Love one another
A few moments ago, we heard those beautiful words written by Isaiah. They were written, as far as we can tell, about 2,700 years ago, but in many ways the background against which they were written has changed all too little. The words were directed at the people of Judah, but the name could be changed to any number of countries and states today. Judah’s time of prosperity and national glory had come to an end. The shadow of Assyria, once again set on the path of conquest, lay menacingly over the land. Greed, hypocrisy and injustice were sapping the spiritual integrity of the land and its people; at the same time, many believed that God’s covenant with his people would guarantee them invincibility, no matter what crimes were committed, and leaders tried to force the nation into revolts that were nothing short of suicidal. It is against this background that Isaiah prophesied, longing to bring the people back to a place where men and women, nations, would live the lives that God, in his incredible love, intended for each and every one – no matter their colour, race and creed – lives of beauty and freedom, justice and peace.
Nearly 3000 years on, some might question today our spiritual integrity, people and nations feel a daunting sense of insecurity - we continue to struggle, determined at times, it seems, to tear apart this world and its people. It behoves us to stop, to look around and to question – seeking what is good, right and true; to gather in the presence of God and remember before Him, the God who loves all, those men and women who have given their lives for their country in two World Wars, Korea, the Faulklands, the Gulf, Bosnia and Serbia, Ireland, Iraq and Afghanistan, wherever there is war or civil unrest. Our recent history has seen terrible suffering and incredible sacrifice. We give thanks for the freedoms bought at such great cost, and we mourn for those who did not return to their waiting, loving, longing families. There may be people in this church today mourning the death of a loved one killed in action somewhere in the world – our hearts and our prayers go out to you today.
But I struggle with this service, perhaps more than any other in the year. Thank God, I do not know what it is like to say goodbye to my husband, brother, son or daughters as they leave to face and endure dangers and horrors that I cannot begin to imagine; I do not know what it is like to long with every fibre of my being for their safe return while knowing that may never be; I cannot know the depth of pain experienced when someone whom you dearly love is killed in the service of their country. So how dare I stand here and preach this afternoon. Only through the grace of God who speaks to us of things we cannot understand or comprehend – often through the lives and stories of others.
I found myself weeping as I read again this week a piece I had kept from the Guardian written in 2003 by Michael Morpurgo who had earlier that year be made Childrens Laureate. He told the story of a 19th Century desk he’d found in a junk shop in Bridport, bought it and when he got it home, discovered a secret draw which contained a small black tin box. Sellotaped to the top was a piece of lined paper and written on it in shaky handwriting were the words “Jim’s last letter, received January 25 1915. To be buried with me when the time comes.” Inside the box was an envelope addressed to Mrs. Jim Macpherson, 12 Copper Beeches, Bridport. The letter, dated December 26th 1914 was written in pencil to ‘My dearest Connie’ and Jim was relating to her his experience of the previous day.
You cannot imagine, dearest Connie, my feelings as I looked into the eyes of the Fritz officer, who approached me, hand outstretched. “Hans Wolf” he said, gripping my hand warmly and holding it. I am from Dusseldorf. I play the cello in the orchestra. Happy Christmas. “Captain Jim Macpherson” I replied. “And a happy Christmas to you to. I’m a school teacher from Dorset in the west of England. “Ah, Dorset, he smiled, “I know this place. I know it very well.” And we talked Connie, how we talked. He spoke almost perfect English. But it turned out that he had never set foot in Dorset, never even been to England. He had learned all he knew of England from school, and from reading books in English. His favourite writer was Thomas Hardy, his favourite book Far From the Madding Crowd. So out there, in no man’s land we talked of Bathsheba and Gabriel Oak and Sergeant Troy and Dorset. He had a wife and son born just 6 months ago.”
The letter continues and then Jim writes:
We agreed about everything, and he was my enemy. There never was a Christmas party like it, Connie”
Jim goes on to talk about the football match played between the men from both sides of no man’s land. He then continued:
“Jim Macpherson” Hans said after a while “I think this is how we should resolve this war. A football match. No one dies in a football match. No children are orphaned. No wives become widows.” The game ended. I wished Hans well and told him I hoped he would see his family soon, that the fighting would end and we could all go home. “I think that is what every soldier wants on both sides,” Hans Wolf said. “Take care Jim Macpherson. I shall never forget this moment nor you.” He turned to wave just once and then became one of the hundreds of grey-coated men drifting towards their trenches. We exchanged carols for a while, then we all fell silent. We had had our time of peace and goodwill, a time I will treasure as long as I live.
