Romans 12. 9 – 18
Matthew 5. 1 – 10
Service of Remembrance on the 80th Anniversary of the End of the Second World War (VJ Day)
Fr Alex
It’s a little difficult to know how to feel today, I think. Certainly this commemoration of the end of the Second World War conjures up a great variety of emotions for us.
On VE Day back in May we celebrated joyfully the end of hostilities in Europe, and victory over the terrible ideology of Nazism that had destroyed the lives of so many.
But today feels a bit more complicated. We celebrate our nation’s victory and give thanks for the sacrifices that brought the Second World War finally to an end. But we also remember the manner in which that victory was ultimately brought about: the detonation of atomic bombs over the cities of Hiroshima and Nagasaki.
So while we give thanks, we also mourn; and we are of course aware that the capability for such massive and indiscriminate destruction still remains, and is indeed much more of a global threat now than it was.
I think there were similar complex feelings 80 years ago. Veterans of the fighting in the Asia-Pacific area have described themselves as the ‘forgotten army.’ There was little awareness of their service so far away from Europe, and hardly any of the celebrating on their return that took place on VE Day. Letters from the front would take an age to travel the long distance home, if they got there at all.
People simply didn’t know what was going on: believe it or not, at the Battle of Kohima, described as the ‘Stalingrad of the East’ and one of Britain’s greatest victories, there was only one journalist present; and he was only there by accident, and left after a couple of days.
But of course the sacrifices that so many made in this theatre of war were no less great; and the impact on families left behind was no less devastating than those that occurred in Europe.
People have written of their feelings and remembrances about the cost of war and left them in church over the last couple of weeks.
One writes of a father who experienced horrific treatment in the jungle during the Burma campaign, and suffered dreadful flashbacks for the rest of his life. Another writes of the loss of an uncle who died in battle at the age of 23, his whole life ahead of him – and the pain and grief still felt by subsequent generations more than eight decades later. There are more to read at the back of the church, if you’d like to.
We will all, in some way, have been touched by the conflicts of the last century. But with each passing year it feels more difficult to remember the wars of the past – not least because we become further separated from those events by the passing of time, but also because the conflicts and instability of the present are so immediate.
Another bloody and destructive European war has been going on in Ukraine for more than three years. The situation in Sudan is awful, though it hardly makes the news. And what can we say of the appalling suffering in Gaza? Words seem inadequate to try to make sense of the reports we see on an almost daily basis.
So why do we still keep remembering, when nothing seems to change? What are we really doing, in our remembering today?
Our national focus of remembrance, the Cenotaph, gives us a clue. It was purposefully designed as a non-religious symbol, but that word, ‘cenotaph’, comes from two Greek words that mean ‘empty tomb,’ referring of course to the resurrection of Jesus on Easter Day.
When Christians remember the death of Jesus, it is always in the light of the resurrection. Even on Good Friday, when all seems darkness and death, we experience it in the light and life of the Easter that has already taken place. Darkness never has the last word.
And it is the same for us in our act of remembering today. Our Christian remembering in this place is about so much more than just calling to mind details of what happened in the past.
Our remembering is an active thing; it is a commitment not to forget what happened, but also not to repeat the mistakes of the past. To look at the mess of the world around us and not to despair; but to see it in the light of God’s promise, made on the cross and fulfilled in the resurrection, that there is a better way that he is already bringing about; and to work with him in striving for that better future.
To take what is divided and torn apart by our human folly and sinfulness, and put it back together – to re-member it – in a better way: in the way of love that God shows us in Jesus.
We are shown how to do that in our readings today. They are very difficult things to do. Often those who work for peace are derided for being weak or submissive. But people forget that war and anger are in fact the easy things to give into.
It takes great courage, great perseverance, to follow the better way, the way of love that Jesus shows to us in our second reading: to be peacemakers; to hunger and thirst after righteousness; to be merciful; to endure persecution without retaliation.
And St Paul encouraged us to do similar things in our first reading. To honour others above ourselves; to remain patient in affliction; to bless those who persecute us; and not to repay anyone evil for evil.
It is really tough to live like this; it goes against what we tell ourselves is the way to happiness and success – looking after our own wellbeing first.
But this is how we re-member what is broken through division and disunity; and this is how we work to build a better world: by remembering that own own flourishing is dependent on the flourishing of others. By being willing to make the same sacrifice that we commemorate today: not just of those in active military service, but all of us, in lives of active service of one another.
And by holding on to the hope that is offered to us: that there is a better way; that one day wars will cease in all the world, and we will know the wonderful blessings of peace.
May that be our prayer and our firm commitment, today and always. Amen.