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Caroline, John, Henry and I have been
overwhelmed by the wonderful welcome we have received from the communities of
Colyford, Musbury, Northleigh, Southleigh, Branscombe and Colyton. Thank you
for all your cards, letters, messages and your thoughtful gifts, including some
wonderful hampers and local food—all greatly appreciated.
At the beginning
of January we celebrate the Epiphany when gifts and greetings were taken to the
Holy Family. ‘Epiphany’ is a fancy Greek word which means something like
‘manifestation’ or ‘appearance’. It is a rich celebration which (in the Western
Church) marks the visit of the Three Kings who bring gifts to the manger, which
is one of the early signs that the birth of the baby Jesus is not simply a good
human being, or wise teacher and moral example, but is in fact God made man.
The readings we hear in church around this time look beyond the crib, at all
the miracles and wonders Jesus did during his life and ministry to help us to
think about who exactly Jesus Christ is, and what he might accomplish if we
were to allow ourselves to trust in him a little more and our friendship with
him to grow.
As I travel the
East Devon lanes (avoiding the potholes….sometimes more successfully than
others…) travelling from one church to another, I am aware how fortunate I am
to be a part of the life of the six churches which make up the Holyford group. The
Church is a people, but it is buildings too, and each of our beautiful
buildings is a gift and sign of the Epiphany; each stands as a manifestation to remind us that we
have a God who is Emmanuel—‘God with us’—present at the heart of the community,
come wind or weather.
Arriving at the
beginning of Advent and leading up to Christmas has provided a great
opportunity to get to know quite a few new faces. Thank you to all those who
have said hello. If we haven’t already met, I hope that we shall soon. Until
then…
Advent and Christmas is a time of travelling for many, for
the distribution of gifts and reunion of families and friends and we wish all
safety in their journeys and joyful encounters with those they visit and host.
Advent itself is a time of travelling, even if not in terms
of distance, but in our readings we reflect on the journey of God’s people in
preparation for the coming of the Messiah and it is an opportunity for us to
examine our own journey of faith as we prepare to greet the Christ child once
more.
At Christmas we remember the journey of Mary and Joseph to
Bethlehem, the Shepherds visiting the stable, the visit of the wise men and the
flight of the Holy family into Egypt.
In our Mission Community we begin a journey as we welcome
Steven and his family and look forward to his ministry amongst us.
Through all our ‘travelling’ we wish you all a joyful and
peaceful Christmas Season and may that continue into the New Year that lies
beyond.
Charles, Colin, Emma, Jan, Jeremy, John, Linda, Nigel, Steven and Victoria
We
are very excited about moving to Colyton and getting to know the churches and
parishes that make up the Holyford Mission Community. In preparation for our arrival, I have been
asked to provide a few lines about myself, so…
I was born ‘at a very early age’, in London, and came to the church through music, as a choirboy at St George’s Metropolitan Cathedral, Southwark. It was there that I encountered some inspiring Christians and began to learn about the faith; it is since then that I have always felt the deep and loving presence of Jesus Christ in my life.
We moved to Sussex when I was about 10 years old, and it is there I began to learn to play the organ. My family and I moved again to Devon, about 22 years ago. Music, especially church music, has always been a passion. I read music at Exeter University, going on to postgraduate study there and finally at the University of Bristol. During my time studying I was organ scholar at the University and at Crediton Parish Church and for three years a choral scholar at Exeter Cathedral. Before ordination, I was a teacher and taught music at The Maynard School in Exeter.
I trained for
ordination at St Stephen’s House, Oxford, and served my curacy at Tavistock
with Gulworthy and Brent Tor. During the past year I have also been looking
after the churches at Mary Tavy and Peter Tavy. I am married to Caroline, who
works as an historic landscape specialist for Nicholas Pearson Associates. We
were married just over eight years ago at Crediton (where I was Director of
Music), and have two sons, Henry (aged 3 ½) and John (7 months). You will also
see (and hear!) Beryl pottering about. Beryl is our 1969 brown Morris Minor who
has been with me for the past 20 years.