Jim concluded his letter “By Christmas time next year, this war will be nothing but a distant and terrible memory.”
That was the last letter he wrote to his dearest Connie – he was killed in action just a few days later.
Mrs. Macpherson was traced, by now 101, and in a nursing home, rather confused. He took her the black tin box, opened it with her, and handed her the letter it contained. Her eyes lit up as she sat quietly and read it, stroking the letter tenderly with her fingertips. Michael recalled: “Suddenly she reached out and took my hand. Her eyes filled with tears “You told me you’d come home by Christmas, dearest, and here you are, the best Christmas present in the world. Come closer Jim dear, sit down.”
Love one another as I have loved you. The power of love lived on through the ensuing 70 or 80 years – the power of love will not be quenched.
On Tuesday morning, the face of Sergeant Olaf Schmid in his dessert fatigues smiled out from the front page of the Guardian. Just 30 years old – the same age as my son - and one of the army’s most experienced explosives experts, he was killed while defusing his 65th bomb in Afghanistan just seven days before he was due to fly home to Winchester to his wife and family. Hearts are breaking and lives ripped apart as so many have been in the past. A young man of incredible courage gave his life to save countless lives of others. This is why we are here.
Love one another as I have loved you.
The ugliness of war is a sign of our human weakness and failure, our inability to follow the commandment of our Lord – that we love one another. For a life of love revealed in the life and death of our Lord has no place for power as it is generally understood; no place for greed or superiority. The life of love lived by our Lord was rooted in humility, justice and compassion; a love that empowered the weak and vulnerable; a love that gave hope and dignity to the hopeless and fearful; a love that gave unconditionally. A love that led to the brutality of the cross as different world views collided. But the cross also reminds us of the depth of God’s love and power to transform the horror and degradation of Good Friday into the joy of Easter Day.
Even in the midst of the ugliness and brutality of war there are signs of God’s transforming love shining through. It is that transforming power of love that made such a mark on Jim Macpherson and Hans Woolf; it is the transforming power of love that sustains the family of Staff Sgt. Schmidt and the soldiers who worked alongside him and have been inspired by him.
One young man, called to fight for his country, wrote in his diary: “In what we are doing, we are defacing the image of God – may God forgive us all.”
In pouring out our prayers, our mourning, our pride and our shame to God, if we truly reach out to Him who is the source of light and love, hope and peace with every fibre of our being, straining to understand, to discern a way of living that will build his people into a new and brighter worldwide community, then God will turn our lives more and more into lives of love and compassion.
A couple of years ago, I was on retreat in Yorkshire guided by the Bishop of Sheffield. At the beginning of the retreat, the Bishop placed upon the altar a small boat and it remained there for the duration of our time together. As the retreat was drawing to its close, he told us the story of that little boat. It was given to him by a Bishop in Germany whose Diocese included the Rurh Valley. While the area around Sheffield had been the training ground for the Damn Buster pilots, the Rurh Valley was the valley flooded following their bombing raids. The little boat was made of steel and contained twelve people, one reading a bible, some praying. This was given to the Bishop of Sheffield at a service of reconciliation in Germany. But there is another level to this story because the little boat was made in the Sudan. Following the Civil War there, the country was littered with the machinery of war. The Bishop there decided to literally turn swords into ploughshares, and the metal of war was gathered and provided work for local people making farming implements so that communities once again had the tools needed to begin farming and sow the seeds that would begin the regeneration of their country. One of those craftsmen made the little boat that sat on the altar in Yorkshire. That same man also made a throne entirely from the guns provided by Britain, France, Germany, Spain and others who fuelled the war in the Sudan, and that throne now sits in the British Museum. The work of those villagers in the Sudan is the creative, restoring, healing love of God at work, bringing good out of the evil of war.
Today we honour the men and women who have given their lives in the service of their country. But that is not enough. We must continue to pray and to work tirelessly for peace, for an end to violence and aggression. We owe it to those people who have died, we owe it to their loved ones who live with the unbearable pain of grief and loss, we owe it to those who have survived wars and conflict, but remain physically, mentally or emotionally scarred by the horror of their experiences, and we owe it to the Prince of Peace who commands us to love as he loves us.
Churches have always been places into which we bring our human experiences, our fragile relationships with each other and with God. Today we bring our mixture of memories, thanksgiving, sorrow, and aspirations that God may direct us in all things and enlarge our capacity to love, and to build a kingdom of justice, hope and peace.
Lesley McCormack, 8th November, 2009
