In my late teens I read a book that fundamentally changed my understanding of church. The book was Naught for your Comfort, an exposure of the scandal of apartheid in South Africa by the then Anglican archbishop of Cape Town Trevor Huddleston. What caught my imagination was that the church of which I was a member was taking a lead role in standing up for a brutally oppressed people – Christianity was about more than going to church on Sundays. Earlier Huddleston, while serving in a township, had impressed another young man, not by a book, but by his action in raising his hat to his mother, a courtesy not usually shown by white men to black women. The young man was Desmond Mpilo Tutu.
Tomorrow’s gospel tells us that Jesus is in the Synagogue and when handed the scroll of the prophet Isaiah, he chose these words: “The Spirit of the Lord is upon me, because he has anointed me to bring good news to the poor. He has sent me to proclaim release to the captives and recovery of sight to the blind, to let the oppressed go free, to proclaim the year of the Lord’s favour.”
Desmond Tutu made these words his own as he explains in the book Hope and Suffering: "God showed himself there as a saving God, as a doing, an active kind of God . . . and he showed himself to be a God of liberation, the great Exodus God, who took the side of the oppressed, the exploited ones, the downtrodden, the marginalised ones. He was no fence sitter. He took sides against the powerful on behalf of the widow, the orphan and the alien – classes of people who were often at the back of the queue, at the bottom of the pile . . . the theme of setting free, of rescuing captives or those who have been kidnapped, is one that runs through the Bible as the golden thread."
Taking sides against the powerful meant danger for Tutu. The American writer Jim Wallis witnessed this when security police forcibly entered St George's Cathedral, Cape Town, where Tutu was preaching. "The incident taught me more about the power of hope than any other moment in my life. Desmond Tutu stopped preaching and just looked at the intruders with their writing pads and tape recorders . . . threatening him with consequences for any bold prophetic utterances." The bishop acknowledged their power – "You are powerful, very powerful"– but then reminded them that he served a higher power than theirs. "I serve a God who cannot be mocked."
Archbishop Henry McAdoo of Dublin once told me that at a service in Westminster Abbey to honour 20th-century Christian martyrs he had stood beside Desmond Tutu and wondered might he, one day, be added to that number.
Tutu was a “Thus saith the Lord” prophet and as such demonstrated the power of moral leadership and clear Christian messaging. The need is perhaps even greater today as human rights are being trampled almost everywhere and platitudes are not nearly enough.
His views on political violence have a special relevance for this island in this season of anniversaries where efforts are being made to sanitise political atrocities that should be a scandal to any nation calling itself Christian. He said: "You must show the world that you abhor fighting. When we see others as the enemy, we risk becoming what we hate . . . All of our humanity is dependent upon recognising the humanity in others." His work for the Truth and Reconciliation Commission in South Africa showed his commitment to victims, that they should not be forgotten, a process in short supply here.
At the core of who Desmond Mpilo Tutu became was his belief in Jesus Christ and the compelling power of the gospel as he expressed in this prayer: Goodness is stronger than evil; Love is stronger than hate; Light is stronger than darkness; Life is stronger than death; Victory is ours through Him who loves us.