It would
be good at this point if I could write something gripping or niche about my
hobbies and interests (…that I liked windsurfing in tweeds or that I was founding
captain of the England Bo-taoshi team…) but the truth is that in my spare
time I like to do all the usual things, like listen to music, read (short-ish)
books, wander about in the garden and, most of all, doze off in front of the
television.
I know
that there will be precious little time for dozing off as I endeavour to meet
everyone and discern how I can best serve you and the growth of God’s Church on
our journey together. Thank you for inviting me to become your next Rector; I
hope that we shall meet soon, and pray that God will bless us and all that we
do in his holy name and in the service of his love.
Writing this when many of our Churches are about to celebrate
harvest festivals or have recently done so I am also aware that the topic is
rarely absent from one form of media or another. I am particularly reflecting upon the different
emphases of such information, including economics, environment ethics and
health and, as I listen to the latest ‘wisdom’, it seems increasingly difficult
to hold them in a balance which does not involve conflict between them. 😕
Our food comes from many different sources and even
improvements in package (another issue!) labelling do not give us the whole
story. We may have the country of origin
but not the type of agricultural system which produced it, what its carbon
footprint might be, the degree of exploitation of vulnerable individuals and/or
local environment and animal welfare issues (if appropriate).
We live in a complex world and as we are faced with more
information the complexity seems to increase and it can be tempting to carry on
regardless but it is clear that to do so is unsustainable for our planet and
calls for urgent action should not go unheeded.
Any changes we can make may seem like a drop of water in an
ocean but when there are many drops it does make a difference. We have a responsibility to one another and to
the global human community as well as having respect for the natural
world. We should acknowledge our
dependence on many others and giving thanks for what others have provided for
us is a sign of responsibility and respect; reducing our over-consumption and wastage
of food is a practical way to demonstrate it.
When we obtain our food perhaps we should focus more closely
on what we needrather than what
we wantand indeed on what we might be able to share. Our heavenly Father is a generous God and
gives us many things for our enjoyment and well-being but also recognises our
different needs and situations. All he requires in return is our
acknowledgement of his generosity with thankful hearts and to remember that what
we do for ourselves may well have an impact on others.
Having
been a Reader (a lay minister) in our parishes for a number of years I am about
to take the plunge into ordained ministry – or as a friend of mine puts it ‘getting
collared’! As the year turns from summer
to autumn I will be ordained in Exeter Cathedral on the 14th of September and
then serve as a self-supporting curate in our Mission Community parishes of
Colyton with Colyford, Branscombe, Southleigh, Musbury and Northleigh.
Although
the days may still be warm, there’s no doubt that September marks a turning of
the seasons for many of us, from holidays to the start of the new school year
for some and the return to work for others.
The same is true for our religious festivals, those times in the Church
year that recall special moments in the life of Christ and in the life of the
Church. Some of the most familiar
festivals and seasons seem to come round with startling speed – can it really
only be just over 100 days to Christmas?!
Here
in our Exeter diocese July marks a special time commemorating St Peter and
Christ’s call to him to be “a rock” on which the Church would grow. Whether or not these were the exact words
used it is always an important anniversary in the life of any community when we
remember the foundations we are built upon.
Church, village and family all have roots that remind us of our
beginnings, where we have come from, and where and with whom we hope to grow in
the future.
For
Exeter Cathedral, Petertide, the season of St Peter, has particular significance
as the Cathedral building itself is dedicated to St Peter and each year the
community there uses this as a focus for special celebrations. This significance also carries through into
other seasons in the life of our diocese.
Ordinations in the Church of England usually take place at Petertide,
but here in Exeter we wait until Michaelmas, mid-September, for the service at
the Cathedral that marks the start of our new ministry. I for one am grateful for this later season
and celebration; just as the disciples waited in Jerusalem before starting
their ministry so the period between the end of my study course at Petertide
and my ordination at Michaelmas has given me much needed time to rest, to give
thanks for the care and support that has given me the foundation from which to
take this new step, and to look forward with joy to the journey to come.
We
have scaffolding up outside the house at present and it’s rather odd to see
knee-down views of workmen passing the bedroom window. It’s not attractive – the scaffolding, I
mean – I wouldn’t dare criticise the
chaps’ legs! But scaffolding isn’t
pretty to look at, unless it’s been specifically designed to be visible like
the jolly coloured structures on the Pompidou Centre in Paris.
