Remembrance Sunday
13 November 2011
Propers: Micah 4.1-5; Psalm 85.8-13; Ephesians
2.13-18; Matthew 5.38-48
When I survey the last three hundred
years of my extended family, I find generation after generation of men have
served as soldiers and generation after generation of women have tended the
affairs of their families in war and peace.
When the French and Six Nations raided the Hudson
Valley in the mid-1700’s, it was the men of my family who took up their muskets
to defend their farms and the women who cared for the wounded and calmed
frightened children. When the American
Colonies formed an army to defend their rights as free English citizens, it was
a young Abraham Leggett who joined as a private, was captured by the British
and imprisoned in a New York Harbour prison hulk, only to escape and rise to
the rank of major. When the tragedy of
the American Civil War tore through the North and the South, it was Mortimer
Leggett who commanded a brigade under Sherman and for whom a hill still bears
his name overlooking the city of Atlanta.
More recent history has also left its
mark on my family. My maternal
grandfather, who loved horses, joined the British Army in World War I as a
cavalryman and learned quickly that cavalry were no match for mechanized
warfare and machine guns. He lost his
faith in God, King and Country, and voted Labour ever after. My maternal uncle was sent to India during
World War II and saw the abject poverty that afflicted the Indian people. He returned to England to become a civil
servant in the health services. My
paternal uncles became paratroopers and were among the first Allied soldiers to
land in France during the D-Day invasion.
After the war, one became a spy, while the other only appeared on the
fringe of family life. Both drank
heavily and were, I believe, victims of post-traumatic stress disorder.
My father joined the U.S. Air Force
to become a pilot, was disqualified because of his eyesight and spent the rest
of his career preparing briefings using the material obtained by pilots. One maternal cousin became an officer in the
Royal Navy and served in the Falklands, while another joined the Royal Air
Force and will return shortly from Afghanistan.
On Friday, when the Members of the
Liturgy Task Force stood at 11.00 and joined thousands of other Canadians in
the early moments of the Remembrance Day ceremony from the Cenotaph in Ottawa,
all this history surfaced in the silence.
So much of my family’s history has been shaped by military conflicts and
by military service. I imagine that many
of you have similar family histories and, perhaps, found yourselves making the
same mental journey during the silence of Remembrance Day.
What I began to consider is how the aftermath of
war and conflict is often more formative than the conflict itself. As devastating as World War I was to the
continent of Europe, the present history of the world, especially conflicts in
the Middle East and the former Yugoslavia, have more to do with the Treaty of
Versailles than the position of armies after the cease fire of the 11th
of November. There are, for example,
very respectable German historians who write of the ‘Revenge’ of Versailles
rather than the ‘Treaty’ of Versailles.
When people want to mock a particular conservative or religious
attitude, I find that they frequently adopt a mock Southern accent, a
post-Civil War legacy of the sense that Southerners are ill-educated and
thoughtless in their religious and political views.
In the English language, as in other languages, we
make a distinction between ‘peace’ and ‘ceasefire’. ‘Peace’ means a condition in which every
human being is treated with dignity and respect, a condition in which violence
is abandoned as a means of settling political differences, a condition in which
we value diversity and the open exchange of differing views and a condition where
ancient wrongs are righted. Peace is
fundamentally a life lived in hope.
A ‘ceasefire’ is exactly that. When a ceasefire is in place, we speak of
‘tolerance’ rather than ‘respect’. When
a ceasefire is in place, damaged weapons are replaced. When a ceasefire is in place, differing views
can been seen as a weakness. When a
ceasefire is in place, ancient wrongs are remembered and allowed to
simmer. A ceasefire is fundamentally a
life lived in fear in anticipation of the resumption of hostilities.
My ancestors and yours sought peace time and time
again, but, for the most part, have only reaped ceasefires. For a ceasefire to become a peace, there is a
need for conversion, a conversion along the lines spoken of in today’s Gospel:
43 ‘You have heard that it was said,
“You shall love your neighbour and hate your enemy.” 44
But I say to you, Love your enemies and pray for those who persecute you, 45 so that you may be children of
your Father in heaven . . . . 46
For if love those who love you, what reward to you have? . . . 47 And if you greet only your
brothers and sisters, what more are you doing than others? 48
Be perfect, therefore, as your heavenly Father is perfect.’ (Matthew 5)
What
is most difficult in this passage is Jesus’ expectation that his followers will
initiate this kind of behaviour unconditionally. There is no suggestion that we must wait
until the ‘other’ side acts in a manner that might warrant our generosity. When Douglas MacArthur oversaw the rebuilding
of Japan after World War II, he resisted the voices that called for the
humiliation of the Japanese and followed a path of firm generosity. The result was the rise of a vibrant
democracy and economic society.
As our troops return from
Afghanistan and the United States withdraws from Iraq, Christians need to
encourage our governments to address the causes of these conflicts and develop
policies that build peace rather than tend ceasefires. Then the sacrifices made by our Armed Forces
will not have been in vain.
As the Truth and Reconciliation
Commission continues its work across our country, Christians need to encourage
our governments to address the systemic causes of aboriginal poverty including
housing, health and education as well as the continuing discrimination
experienced by aboriginal people in the land of their ancestors. Then the contributions made by Anglicans and
others to reconciliation will bear fruit in genuine peace among the peoples of
this country.
As our Diocese and others enter into
a post-litigation era, we need to encourage any efforts to set aside blame and
recrimination so that we can build vital and sustainable communities of faith
that demonstrate the diversity of the Anglican tradition. Then all the pain of the past years will give
way to a hopeful church committed to proclaiming the love of God.
When the letter to the Ephesians was
written, the Christian community was bitterly divided between Jews and
Gentiles. The writer reminded them that
their identity in Christ was the result of God’s generosity to them:
14 For [Christ] is our peace; in his flesh he has
made both groups into one and has broken down the dividing wall, that is, the
hostility between [Jews and Gentiles]. . . . 17
So he came and proclaimed peace to you who were far off and peace to those who
were near; 18 for through him
both of us have access in one Spirit to the Father. (Ephesians 2)
We
who have known war and conflict, we whose ancestors have had to take up arms
time and time again, we are the heirs of God’s extraordinary act of
peace-making in Jesus of Nazareth. If we
wish to honour those who have given their lives in the pursuit of peace, then
we must re-commit ourselves to working for that conversion of hearts and minds
that will contribute to true peace.
May the memories of the fallen
inspire us; may the hope of peace for which they gave their lives come
soon. May those who still bear the
wounds of their service find healing and respect. May the victims of war and conflict see an
end to their oppression.
May
all this come soon. Amen.
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