SERMON BY THE VICAR, REMEMBRANCE/ALL SOULS 2024

This last month, together with much of the UK, we observed Black History Month by holding some inspirational workshops for different schools here in the Church. The workshops, through interactive presentations, told the story of the Transatlantic Slave Trade, the role of William Wilberforce, and his connections with this organ. As you know, while restoring and relocating it, our archival research showed the connections between this organ, then in Clapham, and William Wilberforce. We developed the narrative that the hymn Amazing Grace, written by a former slaver, was probably first heard on this organ. Black History Month is an opportunity for voices which might not normally be heard to be voiced out, and in doing so, remembered. This leads me to what we are doing today. Remembering. But we do it in a uniquely Christian way, which holds together good and bad in the past in the loving embrace of God in the here and now. 

Thomas Jefferson, one of the five drafters of the Constitution of the United States of America, wrote this in 1774  “The God who gave us life gave us liberty at the same time” And it was this, of course, which went on to be enshrined in the Constitution of 1776 in these words  “ We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal.”  Thomas Jefferson, when he wrote these words, owned more than 100 slaves, considerably less than the then Archbishop of Canterbury, who owned more than 10,000. Recalling our shameful past is painful for everyone involved – either our shameful collective history or shameful bits of our own past. This is why in terms of healing the past, the question of reparations needs to be addressed by an independent international commission. But addressing head on that which has been hidden or is shameful is also healing. We heal the wounds of the past, not by forgetting them, but by holding them in the loving embrace of God in the here and now. And today, this commemoration has two aspects. We remember those who die for this country in war, and simultaneously we recall our own loved ones whom we see no longer. All this is part of what makes us who we now are, both as a nation and as individuals.

First, the national. Since the end of the Second World War, this Sunday, Remembrance Sunday (the closest to Armistice Day, November 11th) has been the day on which we commemorate as a nation all those who have died in the service of their country, especially in our armed forces. We remember all those who have helped to form our national consciousness by having their lives taken from them in war, be that First or Second World Wars, or any of the hundreds of ongoing conflicts since then. So today, we commemorate all serving personnel in the armed forces who have died following the line of duty. We honour their memory and offer sympathy and support to their families. We offer, too, our thanks to all who currently serve in the armed forces of our country to keep us, and others around the globe, safe. This act of worship, then, is a place of both pain and hope. In other words, a place of bereavement.

And it is bereavement which connects the reality of those who die in armed conflict with the day-to-day reality of the death of those we love. Scripture reminds us “in the midst of life, we are in death.”  As we know, death can come peacefully at the end of a long life, or it may come painfully, suddenly, violently, and senselessly. In war, too often, it is the innocent and civilians who die senselessly and violently, and the bereavement we feel for our own loved ones is shared more intensely by families in Ukraine, Israel, and Gaza, where already almost 17,000 children have been killed.  The UN has described Gaza as a graveyard for children. We mourn our loved ones, together with all innocent victims of conflict – the UN identifies that there are 59 hot conflicts around the globe right now – the highest number since the creation of the UN. The United Nations Charter notes that the United Nations was founded in 1946 to “save succeeding generations from the scourge of war.” We see clearly that the UN is no longer fit for purpose, and something new must arise out of the ashes to help prevent the scourge of war. So, at the moment, we have a sense of collective bereavement and brokenness, and actually if we are honest, it never goes away. Time, we know, is a great healer, and memories fade, but the reality of human bereavement is one which the Christian faith has always taken seriously and acknowledged. It is not for nothing that the Litany of our Church prays for deliverance from “violence, murder, and dying unprepared.”  All of us pray for the grace to prepare properly for our deaths, and it is part of the privilege and duty of the priest to accompany people in this, their final journey. So, we bring before God our own experience of bereavement and we offer it to the wider perspective of the healing love of Jesus Christ. Later in this service, there will be an opportunity to light a candle in memory of loved ones and place it symbolically on the cross. The cross, as more candles are lit, becomes then a cross of light.

This is the perspective which we bring to this service of remembrance today. Christian remembering is rooted in what is called in Greek anamnesis. Anamnesis is very different from memory, and nostalgia is totally alien to it. In anamnesis, the thing remembered becomes dynamically present to the here and now, as linear time falls away. We do not simply remember Jesus Christ as a historical figure, but Jesus Christ in this Eucharistic theology of anamnesis becomes dynamically present now in the Eucharistic assembly, you, and me, and in the bread and the wine. This is fantastically freeing, and it is the perspective which we bring to all our experience of bereavement and memory as we commemorate those who die in war, and all the faithful who have gone before us. We are set free to enjoy, in this sense, heavenly communion. Again, the symbol for this is the cross in light. It was the Emperor Constantine in the fourth century who saw the cross in light as a pointer to his new life in Christ. The Cross in light in Constantine’s vision was accompanied by the Latin words In hoc signo vinces – “By this sign conquer.”  You will find this cross in light with the same motto on the kneelers of this church. The cross in light is therefore symbolically at the root of our prayer.

So, allow the liturgy of today to do its own work. On this Remembrance Sunday, we hold in the silent love of God those who die for their country in war, together with all those we have loved and see no longer, and the innocent who continue to die in war and acts of human violence. There is a tombstone in Cornwall which proclaims, “Where you are, I once was. Where I am, you will be.”   This reminds us that all our destinies are bound together as we race towards the grave, held in the loving embrace of God in Jesus Christ risen from the dead.  For it is Jesus Christ who has gone before all of us, which enables us to pray in the words of the Russian Kontakion for the Dead which we will sing later, “and weeping o’er the grave, we make our song. Alleluia. Alleluia. Alleluia.”