A baby is passed from hand to hand through rolls of razor wire straddling an international border.
The child – who had already travelled hundreds of miles from Syria with relatives – was now being thrust from Serbia into Hungary at an illegal crossing point.
There are some pictures that, once seen, can never be forgotten. This grainy image of desperation and hope, by freelance photographer Warren Richardson, is one of them. No wonder he picked up a prize for it at the 2016 World Press Photo awards.
As I look at this picture I am reminded of three things.
1. The vulnerability of refugees. What terrible suffering drives people to move hundreds of miles on foot across hostile continents with a newborn child and into territories where an uncertain future awaits them? How must they feel to have lost everything that constitutes a normal life, and what a fragile connection must they feel to any meaningful future? Had we been born in a different time and a different place this could have been us too.
2. The fragility of humanity. In a way, this picture represents every human being. We are all thrust – fragile and vulnerable – into a world full of uncertainty. Whatever pillars of security we construct and cling on to, our health, our home, our career, or our wealth, life will eventually prove them all to be transitory and fleeting. And yet, within that context, what a difference a simple act of kindness such as the one pictured can make. The child – we do not even know its gender or name – moves from one caring set of hands to another. Perhaps there is hope after all. Sometimes one small action can change a life.
3. The humility of Christ's birth. Most religious Christmas cards still portray twee nativity scenes with haloed figures in super-clean clothes. For me this picture conveys far more powerfully a sense of how amazing the incarnation is: God, coming in the person of Christ, as a fragile human baby. He too was an infant who was to become a refugee and flee an oppressive regime. Let us never say God does not understand.
In his introduction to the Church of England's book of Advent Bible readings, Sam Wells, vicar of St Martin-in-the-Fields, London, sums it up so well: "God came in Christ to be with you, to groan with your groaning, to ache with your aching, to yearn with your yearning." That's the miracle of the incarnation.
And he continues: "God in Christ suffered on the cross to show you a yearning that is greater even than your yearning, a grieving that is greater even than your grieving, a longing that is greater even than your longing. A yearning and longing for you. Christ rose from the dead to show you how the story ends, that all your pain and agony and tears will be taken up into glory, that all your sadness will be made beautiful and all your waiting will be rewarded."
One of the other iconic war photos of our time is the picture of a naked girl fleeing an American napalm attack in Vietnam. The youngster in that picture – Phan Thị Kim Phúc – later came to faith in Christ. She said: "I still have many scars on my body and severe pain most days but my heart is cleansed. Napalm is very powerful, but faith, forgiveness, and love are much more powerful. We would not have war at all if everyone could learn how to live with true love, hope, and forgiveness."
I pray that one day the little baby in this picture may be able to say the same thing.
David Baker is a former daily newspaper journalist now working as an Anglican minister in Sussex, England.
