For Remembrance Sunday 2013 go to this page.
Remembrance Sunday 2012 (Two earlier scripts can be found at the links at the foot of the page)
Ephesians 6.10-17 (Matthew 25.14-30)
Don't you just love those "buy one, get one free" offers? The cupboard under our kitchen sink is full of dishwasher detergent, because the offer was so appealing. Think of all the money I've saved. "Three for two" isn't bad, but doesn't quite have the pull about it of "buy one, get one free." My brother-in-law who lives abroad had never experienced our supermarket offers before staying with us a couple of years ago - he was really impressed with the long white thin cut sandwich loaves - buy one, get one free - and the same on dandelion and burdock - between our families, we have six children - that means very regular trips to the supermarket. You guessed it, every time he went he came back with long white, thin cut sandwich loaves and a bottle of dandelion and burdock – ‘please stop it, we've had enough of cut bread and fizzy pop!’ But he was saving so much - it says so at the bottom of the till receipt - you've spent £94.86, but in doing so you've saved £8.41.
My father-in-law has a very disarming response to these promotional offers. He always asks, what have you done with what you've saved? You've told me about the great bargains you've sought out, you've convinced me of your discernment and negotiating skill, you've reassured me about the careful research you've put into buying whatever it is, but what have you done with what you've saved?
That's a good question for Remembrance Sunday. What have you done with what was saved? Documentaries and newspaper retrospectives make all too real the human cost of the wars we mark today. What have we done with what was saved by that great effort, the whole of it, summed up in all those stories of struggle, suffering, courage and loss?
On 28 July 1944 Mrs Bavass wrote to Mrs Blower ** (see below):
My dear Mrs Blower
I feel I want so much to write to you, although I know nothing that I can say to comfort you can be of much help.
I do feel that at least you know how we grieve with you as our son Alastair was fatally wounded by the same shell which hit John. Alastair was unconscious from the first moment and died at the evacuation station and is buried nearby at Hermanville-sur-Mer. How we wish he too had been killed at once and had been laid to rest with your John and Hugh Ward by those he had fought with and who knew him, but this had not to be.
Alastair (known in the regt as "Algy") spoke with such admiration and affection of your son who was his troop leader. He must have been a very fine lad and I feel that their marvellous young spirits can never die and that they together will go into battle with the others to inspire and encourage them. They were both doing the most unselfish thing when this happened - going to the aid of their men - and surely this will not go unrewarded.
How sincerely and deeply I grieve with you and how I understand. May God comfort you. My husband joins me in sending his sincere sympathy and I do so hope you will not take this as an intrusion.
Very sincerely yours,
Doris S. Bavass
What have we done with what was saved? One grieving mother to another heard across the years should make us face up to the question. John and Hugh and Alastair just three names from the invasion of France conflict of more than 60 years ago. We hold them in honour. Why? Many reasons, but one is that a mother called Doris began in the agony of her loss to answer the question ‘What does this mean?’ Began out of the things of comradeship, parenthood, fear, duty, danger, purpose, loss, to weave the deepest of hurts into a web of meaning. Began to hear in the language of her own breaking heart the spirit of eternal love that conquers all that hurts and harms.
In 1940 Churchill said Britain and her allies were waging a war against ‘a monstrous tyranny, never surpassed in the dark, lamentable catalogue of human crime.’ I hear there an echo of those words in what we heard from Ephesians, ‘… our struggle is not against enemies of blood and flesh, but against the rulers, against the authorities, against the cosmic powers of this present darkness, against the spiritual forces of evil in the heavenly places.’ This is power and institutions and human endeavour warped and twisted to become gross and all embracing evil, its influence so pervasive that it corrupted everything. A monstrous tyranny indeed, and none of us doubts that Nazism was just that. But the warning that comes in the scriptures is that delusion and corruption and hatred is an ever present threat. That all power has within it the potential to be corrupted in that way. In our remembering we honour John and Hugh and Alastair and all who died, we mark with gratitude the struggles of so many, but in the honouring the question comes, ‘What have you done with what we've saved?
