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Pamela was hunting everywhere for her phone. She pretty much dismantled the little orange car, which is where she’d last seen it – but to no avail. We both tried calling it: it went straight to voicemail. I was about to redial one more time, though paused to answer a knock at the door. It was our friendly builder. He stretched out his hand: “This mobile keeps ringing in my pocket.”

It was truly astonishing: seeing the missing phone emerge from Bob’s anorak pocket. He’d been given it by a chum of his who works at the supermarket along the road, and noticed one of Bob’s texts pop up on Pamela’s screen. Since Pamela hadn’t been near the shops, she must have dropped it as she hauled herself out of the tiny car, and some kind passer-by picked it up and handed it in.

In biblical times the reappearing phone would have been deemed miraculous, whereas nowadays we more readily analyse a chain of events. It reminds me of a friend’s account of his time as a doctor in South Africa. Paul made all sorts of miracles happen. For instance, one of his patients could not speak properly: that little fold of skin under his tongue, his frenulum, was too tight, so he couldn’t articulate words. Quickly sorted with a pair of surgical scissors. You may remember St Mark’s Gospel telling us how Jesus healed a man who could hardly speak: “the string of his tongue was loosed.” Exactly what Paul had achieved with those scissors. What strikes me is that miracles continue to happen every day, even in the 21st century – many of them in the RD&E. 

While miracles can be more readily deconstructed in our scientific world, we rely as much as ever on ministering angels to make them happen. The passer-by who not only takes the trouble to pick up the phone, but is decent enough to hand it in at the supermarket. Paul who gives up a successful career as a surgeon in Liverpool to go to work in a missionary hospital in South Africa. Those who work with such dedication every day at the RD&E. The friend who gives us a call when we’re feeling a bit down, and raises our spirits and sense of purpose. Ministering angels come in all shapes and sizes, but are as vital today as the Good Samaritan was in his.

So what about you and me: what sort of ministering angel might we be? I am deeply attached to a challenge set out by Brother Roger, the founder of the Taizé Community in Burgundy: “It’s the job of any Christian to take that part of the Christian Gospel they understand and live it out.” The options are plentiful – whatever suits our temperament and lifestyle, and captures our imagination – as long as we do something. Perhaps in our prayer, we can use some words of the American priest, Fr Richard Rohr: “Help us to know what is ours to do.”

St Paul writes to the Christians in Corinth about the body of Christ: how everyone has a valued part to play. Many of you will have heard how my alarm clock let me down one morning and I woke up late for church. Running downstairs with no shoes on, I stubbed my little toe. The air was blue. For six weeks, I couldn’t kneel down, I couldn’t really walk properly. And until that fraught morning, I was hardly conscious I had a little toe. But all at once I understood what St Paul was writing about. Without my little toe playing its part, my whole body was below par. Without every one of us playing our part, the Christian community, and wider society as well, will fail to fulfil its potential.

Gratitude, then… For the daily miracles that are happening all around us; and for those angels who minister to us. And encouragement to each of us to go the extra mile. Indeed the one probably leads to the other. Recognising thankfully how much we benefit from the help of others might sharpen our resolve to do some good, and to make a difference – something we can all do in our own way, even during lockdown. Perhaps especially during lockdown, when so many people we know are feeling isolated and out of touch.