Sermon: Remembrance Sunday 2011
Chris Luckraft
- Preacher:
- Chris Luckraft
- Date:
- Sunday 13th November 2011
- Service:
- Remembrance Service
On 7th November 1919, King George V dedicated the 11th November as a day of remembrance of those members of the armed forces killed during the First World War. There is a wonderful paradox that 20 years after the end of the war to end all wars, the two-minute silence was moved to the Sunday nearest to 11 November in order not to interfere with wartime production should 11 November fall on a weekday. And that paradox that has been only too evident through most of the 72 years since that change.
We gather to remember those who have died in the service of their country – not just in the two World Wars, but also in the other 100 odd conflicts that the British armed forces have been involved in since the end of the second world war. But the paradox is that we do so with the sounds and sight of war regularly blaring from our television sets depicting the scenes in Afghanistan or Syria, Israel and Palestine or one of the lesser publicised conflicts.
Ten years ago today I was conducting a similar service on the quarterdeck of an aircraft carrier with a mixed congregation from all three services – in a matter of days many of them were in Afghanistan – some probably never returned. Eight years ago on this Sunday I was conducting a service on the quarterdeck of an American destroyer to remember those members of 849 Squadron killed in the Sea King collision at the outset of the Iraq war – and we thought that one was all over bar the shouting. But that paradox of remembering those who have died in war whilst another goes on, is for me vitally important as it highlights the meaning of this service.
There are those who refuse to observe Remembrance Sunday because it glorifies war. But it is not a day celebrating victory, it is not a day of glory; it is not so much a day of pride as a day of shame, and those of you with campaign medals on your chest will know something of what I mean. Yes, we wear our medals with pride, Northern Ireland, Bosnia, Afghanistan – pride that we have done our bit in service of Queen and country, but in another way those same medals say “I was there, I saw the realities of war, its pain, its suffering, its inhumanity – I came back others didn’t.” To say “What a shame” is not just a massive understatement – it is also an insult to those who died or whose lives were permanently scarred by their wounds. When I say that today is a day of shame I mean that some 93 years after the end of the war to end all wars it is to the shame of the world that that has been untrue.
There are those who refuse to wear a poppy because it is political. And in some ways they are right – it is about the polis – the people whose lives have been lost or ruined through war. And it is about politics because wars happen when politicians fail to find a peaceful solution to the problem. The wearing of a red poppy at this time of year should act as a reminder to our politicians of the cost of their failures that is counted in human lives.
In the 60’s, the protest movement against the Vietnam War produced one memorable song – “Where have all the flowers gone?” Each verse started with a question and then answered it:
Where have all the flowers gone – gone to young girls every one.
Where have all the young girls gone – gone to young men every one.
Where have all the young men gone – gone to soldiers every one.
Where have all the soldiers gone – gone to graveyards every one.
Where have all the graveyards gone – gone to flowers every one.
The song reflects the tragedy of war in human terms – death through man’s own inhumanity. But it also reflects a sad continuity – flowers to girls, girls to men, men to soldiers, soldiers to graveyards, graveyards to flowers, we’re back at the beginning again – flowers to girls and so on in a seemingly never ending loop. The last line of each verse though has the tortured cry “When will they ever learn, when will they ever learn?”
We obviously haven’t learnt yet. It is nearly 3,000 years ago the prophets Micah and Isaiah envisioned a future when “they shall beat their swords into ploughshares, and their spears into pruning hooks; nation shall not lift up sword against nation, neither shall they learn war any more”
What have we learnt in the last 1,000 years? For this country, the last time the mainland was successfully invaded was in the first century of the last millennium. Since then we have done more than our fair share of going out and fighting in other lands, we’ve fought the crusades, the French, the Dutch, the Spanish, Americans, the tribes of Africa, India, the Chinese, the Russians, the Germans, the Italians and so on and on – you name them and we’ve probably fought them – an incredible list – mostly we’ve won, a few defeats and one or two draws. But we’ve also been fighting and killing ourselves – the Scots, the Welsh, the Irish and the English. What we have learnt is how to be much more efficient at war. A thousand years ago you were quite safe if you were more than a hundred metres from your enemy – you could make rude signs and shout insults with impunity as long as you stayed out of his, by today’s standards, somewhat puny weapons. Today you can sit in the comfort of a padded chair and wipe out a million people with the press of a button.
Yes, we’ve learnt a lot, but have we learnt from the lesson given to us at the beginning of the first millennium? The lesson given to us by Jesus in this morning’s gospel?
Blessed are those who hunger and thirst for righteousness, for they will be filled.
Blessed are the merciful, for they will receive mercy.
Blessed are the pure in heart, for they will see God.
Blessed are the peacemakers, for they will be called children of God.
Oddly enough, despite what’s happening in Afghanistan at the moment, I think that, at last, we are beginning to learn. Over the last twenty nine odd years since the Falklands, British forces have only been used in attempts to make the world a safer or better place, mainly in peacekeeping and peacemaking roles. Whilst it would be pushing it to suggest that this is a direct result of the sermon on the mount, it is not pushing it to say that there is something greater, something more important that the wishes of individual nations and peoples – a growing understanding that the whole of the human race lives together on this fragile planet, each individual person has a right of existence – a right to live in peace, a right to possess things and not have them pinched by someone else.
It would probably be more realistic to say that these fragile signs of mankind finally coming to his senses are a result of the experience of war and the pain, suffering and misery it causes. For many the only experience of war is what they see on the TV or in films, or in a computer game - but you can turn the TV off, the film only lasts a couple of hours, and you can press the escape butten if you get killed in a game. Some of you know from first hand experience the horrors of what mankind is capable of; memories of what it was really like – and you can’t switch that off, or walk away after a couple of hours, or be resurrected by pressing the right button. For some today will bring back particularly painful memories, friends and family killed, personal injury, terror. The experiences of the past – the tortured cry “When will they ever learn? When will they ever learn?” – but those experiences are also the building blocks for the future if we allow the remembrance of them to teach us the lessons.
In the past few years the emphasis in the Festival of Remembrance from the Royal Albert Hall, has been on the young people of today, seeking to involve them in remembering, last night at the Festival to see children aged 6 and 7 present the poppies for the altar, – to bring home to today’s young people the legacy of those who gave up so much so that succeeding generations should know freedom and peace. For the youngsters here today may I remind you that you are the latest of the generations that owe their freedom and peace to those who fought. The freedom of your mobile phone, the freedom to drive your parents up the wall, the freedom to say what you think and do what you want – and the level of peace that you are growing up with and take for granted, those are all the result of preceding generations who have stood up for what is right, for peace and freedom. They gave their future so that you could have one – they gave their tomorrow for our today. The point of remembering the past is to have hope for the future, to learn from the mistakes of the past. But when will they ever learn?
“they shall beat their swords into ploughshares, and their spears into pruning hooks; nation shall not lift up sword against nation, neither shall they learn war any more;” The dream of the prophets Micah and Isaiah, and a dream that can come true when all mankind shares the vision of peace, when every nation and person respects the right of every other nation and person to live in peace. That is the hope for the future. To answer the question in “where have all the flowers gone?” – when will they ever learn – they will learn when they remember.
The Revd Chris Luckraft
Rector, St John the Evangelist, Merrow