The Second World War took our nation to the very brink, to the edge of the precipice. People were all too conscious of what was at risk, and the extreme cost of overcoming that risk. We thank God that our civilization came out of it, but we must not forget the price. You can write those things in great big terms - politics, government, civil freedoms,
and the like – but often they come home hardest in personal stories. What hits me of my years of ministry are the number of funerals I have taken of individuals who never got over the war – women who lost their fiancées and didn't ever marry, men whose experiences haunted them and were never able to fit back into so-called normal life. What have we done with what was saved at so great a price?
The twentieth century was a century of war – the statisticians tell us more people died in that century in war than all the other centuries put together. Many, many of those conflicts simply reassert the cruelty and folly of humanity, but am I naive to see more than just those bitter things in the ones we term the World Wars? I don't think so - yes, they were dark, dark periods in our history, but amongst that darkness was an eagerness to look to the brightening light of a new day. We don't belong to the dark, we belong to the day. The gospel of peace and the shield of faith is the armour we seek. Some years ago the Poppy Appeal had the slogan, "The best way to honour the dead, is to care for the living." I think the Royal British Legion got it exactly right. We look back in thankfulness for deliverance, but that remembering is only worth anything if we are doing something with what the struggle of the wars saved for us.
Jesus once told a story of a powerful and wealthy man who entrusted his wealth to his slaves whilst he was out of the country. The slaves literally had a fortune given into their hands. Two of them put the money to good use, and when the master returned they had made substantial profits. The third one, however, fearful of his powerful master simply buried the money entrusted to him. Nothing was lost, but nothing was gained either, and the master’s temper was kindled against that slave. Something had to be done with the treasure entrusted. Two did just that. They put it to work so that they and it developed and grew. They were commended for being bold and adventurous. But the one who was condemned was the one who just buried what was entrusted to him – no chance here for the treasure to be used.
Have we buried the treasure given us? Or are we striving to make it grow? Are we using it? I realize Jesus in the story was talking about the treasures of God's kingdom, and that's more than the things we consider worthy, the things that come to us in daily living. Yet there is some connection between the two – we do catch a glimpse of the kingdom in the things of everyday when the love of Christ motivates us. So it is a question of faith to ask what we have done with the treasures of civil and free life given to us out of the sufferings of war. What have we done with what was saved?
It is as if prosperity and richness of choice have made us glib. As if we are squandering the treasures, taking them for granted. Ours are times cynical about so many things. I hear people, people who should know better, being dismissive of all political endeavour - wasn't open politics a thing saved? I hear people with no belief in changing things for the better, no thought for the contribution they can make, content it seems to let decay hold sway – wasn't the ability to make positive change one of the things saved? I hear people convinced that everything comes down to a price, that the market is all, that the worth of everyone beyond the market is make-believe – wasn't the ultimate value of every individual one of the things saved? I hear people unwilling to listen, with no time or concern for proper debate and a weighing of alternative perspectives - wasn't free speech and dialogue one of the things saved? I hear people saying that life is all about Number One, that consumer society gives every person absolute choice without needing to consider other people – it's my choice, what do I care? – wasn't interdependence and mutual responsibility part of what was saved? Was the totalitarianism of politics defeated to be replaced by the totalitarianism of hedonism? What have you done with what was saved?
In the Jesus story, the slaves brought the fortunes they had produced for their master. You might expect a good pension and a life of ease after their labours – but no, "Well done, good and trustworthy slave; you have been trustworthy in a few things, I will put you in charge of many things; enter into the joy of your master" Those who've used the treasure well find themselves given even more to use, find themselves sharing the tasks and responsibilities of the master. To be eager in debate, concerned in politics, committed to justice, open to dialogue, caring of others, and responsible in action, is to do the right thing with what was saved for us – is to honour the dead in our living – is to share the tasks of the master.
