door to take me away. I sat her on my lap and told her that when you do what’s good and right, you don’t need to be afraid. I told her that I would go to prison but I would be carrying her with me in my heart, and that I would stay in hers. She stared at me silently, her eyes welling up. I got up thinking that I must go fast before they break in. When my husband opened the door, I was glad Jude didn’t get a glimpse of how many police officers stood there. What I didn’t expect was that, as I was about to leave, my little Jude got up and said “I’ll walk you out”. She came by my side and held my hand. I walked out the door carrying my baby Hadi on my hip and holding my daughter’s hand. As we walked down the stairs, it was hard to be fully aware of all the police walking around us. They were armed and they carried video cameras. Yet they looked so small with their downcast eyes, so weak, so helpless. I looked at Jude; she was the biggest person there. Her eyes wide open, her head held high, going down each step with such determination. Is that the power of truth? That a beautiful, tiny, skinny six-year-old can be towering over dozens of armed men and women in uniform?
“Prison guard Shaikha report to the officer in charge!” I open one eye hoping the loudspeakers didn’t disturb Hadi’s sleep. He rolls over and continues sleeping. I keep reading my book until I can’t sit on the floor any longer. I smile at Hadi; as usual, he takes over the whole bed and leaves me the edge. I get under the cover and curl down beside him, kiss his chubby cheeks and think to myself: “now that’s the most adorable cellmate ever,” and fall asleep.
I hear banging, very loud voices, orders, and see florescent lights in the cell. I look at Hadi, he’s wide awake too. I can tell he’s scared; he’s not making a sound. I go to the metal bars, but can’t see anything except things being thrown out into the corridor from the cell next to mine. It’s 1 am. I hug Hadi and sing “you are my sunshine” to calm him down. Then, they get to my cell. “OPEN! CELL 19!”and the electric cell opens. “Whats going on?” I ask. Officer replies “TAFTEESH!” I feel Hadi gripping my clothes. “At this hour?” I protest. “You’re scaring my baby”. Five prison guards walk by me into the cell, crowding the place.
“Do you have something we can throw your stuff on?” The female officer asks. I look at my father’s picture that I stuck with toothpaste on the wall. “Do whatever the hell you want, we’re used to your riot police attacking our homes”. Hadi stares at a prison guard going through the few baby books that he has, wearing plastic gloves. I look at the colorful pages that I’ve memorized and see her flipping through them like evidence at a crime scene. My one-year-old hides his face in my neck. I carry him and walk out of the cell. I stand in the corridor whispering prayers into Hadi’s ears.
The officer tells me “we know you don’t have anything”. I stare at her. They know that the only things that doen’t belong in this cell are my child and I.
As they leave, memories of my father’s arrest flash before my eyes. I rock Hadi back to sleep. He falls asleep and I sit by the metal bars to write this letter.
My name is Zainab Al-Khawaja. I am the daughter of a political prisoner and the mother of a political prisoner. But my story was never about my family, and the pain I carry is not the pain of a family but the pain of a people.
During a visit a couple of weeks back, my husband told me that the Bahraini regime had announced that they would release me and my child for humanitarian reasons. I didn’t know how to react, but my first feeling was one of failure. For if all I have achieved is to somehow save myself and my child, while the regime uses my case to come off as “humanitarian,” then I have failed. As I thought of that again later in my cell, I remembered the bodies I had seen of protesters killed. Where was the regime’s humanity when they shot a 13-year-old child? I heard the cries of mothers as they call out to their children’s graves. I have kept those cries in my heart. I recalled the voices of the torture victims, describing the horrors one would not even believe possible. Remembering how their voice would soften, how their voices would crack. How at some instances they would stop speaking, unable to put into words what happened next. I used to bury myself in my notes, unable to look the person in the eye, unable to see all that pain. I remembered the blood, my father’s blood, the hundreds of injured protesters’ blood, the blood left in the homes of those arrested. I saw all the innocent people, in handcuffs, I saw the anger in their eyes as they sat before a judge with no soul. I heard the pleading in their lawyers’ voices: “He is just a child, there is no evidence against him, let him go back to his family before Eid”. I looked at the judge’s frozen eyes and thought of how many innocent people he had sentenced, how many prisoners he had kicked out of court as soon as they described the torture they were subjected to. I saw a child, who placed her tiny finger on a glass partition separating her from her father. I saw the longing in her father’s eyes as he reached out to touch his daughter, holding back tears.
I carried their pain, I still carry their pain. My cause is the cause of my people. If nothing changes for the people of Bahrain, then my staying in jail or release is not of great consequence. I am a mother with a job. I will carry my baby with me and continue on my path, so that I can clothe him in resilience and feed him in dignity.
I think of all those western governments between us and our freedom; those governments who see us suffer for democracy and still support dictatorships in our countries. I remember another line I underlined in my book “She preaches one thing while deceitfully practicing another”.
As for people who are trying to help anyone who is oppressed, I send my love and gratitude from behind bars.
Zainab Al-Khawaja
Cell 19
Isa Town Women’s Prison
Bahrain
20th April 2016

https://www.buzzfeed.com/alanwhite/bahraini-activist-makes-impassioned-plea-for-democracy-in-a?utm_term=.tcZe9qRP2#.on9Lor3MB

ARCHBISHOP JONATHAN BLAKE IS INNOCENT-HE HELPED STOP A PAEDOPHILE


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