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Good morning.

October, 2019. I’m walking into a busy A&E department with my 15 year old daughter. I’m propping her up as we walk, half dragging her because her legs keep giving way. I can’t hold her anymore and she collapses onto the floor. At once she’s surrounded by medical staff. The scene blurs in confusion in my memory, like a VHS tape on a machine that needs its heads cleaning. Now we’re in a cubicle. Her skin is flushed, her temperature through the roof, and she starts to vomit. They manage to put a line into her hand. Her heart rate is dangerously high. Tests later confirm sepsis, and I don’t want to remember anymore.

On Wednesday, Conservative politician Craig MacKinlay entered The Commons to jubilant and delighted applause across the house. Dubbed the ‘Bionic M.P’ Mr MacKinlay developed life-threatening sepsis last year, which led to the amputation of both hands and feet. As he himself has said, the price for living in his case was serious disability. His gratitude and joy at being alive, to still be a dad for his four year old little girl, reminded me how people who survive huge adversity are an example and inspiration of what a gift life is. The cross-party reaction to his entrance was also an example of how politics can be when we engage with one another as fellow beings instead of distant and dehumanised opponents.

This is one of my hopes as we head into this season of campaigning ahead of the General Election in July. Craig MacKinlay’s warm reception in the Commons, the shaking of his prosthetic hand by Keir Starmer, is symbolic of what politics and culture could and should be like, but so often isn’t. Physical brokenness is something we can’t hide; it’s there for all to see, and we can’t help but react to it. But what a life of faith has taught me, is that unseen, inner brokenness is something that’s shared by every one of us, including all the politicians on the ballot papers. Brokenness is integral to our human condition, and understanding, tolerance and endless dollops of grace are the necessary remedy. Recognising the brokenness that we can’t see is how we navigate an emotionally charged election season with mutual respect.

My daughter was lucky. She recovered quickly with no lasting damage, but my prayer while I sat by her hospital bedside was for the comfort of Jesus who I believe was broken for her and me, and in whom my true hope lies. Today, I pray for healing for the country and for brokenness that can’t be seen.

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