Article
Comment
Football
Identity
Sport
5 min read

How I came to love my new neighbours

Moving to Liverpool, home to the team he hated, challenges football supporter Sam Tomlin’s sense of belonging.

Sam Tomlin is a Salvation Army officer, leading a local church in Liverpool where he lives with his wife and children.

Silouhetted by red flare smoke, celebrating footballs wave red flags.
Liverpool football fans celebrate.
Fleur on Unsplash.

I was born in Exeter, England but my family moved to Oxford when I was two. I don’t remember Exeter at all. I am sometimes envious of people who proudly share how they were ‘born and bred’ in a city or town and trace their lineage there back generations. I profoundly identified with Nick Hornby in his brilliant book Fever Pitch when he describes being a white, middle-class, southern English man or woman as being ‘the most rootless creature on earth; we would rather belong to any other community in the world. Yorkshiremen, Lancastrians, Scots, the Irish… have something they can sit in pubs and bars and weep about, songs to sing, things they can grab for and squeeze hard when they feel like it, but we have nothing, or at least nothing we want.’ 

I began to love football and started attending games. My Dad, born in Bristol, took me to Oxford United and while I enjoyed going with my friends, I could tell he didn’t care as much when Oxford scored compared to when we went to Bristol City games when I would see a normally calm and controlled man hug random strangers and fall over seats. This is much more exciting – so I committed myself as a Bristol City fan which I am to this day. 

Growing up in a school in Oxford, however, it’s not particularly cool to say you support Bristol City, so if you supported a lower league team you also pick a Premier League team. Mine was Manchester United for the very unoriginal reason that they were the best. I had posters of Roy Keane – my hero on whom I modelled my playing style and I even travelled up to Old Trafford when a ticket very occasionally presented itself. They were my second team – and a very close second. 

Over the years I have come to deeply love the streets, landmarks and people who call this home as I have lived and served alongside them.

When you support a football team, you also commit to disliking other teams as part of the deal. Most teams have a local rival they enjoy hating, and while I certainly disliked Bristol Rovers, my particular ire was reserved for Liverpool, partly because they were Man Utd’s main rivals in the late 90’s and partly because some of my friends supported them (for the same reason I’ve always had an irrational dislike of QPR but that’s another story). I really disliked Liverpool – I didn’t quite have a poster of Michael Owen or Phil Babb to throw darts at but it wasn’t far off. Football rivalry is a serious business – in the 70’s and 80’s people lost their lives to football hooliganism and while this has thankfully decreased in recent decades, additional police presence is still required at local derbies as passions continue to run high. 

I feel quite vulnerable sharing this publicly because it’s something I’ve never shared with the congregation I’ve been leading with my wife for over seven years. The reason for this is that we now live in Liverpool. God, it seems, has a great sense of irony – we became Salvation Army officers and not choosing where we were sent, the letter we opened in 2016 telling us where we would be ‘appointed’ said: Liverpool! 

'The very first person you meet is the neighbour, whom you shall love… There is not a single person in the whole world who is as surely and as easily recognised as the neighbour.’ 

Søren Kierkegaard 

Jesus says that the greatest commandments are to love God with everything that you are, and to love your neighbour as yourself. In response to a question about ‘who’ our true neighbours are, he shares a story about a man on a journey far from home who is beaten up and left for dead. His compatriots walk on the other side of the road, but someone from another, distrusted and strange land comes and takes care of him. 

Søren Kierkegaard reflects on these stories and observes how humans like to abstract these commands to suit us better. We think our neighbours are those who look and sound like us as much as possible – this is the impulse of patriotism or love of country. But I have never been to Middleborough, Lincoln, or Dundee and while these people might be my compatriots, they are not really my neighbours – to some extent my love for them is an abstraction from reality. For Kierkegaard, ‘The very first person you meet is the neighbour, whom you shall love… There is not a single person in the whole world who is as surely and as easily recognised as the neighbour.’ In this regard, Kierkegaard suggests, Christian loyalty and love is more appropriately applied to a neighbourhood, town or city than it is to a nation or country (this essay by Stephen Backhouse explains more on this with reference to Kierkegaard). 

The people I meet every day, walking around the streets of Liverpool are my neighbours and as such I am commanded as a follower of Jesus to love them. This love of God has not only helped me fall in love with a city I once did not know, but even transform something as ingrained as football rivalry. The most fundamental and formative songs I sing are about Jesus, not of a city and the narrative I try and organise my life around is found in the Bible not the history of a city or football club. But we are embodied creatures, and God creates us in and calls us to particular places, where we live, breathe and encounter our neighbours. I don’t think I’d go as far as saying I have become a Liverpool fan! I would still want Liverpool to lose if they played Bristol City and Man Utd, but the God who is able to transform even the deepest hatred into love has softened the heart of this southern, middle-class boy into a love of his new city, its people and perhaps even one of its football teams I once intensely disliked. 

Article
Comment
Freedom of Belief
Politics
5 min read

No George, Christians aren’t free to worship in Iran

Apologists make a mockery of the real costs of freedom of belief.