And what have you done with what was saved? A question to ponder this Remembrance Sunday.
** Many thanks to the reader who pointed me to the fact that Doris Bavass' letter is one of those quoted in 'Letters from D-day' published in the newspaper The Guardian on 28 May 2004. Grateful acknowledgement is made to this source.The article notes that Lieutenant John WH Blower, paratrooper with the 53rd Airlanding Light Regiment, was killed in action in Normandy on D-day+4. The article can be read here.
Earlier Remembrance Sunday sermons can be found by clicking here and here.
My father-in-law has a very disarming response to these promotional offers. He always asks, what have you done with what you've saved? You've told me about the great bargains you've sought out, you've convinced me of your discernment and negotiating skill, you've reassured me about the careful research you've put into buying whatever it is, but what have you done with what you've saved?
That's a good question for Remembrance Sunday. What have you done with what was saved? Documentaries and newspaper retrospectives make all too real the human cost of the wars we mark today. What have we done with what was saved by that great effort, the whole of it, summed up in all those stories of struggle, suffering, courage and loss?
On 28 July 1944 Mrs Bavass wrote to Mrs Blower ** (see below):
My dear Mrs Blower
I feel I want so much to write to you, although I know nothing that I can say to comfort you can be of much help.
I do feel that at least you know how we grieve with you as our son Alastair was fatally wounded by the same shell which hit John. Alastair was unconscious from the first moment and died at the evacuation station and is buried nearby at Hermanville-sur-Mer. How we wish he too had been killed at once and had been laid to rest with your John and Hugh Ward by those he had fought with and who knew him, but this had not to be.
Alastair (known in the regt as "Algy") spoke with such admiration and affection of your son who was his troop leader. He must have been a very fine lad and I feel that their marvellous young spirits can never die and that they together will go into battle with the others to inspire and encourage them. They were both doing the most unselfish thing when this happened - going to the aid of their men - and surely this will not go unrewarded.
How sincerely and deeply I grieve with you and how I understand. May God comfort you. My husband joins me in sending his sincere sympathy and I do so hope you will not take this as an intrusion.
Very sincerely yours,
Doris S. Bavass
What have we done with what was saved? One grieving mother to another heard across the years should make us face up to the question. John and Hugh and Alastair just three names from the invasion of France conflict of more than 60 years ago. We hold them in honour. Why? Many reasons, but one is that a mother called Doris began in the agony of her loss to answer the question ‘What does this mean?’ Began out of the things of comradeship, parenthood, fear, duty, danger, purpose, loss, to weave the deepest of hurts into a web of meaning. Began to hear in the language of her own breaking heart the spirit of eternal love that conquers all that hurts and harms.
In 1940 Churchill said Britain and her allies were waging a war against ‘a monstrous tyranny, never surpassed in the dark, lamentable catalogue of human crime.’ I hear there an echo of those words in what we heard from Ephesians, ‘… our struggle is not against enemies of blood and flesh, but against the rulers, against the authorities, against the cosmic powers of this present darkness, against the spiritual forces of evil in the heavenly places.’ This is power and institutions and human endeavour warped and twisted to become gross and all embracing evil, its influence so pervasive that it corrupted everything. A monstrous tyranny indeed, and none of us doubts that Nazism was just that. But the warning that comes in the scriptures is that delusion and corruption and hatred is an ever present threat. That all power has within it the potential to be corrupted in that way. In our remembering we honour John and Hugh and Alastair and all who died, we mark with gratitude the struggles of so many, but in the honouring the question comes, ‘What have you done with what we've saved?
The Second World War took our nation to the very brink, to the edge of the precipice. People were all too conscious of what was at risk, and the extreme cost of overcoming that risk. We thank God that our civilization came out of it, but we must not forget the price. You can write those things in great big terms - politics, government, civil freedoms,
and the like – but often they come home hardest in personal stories. What hits me of my years of ministry are the number of funerals I have taken of individuals who never got over the war – women who lost their fiancées and didn't ever marry, men whose experiences haunted them and were never able to fit back into so-called normal life. What have we done with what was saved at so great a price?