Anyway,
all this has got me thinking about hidden support (there should be an
underwiring joke here, but I can’t think of one, so insert your own). So many things in our lives depend on hidden
support. The friends who drop by to see
you when you feel low, the casseroles and cakes that arrive when life’s got out
of hand aren’t listed as emergency services but they rescue us just the same.
We’re
lucky to live in a place where people care about their neighbours and where
there are such strong networks of friendship holding our communities
together. The everyday friendliness of
our neighbourhoods is a great gift and harnessing it in organisations such as LINK
is a brilliant idea. And here’s another
one that I saw online – a photo of a
bench bearing the sign ‘happy to chat’. The idea being that if you sat on that bench
you were inviting conversation as an antidote to loneliness – either your own
or whoever might pass by. Of course
some people would find that a nightmare – they’re desperate for a bit of quiet,
and five minute’s peace on a bench where
no-one mithers them is their idea of paradise.
Support comes in all shapes and sizes.
Sometimes just letting someone enjoy their alone-time is the best
support you can give. Which is not the
same as blanking them – a smile and a nod go a long way to making everyone’s
day better. A smile and a nod is like
wearing your built-in support system on the outside.* It’s part of the glue that holds us all
together.
Jan
Lees
(*insert own joke about
being a superhero/wearing your pants on top of your trousers etc etc….)
Whilst the weather at the time of writing in early June does
not live up to the title of flaming June I remember the orange skies over NW
England last year when Lancashire moorland was very much ablaze. It also reminds of our ambivalent
relationship with fire as it can be both creative and destructive.
Early human groups first learned how to use and then control
and create fire and it had a fundamental impact on how human societies
developed, to migrate to more northern (and southern) latitudes, to improve
diet and later to produce metal implements from copper, tin and iron. Much
later it enabled the development of steam power and the internal combustion
engine which as well as being the basis of much technological improvement was
also a factor in the climate issues we face today.
The destructive power of fire is evident in the destruction
of natural habitats and human habitation both by accident and intention,
sometimes the intention is to provide replacement vegetation and indeed some
Eucalyptus shed their bark to act as kindling so when forest fires occur
naturally their competitors are destroyed and the heat from the fire is
necessary for their seeds to sprout!
Despite our own fascination with fire we also need to use it
responsibly not only for our own benefit but to consider the impact that our
own choices have on those who are more vulnerable and the legacy we leave for
future generations.
The word fire occurs over 600 times in the Bible and not
surprisingly in both a positive and negative context. Amongst these are ideas of refining and
purifying and also denoting God’s presence – as with Moses and the burning bush
and at Pentecost, celebrated in early June, when the apostles received flames
of fire above their heads.
Perhaps the next time there is the opportunity to
contemplate a burning flame, it might also be the time to consider the flame of
love burning in God’s heart for each one of us and the flame of God’s presence
in our own lives both to overcome the faults of the past but also to bring us
reassurance and hope for the future.
Trinity is the green season now for church hangings,
which seems very appropriate when we see the abundant leaves and grass growing
all around us. As I write, the lanes are still full of bluebells and cow
parsley, which will give way to pink campion and honeysuckle and other summer
flowers. We are fortunate to live in such a beautiful area where people want to
come on holiday.
But the joy of summer returning and the apparent
tranquillity of the English countryside can possibly lull us into paying less
attention to the serious environmental challenges facing us with increasing
urgency, not only in the near future, but actually now.
Several high profile events in the media came together
over Easter to draw attention to the seriousness of the situation of global
climate change. One was the broadcasting by the BBC of David Attenborough’s
hard hitting documentary spelling out climate change facts. No-one who saw it
could remain unmoved by the sight of thousands of bats which had dropped dead
to the ground from sheer heat exhaustion due to extreme temperatures in
Australia.
It’s a step forward that the BBC have accepted that
climate change is a scientific fact, and not a political position that needs to
be balanced by giving airtime to fossil fuel industry deniers. Not only the BBC
but the Governor of the Bank of England is warning of this growing crisis.
