Remembrance Sunday 2024
‘Lift up your eyes on high and see’.
This morning, for the first time in this Cathedral, the red poppy is not the only symbolic focus for our annual Act of Remembrance. As we lifted our eyes to the familiar sight of hundreds of red paper flowers falling to the floor, 12,000 white paper doves provided a backdrop to their descent. Each one is an integral part of a mass-participation artwork created by the sculptor Peter Walker. On each one is written a prayer for peace. They were produced over the summer by people of all ages from across the county, and through Peter Walker’s artistic skill, have created this beautiful vision of peace, Lincolnshire’s vision of peace.
To my mind, it’s an artwork with a prophetic message, a message that speaks into the war-torn history of our world, past and present, a message that speaks with words of hope, hope for what can be achieved when diverse groups of people work together with a commitment to peace and reconciliation – locally, nationally and globally.
‘Lift up your eyes on high and see’.
The silent interplay between poppy and dove which we witnessed a few moments ago is a reminder of the importance of the relationship between remembrance and commitment, our solemn remembrance of those who have lived and died in the service of others, and our hopeful commitment to work for peace.
There is a temptation on Remembrance Sunday to focus our attention more on one than the other. But that’s a mistake. We need both. We need both because an honest commitment to peace has to be born out of an honest remembrance of war. Just as we can have no understanding of how precious a gift forgiveness is without a shared experience of sin, so too we can have no understanding of the nature of peace without a shared experience of its absence. Remembrance must come first. It is never an obstacle to peace, but rather the fertile ground into which seeds of peace may be sown and grow.
Within the Christian tradition remembrance has a distinctive quality. It’s not about simply being reminded of something from the past – whether a sad event, like a bereavement or the break-up of a relationship, or a happy one, like a party or holiday. It’s not about being reminded about something that happened however long ago, and then leaving it in the past because there’s nothing to see here, and moving on. Remembrance within the Christian tradition is much more intentional, much more dynamic than that. It’s about bringing into the present the effects of a past event – with the intention of being changed by that remembering.
Christians do this first and foremost at the Eucharist. We take, bless and share bread and wine to remember Christ’s death and resurrection. But we do this not as some sort of mental exercise to take as back 2,000 years as if we were there in the Upper Room, or on the hill of Calvary or at the garden tomb. Rather we do it to experience in the here and now the life-changing consequences of those events. Through the bread and wine we bless and share, we experience in a tangible and transformative way the forgiveness, freedom, joy and peace which Christ’s death and resurrection offer to the world.
To my mind, this same principle of dynamic, transformative remembrance applies to what we’re doing here this morning. Some of us in this cathedral have very direct experience of war, of its horror, of the scars it inflicts not only on the people directly impacted by it, but also on their families and friends. And that’s why it’s so important for us this year and every year to support the amazing work of the Royal British Legion.
Others of us are in the fortunate position of not having had that direct experience. And yet, whatever our personal situation, our shared remembrance is vital. When we remember conflicts past and present, our remembering brings their horrendous consequences, not least the millions of lost lives, into the here and now. They who showed greater love by laying down their lives for their friends are with us; the life-changing consequence of their sacrifice, symbolized by the poppies, is with us. And, in the same way as at the Eucharist, we do not remember them for remembrance’s sake, or even solely to honour them, though that is also our duty today – we remember – we bring to the present the effects of wars past and present – in order to be changed by it.
That potential for transformation is symbolized here this morning by Peter Walker’s Peace Doves, the people of Lincolnshire’s Vision of Peace. It’s also articulated verbally at the end of this service when, having done our remembering, we will be asked to make an act of commitment in the form of three questions: will we strive for all that makes for peace, will we seek to heal the wounds of war, and we will work for a just future for all humanity.
Now they’re big questions for us to consider. The order of service encourages us to answer ‘We will’, but precisely what that ‘We will’ means for each of us will vary, just as the prayers of peace written on the dove are all in different hands and their content not identical. Nevertheless, a shared commitment for a peaceful future is not an optional extra today. If we’ve only come here to remember, with no intention of being changed by that remembrance, we may as well have stayed at home.
‘Lift up your eyes on high and see’, says the prophet Isaiah.
The God whom we worship in this service is the creator of red poppy and white dove. The prophet encourages God’s people to look up and say what they see. From the vantage point of this ancient, holy, haven of peace, God’s creation looks increasingly violent and insecure. Horrendous conflicts raging many parts of the world, not least Ukraine and the Middle East. Our armed forces engaged on active service in a number of different arenas. What we see is cause for great concern. More and more poppies symbolizing the sacrificial cost of war for so many.
But that’s not the only thing that we see today. The doves of peace are also before our eyes. They’re as much a reality as the poppies are. And that is cause for hope. This solemn act of remembrance, bringing into the present moment the triumph of greater love, has the potential to lead us not to despair but to a renewed commitment, a renewed commitment to imitate the sacrificial self-giving of those we honour, whatever our situation or context or sphere of influence.
As violence and hatred make the world an ever-darker place, there will undoubtedly be times when those doves will be hard to see. But whenever with poppies we remember, the doves of peace are with us too. If we never forget, there will always be hope.
‘Lift up your eyes on high and see’.