Steve is news director of Article 18, a human rights organisation documenting Christian persecution in Iran.

A couple stand on the steps of a cathedral in Iran.
On location with George Galloway.

I guess it’s a good job he’s no longer a member of parliament, or George Galloway may be facing the same scrutiny Nigel Farage came under for his trips to the United States. 

It probably won’t surprise you to hear that the former MP for Rochdale didn’t head to the Land of the Free on his own extracurricular jaunt the other week, but instead to Tehran and Moscow.  

And no, George wasn’t there to remind Iran of its obligations to provide human rights for its citizens - as some might expect of a British MP - nor did he go to Russia to put pressure on Putin to end the war in Ukraine. 

No, George was simply visiting his comrades - distinct as they may be - and doing his bit for their distinct causes. 

Mr Galloway published two videos during his visit to Iran - both published on his X account - and both showing him standing outside the buildings of a recognised religious minority (meaning, in Iran, Jews, Zoroastrians and Assyrian or Armenian Christians. Not converts or Baha’is). 

In the first video, the man in the black hat is standing outside a synagogue in Tehran, which he tells his audience doesn’t even have a guard outside “because they don’t need one”, as the “millions” of Jews who live in Iran (actually there are less than 10,000) are so “honoured” and “cherished”. 

They even have their own members in the parliament, he tells us (actually it’s just the one), and “you didn’t know any of this, did you? Because they don’t want you to know.” 

Well, now you do.  

And, thanks again to the former Member for Rochdale, two days later you were also able to discover, much to your surprise, that Iran is also home to “so many Christian churches.” (For the record there are around 300, but none of them open to converts.) 

This time, Mr Galloway is speaking to you from outside an Armenian cathedral, still wearing the same outfit and therefore presumably recorded on the same day but published two days later - perhaps to give you enough time to digest your first lesson. 

Inside the cathedral, George assures us, there are “many worshippers quietly going about their religious obligations,” which is “quite different from the picture that is painted of Iran in Western countries,” don’t you think? 

And what would that picture be, eh, George? 

That Christians are routinely arrested and imprisoned for meeting together to worship, and in years past the leaders of their churches - including Armenians - were even murdered on those same Tehran streets on which you are now standing? 

But no matter, here at least is clear proof that one church in Iran is still functioning - as well as that synagogue; don’t forget the synagogue! - and as Mr Galloway proudly informed us 24 hours after his first video, nearly one million people (according to X it was closer to 50,000) had watched it. 

So, job done. Let’s not worry about the details. They take too much time to research, and can also trip one up when trying to make a point - especially regarding Iran’s treatment of religious minorities or, well, anyone really. 

But no matter, one can guarantee that most viewers won’t have bothered to look into it, nor scroll down far enough to reach the dissent. 

Now, I don’t know whether it was because George hadn’t quite lived up to his billing, but a few days later some “real journalists” arrived from the Grayzone website to add their own insights. 

The Brits had been told; now it was the turn of the Americans.  

“Americans may be surprised to know Christians exist in Iran and are allowed to practice their religion freely.” 

So wrote Grayzone News’ Anya Parimpil on X, alongside a post showing a short video from inside - wow, they actually let the Americans inside! - another Armenian cathedral, this time in Isfahan. 

And alongside a few more pictures of the church, Ms Parimpil posted some photographs of “ancient bibles” - no capital ‘B’ needed, it would seem, nor explanation that today in Iran Bibles are often used as evidence of a “crime” in court cases against Christians. 

Meanwhile, Ms Parimpil’s husband, Max Blumenthal, posted a long video interview with the Islamic Republic of Iran’s favourite interviewee, Mohammad Marandi, as they walked around a Tehran cemetery. 

You can watch it on YouTube if you like, but I wouldn’t recommend it; not only is it over an hour long, but in the wake of the axing of Stephen Sackur’s BBC news show HARDtalk, this one is more like an episode of SOFTtalk, in which the presenter asks only two questions of real interest - regarding the nuclear programme and popular support for the regime - to which there is never any danger of a follow-up probe. 

To paraphrase, Marandi’s answers were that the regime is wildly popular and well able to make a nuclear weapon if it wanted to but that it doesn’t because such things are “inhumane” and the Islamic Republic of Iran is, of course, renowned for its decency. 

Mr Blumenthal also posted videos of an Iranian man singing while embracing him underneath one of Isfahan’s famous bridges - with the message, “Iran is not your enemy” - and of the return of water to the local river, failing to mention, as one responder noted, that “due to the corruption and mismanagement of the horrific mullah regime, the river is basically dry all the time”. 

But no matter, one can guarantee that most viewers won’t have bothered to look into it, nor scroll down far enough to reach the dissent. 

Certainly, the overwhelming reaction to all the videos and photographs posted over the past week has been positive: essentially, a “thanks for showing us what Iran is really like and not only what the biased mainstream media (MSM!) says about it!” 

These are the days of SOFTtalk, it would appear, so I suppose we’d better get used to it. 

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