Everyday Saint

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There’s a woman in our village I’ll call Jenn.

Jenn runs the coffee mornings at the local church, sits on local committees, and writes polite but firm emails to the authorities about lorries diverting from major highways onto our narrow village roads. Importantly, she even makes sure my favourite tea is in stock.

Some might call her a saint, others might say a pillar of the community.

Though if I was to tell her that, she’d laugh and probably say she’s less a pillar and more a fence post, and a wobbly one at that.

Behavioural scientist David Halpern says healthy societies thrive on the invisible glue of trust and relationships - what he calls social capital. And that’s not only about our family and close friends. It’s not only about the councils and police. It’s also about the everyday relationships in our community that quietly hold life together.

I see it when someone brings in a neighbour’s wheelie bin, or pops round to feed the cat when I’m  away. When a parcel is left with a house down the road and finds its way back to my doorstep. None of it makes the news. All of it makes a difference.

Jenn does those kinds of things all the time. If there’s litter to be picked up, she’s there. If there’s an event in the village,  she’s the first to arrive and the last to leave, usually after washing-up. She chats to the postman, knows who is unwell, and probably has no idea how much steadier she makes the rest of us feel.

In the Qur’an, the book Muslims turn to for guidance, God says, “Whoever does an atom’s weight of good will see it.” And there’s a verse that says even our own hands and feet will one day bear witness on the Day of Judgement to everything we’ve done.

It all adds up - not through headlines or hashtags, but through people like Jenn who keep their corner of the world gently stitched together.

They’re the quiet backbone of hope.

Because Jenn shows me that hope is rarely spectacular.

It’s very human, and sometimes even a little wobbly.

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