Of course climate change also means more storms and
flooding, melting glaciers and rising sea levels, which are already having a catastrophic
effect in some areas. This is the effect of greenhouse gases raising global
temperatures by 1oC already, and we need to avert much greater
rises.
We have also seen unprecedented mass nonviolent action
from the group Extinction Rebellion who mobilised many thousands of protesters
demanding change and action from our politicians. Over a thousand were
arrested, and whatever we think of mass civil disobedience as a tactic, it
succeeded in raising the profile.
At the same time we saw the school children’s climate
strikes around the world started by the Swedish teenager Greta Thunberg, who
gave a hard-hitting speech to our parliament. According to the Environment
Secretary she is the “voice of our conscience”. She used a striking image to
describe how we must respond now – “Avoiding climate breakdown will require
cathedral thinking. We must lay the foundation while not knowing exactly how to
build the ceiling.”
We can each start doing something to reduce our carbon
footprint – waste less food, buy from local producers, insulate our homes, walk
or use public transport. Let’s wake up to the need, and remember that the earth
is the Lord’s. We are merely caretakers, handing on to generations to come.
I’m writing
this having just returned from a flying visit to Cyprus. I was there for a
forum, convened by the Anglican Church, which focussed on refugees and people
who are trafficked. The day was an
introduction to my ministry there from September, which will include
responsibility for co-ordinating the Diocese’s response to refugees on the
island.
At the forum,
there were representatives from various secular and religious organisations,
both from the north and the south of the divided island. As each stood to speak, I was struck by their
shared energy, passion and commitment. And this was in the light of a refugee
situation that must have felt overwhelming. For in 2018,
Cyprus exceeded every other EU member state in asylum claims, mainly from
people fleeing Syria.
Stories were
told from different perspectives, and many were very moving. They spoke of large numbers of people
dislocated and traumatised; of the daily challenges faced by strangers in a
strange land.
As the day went
on, it seemed to me that the work of every group, whether secular or religious,
was underpinned by pretty much the same three messages: ‘We stand with
you.’ You have worth.’ ‘Things can be
different’.
Messages of
solidarity and of hope and dignity; messages we would all want to hear in times
of very real need, wherever, and whoever, we are.
And these three
messages resonate absolutely with the Christian faith. Throughout his life on
earth Jesus bestowed time and attentiveness on those whom his society deemed
insignificant – women, foreigners, the poor, the maimed, and those who were
unwell, either mentally or physically.
His very presence signified to each of them: ‘I am with you’; ‘you have worth’; ‘things can be different’. Through an encounter with him, their lives
were transformed. And those who later
met the risen Christ – the disciples, the soldiers, the two Marys – experienced
profound change too. Their confusion,
shame and fear dissipated. And Jesus
bestowed on them, through his attentive love, a sense of worth and hope and
dignity.
Our world today
is every bit as wounded and wounding as it was in Jesus’ time. And it’s every bit as wonderful, too. For within each of us lies the potential to
bring new life and possibility to another. Every act of compassion, every good deed,
every fair and honest act of business, every kind word, really matters. Each act says to another person: ‘you are
cherished’, ‘you have worth’; ‘things can
change’. Each of us, wherever and
whoever we are, can make a much greater difference to someone else than we
might ever have imagined.
Over the past few years, I have been so touched by the
care and warmth in this community. It’s been a privilege being here. Thank you. I look forward to
my work in Cyprus hugely and I take with me precious memories.
Easter Sunday is, as normal,
a day packed with services but for many the most memorable will be the dawn
service held at 6am at the Hillhead picnic site in Colyton. It’s well before
most people are out of their beds, so there will be little traffic and a chance
to enjoy birdsong and a stunning view across the Axe Valley. There really is no
better time of day to celebrate Easter, which all began with a surprise very
early one morning. A group of people had seen their visionary friend arrested, and
then seen him executed in the cruel method reserved for those most hated by the
Roman Empire. Their friend Jesus had been buried, and they thought their story
was over.
Early the next day something
new and strange happened to a young woman, Mary, a friend of Jesus. Someone appeared
to her, and whether it was mist or the uncertainties of dawn light, she thought
the man talking to her was a gardener. Something powerful had happened,
something so strange that witnesses fled in fear, and people passed on the story
in hushed voices. Death hadn’t closed down the story at all – just the opposite.
