Service, Remembrance Sun 12 Nov

This morning, in our main service of worship, following our pattern of  observing the centenary years of WWI, we reflected on some of the events of 1917.
Prior to our Act of Remembrance in the service, we heard poems that in some way connected to 1917:
*E. A. Mackintosh - In the glen where I was young - Mackintosh was killed at Cambrai

*W. D. Cocker - Storm Memories - Cocker was taken prisoner at the start of the Passchendaele offensive. He survived the war.

*Donald MacDonald - Song of Arras - reflecting troops marching to Arras. He survived the war.

These were followed by John McCrae's In Flanders Fields

Shorter sermon today, based on the following readings:
READINGS/ Ps 46; Micah 4:1-5, 6:6-8; Matt. 5:1-12

SERMON/
Let’s pray: may the words of my mouth and the meditations
of all our hearts, be acceptable in your sight, O Lord, our strength and redeemer. Amen

In the mid-years of the First World War, the pressure is on:
politicians are feeling the heat from the public, and press to see an end to the war.
The sheer cost in terms of human life is staggering, almost incomprehensible.
On the battlefields, horror and despair and dark humour mingle –
things no human being should ever see, ever experience, have become the everyday.
Over vast swathes of land, men on every side are literally bogged down in mud.
In answer to the public pressure, new offensives, new battles are undertaken,
but most end in stalemate and ever-mounting casualties.
The Battle of Arras, beginning on the 9th of April, and ending 5 weeks later,
initially sees ground gained by the Allies, but the eventual push-back means little is gained militarily.
The cost in terms of casualties roughly comes in at 275 000 on both sides.

In June, the Battle of Messines commences and is viewed as an Allied tactical success –
General Haig deems the result worth the heavy number of casualties left in its wake.
The success is short-lived:
the much larger  Battle of Passchendaele,
fought in July through to November sees casualties on both sides numbering around half a million.
Later, in his Memoirs of 1938, Lloyd George would write:
"Passchendaele was indeed one of the greatest disasters of the war ... 
No soldier of any intelligence now defends this senseless campaign ..."
Towards the end of the year, the Battle of Cambrai results in 80 000 casualties.
Added to all the other casualties outwith these campaigns, 1917 is an horrific, sobering, costly year, just like its predecessors.

What did men like William Cocker, and Donald MacDonald, who’d signed up in 1914, and,
who’d possibly believed the hype about ‘being home by Christmas’ ...
what did they think, as the days, months, and years of war dragged on,
and as the high heid yins continued along a course of destruction and death?
Did they wonder if it would ever end?
Did they wonder if they’d make it out alive?
Did they ever question the necessity of the war?
Very probably, I suspect.

There are so many reasons used to justify war but sometimes I wonder, if, at the heart of it,
pride, ego, greed, the need for power over others -
the worst of the things that make us human -
are really the causes?
Whether on the smaller scale of family or neighbourly interactions, or on a more global scale,
choosing not to listen to your neighbour,
choosing to ride rough-shod over them,
or choosing the way of revenge,
will generally always lead to conflict.
What is it about us, as human beings, that makes it seem that we so often
prefer to choose the way of war, and not the way of peace?

The way of God’s kingdom is always about reconciliation –
which is not the same as being a doormat.
It is the hard work of listening to the one you’re struggling with;
it is the hard work of being prepared to bend a little – to let go of pride, of ego –
as a way to better work towards a healing of relationships;
it is the hard work of acknowledging your own faults and failings as
opposed to just pointing an accusing finger at your ‘enemy’;
it is the hard work of looking for a fair and equitable outcome for all,
so that each may sit under their own vine, their own fig tree...so that each may flourish
and, in that environment,
to know that swords and spears are no longer necessary:
that, instead of a harvest of destruction, war, and death,
what is found in God’s kingdom is
a harvest of healing, peace, and life – of ploughshares and pruning-hooks.
Not a harvest of fear,
but a harvest of hope...
cultivating a climate of friendship and mutual flourishing.

The Psalmist says that ‘God is our refuge and our strength’ 
and, that in Him ‘we will not fear’.
In a world where fear is used as a weapon to control human behaviour –
where fear is used to keep people from speaking out against the misuse of power;
at a time where we watch as certain world leaders recklessly allow their ego full reign
as they threaten to unleash nuclear weapons without considering either cost or consequence,
seeking God’s kingdom and the way of peace is as timely as it ever was.
Jesus, in his Beatitudes, taught his followers that 'blessed are the peacemakers.'
In our homes, in our neighbourhoods,
in our nation, and in our world,
our job is to speak peace in the face of war –
to do so as a way of remembering, and honouring all those who hoped to put an end to war,
and were themselves casualties of war, certainly...
but, more than that:
our job is to speak peace in the face of war
for, in doing so, we live into our calling as those who follow Jesus, the Prince of Peace –
and, with him, through the power of God’s Spirit,
we work towards bringing in God’s kingdom of peace –
where there shall be no more suffering, death, or pain;
and where there shall be no more war.  Amen.