On August 15, the Christian faith commemorates Mother Mary’s ascent into Heaven. She is regarded as the foremost among the Christian Saints, and occupies a unique place in the affection and devotion of many Christians, both in the East and the West.
I will always be grateful to Shirley for befriending my grandmother. And I admire her as much as I admire those who embrace and accept people from different cultures.
Islamic authors have always had a high regard for Mary, as the mother of whom they believe was a great prophet.
For this reason I consider the Feast of the Dormition Day as an appropriate time to appeal to Mary’s virtues as a means of healing a fractured world.
For me, these virtues reside in my grandmother Maria. She – with those who share her name – is honoured in the feast devoted to Mary.
I will, therefore, take time tomorrow to reflect on a relationship that helped my grandmother deal with the many difficulties she experienced as a migrant.
As a child, I desperately wanted my grandmother to speak English so everyone could appreciate her kind and accepting nature. She was illiterate and there was little chance of this happening, but it did not hinder her from forming special relationships with people from diverse backgrounds.
She often encountered such people on her way to the local shops, when walking her grandchildren to school, or while sweeping autumn leaves off the front lawn of our Mount Waverley home.
One such person was Shirley from a couple of doors down the street.
Unable to ask her to join her for a cup of tea, she placed her hand on Shirley’s wrist and gestured towards our house. And Shirley immediately understood and accepted.
The two had an understanding that went beyond language and culture. I would often come home from school and find them sitting in silence. I didn’t think much of their friendship. What could possibly come out of a relationship between two people who have so little in common?
It wasn’t until my grandmother experienced a personal tragedy that my thinking changed.
My grandfather suffered a severe stroke while my parents, sister and I were absent. My grandmother had no one to turn to other than Shirley. She ran to her home, and Shirley came to my grandmother’s aid as she had when they first met.
I will always be grateful to Shirley for befriending my grandmother. And I admire her as much as I admire those who embrace and accept people from different cultures.
My grandmother died a decade ago; a time when manic warnings against those who look and sound different were not as loud as they are today.
Perhaps greater emphasis on the kind of friendship my grandmother had with Shirley can go a little way towards tempering the cacophony of threats and counter threats made towards those who look and sound different.
Chris Fotinopoulos is a Melbourne based writer who has taught ethics and philosophy at the university of Melbourne and Monash.