The twentieth century was a century of war – the statisticians tell us more people died in that century in war than all the other centuries put together. Many, many of those conflicts simply reassert the cruelty and folly of humanity, but am I naive to see more than just those bitter things in the ones we term the World Wars? I don't think so - yes, they were dark, dark periods in our history, but amongst that darkness was an eagerness to look to the brightening light of a new day. We don't belong to the dark, we belong to the day. The gospel of peace and the shield of faith is the armour we seek. Some years ago the Poppy Appeal had the slogan, "The best way to honour the dead, is to care for the living." I think the Royal British Legion got it exactly right. We look back in thankfulness for deliverance, but that remembering is only worth anything if we are doing something with what the struggle of the wars saved for us.
Jesus once told a story of a powerful and wealthy man who entrusted his wealth to his slaves whilst he was out of the country. The slaves literally had a fortune given into their hands. Two of them put the money to good use, and when the master returned they had made substantial profits. The third one, however, fearful of his powerful master simply buried the money entrusted to him. Nothing was lost, but nothing was gained either, and the master’s temper was kindled against that slave. Something had to be done with the treasure entrusted. Two did just that. They put it to work so that they and it developed and grew. They were commended for being bold and adventurous. But the one who was condemned was the one who just buried what was entrusted to him – no chance here for the treasure to be used.
Have we buried the treasure given us? Or are we striving to make it grow? Are we using it? I realize Jesus in the story was talking about the treasures of God's kingdom, and that's more than the things we consider worthy, the things that come to us in daily living. Yet there is some connection between the two – we do catch a glimpse of the kingdom in the things of everyday when the love of Christ motivates us. So it is a question of faith to ask what we have done with the treasures of civil and free life given to us out of the sufferings of war. What have we done with what was saved?
It is as if prosperity and richness of choice have made us glib. As if we are squandering the treasures, taking them for granted. Ours are times cynical about so many things. I hear people, people who should know better, being dismissive of all political endeavour - wasn't open politics a thing saved? I hear people with no belief in changing things for the better, no thought for the contribution they can make, content it seems to let decay hold sway – wasn't the ability to make positive change one of the things saved? I hear people convinced that everything comes down to a price, that the market is all, that the worth of everyone beyond the market is make-believe – wasn't the ultimate value of every individual one of the things saved? I hear people unwilling to listen, with no time or concern for proper debate and a weighing of alternative perspectives - wasn't free speech and dialogue one of the things saved? I hear people saying that life is all about Number One, that consumer society gives every person absolute choice without needing to consider other people – it's my choice, what do I care? – wasn't interdependence and mutual responsibility part of what was saved? Was the totalitarianism of politics defeated to be replaced by the totalitarianism of hedonism? What have you done with what was saved?
In the Jesus story, the slaves brought the fortunes they had produced for their master. You might expect a good pension and a life of ease after their labours – but no, "Well done, good and trustworthy slave; you have been trustworthy in a few things, I will put you in charge of many things; enter into the joy of your master" Those who've used the treasure well find themselves given even more to use, find themselves sharing the tasks and responsibilities of the master. To be eager in debate, concerned in politics, committed to justice, open to dialogue, caring of others, and responsible in action, is to do the right thing with what was saved for us – is to honour the dead in our living – is to share the tasks of the master.
And what have you done with what was saved? A question to ponder this Remembrance Sunday.
** Many thanks to the reader who pointed me to the fact that Doris Bavass' letter is one of those quoted in 'Letters from D-day' published in the newspaper The Guardian on 28 May 2004. Grateful acknowledgement is made to this source.The article notes that Lieutenant John WH Blower, paratrooper with the 53rd Airlanding Light Regiment, was killed in action in Normandy on D-day+4. The article can be read here.
Earlier Remembrance Sunday sermons can be found by clicking here and here.