What seemed like an ending, the
ending of everything important, was in fact the beginning of something new and
life-giving.
We know the story well. A
story of something that happened in the uncertain early light of a spring day,
and an event we constantly associate with spring, green shoots, new growth. Spring
is always a wonderful pick-me-up after a hard winter. This season has something
extra on offer – things bursting into flower, sunlight, and the promise of warm
days ahead.
Dawn has always been seen as an important moment in all religions. In Islam and Christianity it’s the moment when the first prayers of the day are said.
Dawn is of course not a moment,
but a transition from pitch black to full sunlight. Photographers talk of the ‘golden
hour’ before the sun breaks through, when the light is much warmer and softer
than the harsh light of noon. It’s a time when we come round slowly, allowing
all our senses to kick in and enjoy the early hours, wondering what the day
might bring.
A lovely old English word
for the dawn is ‘dayspring’, in regular use at the time the King James translation
of the Bible was composed. It sometimes meant the exact point on the horizon where
the sun was predicted to rise, a point that changes as the year turns. The word
Dayspring is used to describe John the Baptist as the one who brings light to
those who live in darkness, and was later and much more frequently used to
describe Christ himself, not just the light bringer, but the light of the world.
So much for history and
theology, so much for thinking. Perhaps it’s equally good to enjoy the golden dawn
light as the created world sings itself awake and fills us with new hope.
Print deadlines being what they are, I’m writing this in
January from a desk with a whole landslip of papers on it. This is normal. There’s stuff I know I need along with things
I’m not sure what to do with and stuff that’s in transit. The dining table’s in the same state.
Periodically I pull myself together and have a sort out and
at the moment sorting out and decluttering is all the rage. The Konmari method has even made it onto
Netflix and Marie Kondo is an international tidying-up guru.
How do you feel about clutter? I can’t make up my mind. I do enjoy the calm spaces that minimalism
produces, but then again my clutter is a spin-off of doing all sorts of
interesting things.
One thing Marie Kondo says really fascinates me. She says we should only keep things that
‘spark joy’ in us. Well, not quite – you
are allowed to keep things like your recycling bins and loo cleaner, though the
likelihood of them ‘sparking joy’ is pretty slim.
I suppose her philosophy isn’t a million miles from William
Morris’s dictum that we should only have things which are useful and/or
beautiful in our homes. Lovely idea –
provided you’re not skint. And provided
you don’t mind upsetting the aunties who gave you vases and jumpers that you
could never learn to love, but loving the aunties has given their gifts
squatters’ rights in your life. I
suppose those things spark a sort of second hand joy – you smile at the
ornament you’d never have bought because it ties you to the love behind the
gift.
It’s the same with some friendships. Unlikely people enjoying each other’s company
because of a bigger thing that has brought them together. Being together and enjoying each other’s
company is what make communities tick – whether it’s a smile shared or a
chat in the street. If you find
yourself too busy for those sorts of things, then it really is time for a
decluttering. Making space for the
people you meet day to day is always worth doing.
Hello, my name is
Linda and I am the new Children and Families Worker for the Holyford Mission
Community. Thank you for the wonderful warm welcome I have received from many
of you and I look forward to getting to know more people right across the
community in 2019.
I started the role in
September 2018 and have been busy working alongside the Noah’s Ark team and
Messy Church team as well as popping up at the Breakfast Services at St Andrew’s. I have also enjoyed exploring faith with the
children of Branscombe School at weekly outdoors lunch club and visiting
pre-schools and school assemblies.
I moved to Seaton last
July, from a little Northamptonshire village where I had lived for 34 years. There I was an Early Years Teacher, leading a
pre-school and very involved over the years in the churches with children and
their families.
It has been a
privilege and a delight to have been welcomed into my new chapter of life in
Devon by someone as warm and supportive as Hilary Dawson and I can see how much
she is loved and will be missed by so many.
In the packed church
at her Leaving Service, Hilary said: “There will always be things we have to lay down in order to receive the
new things God wants to give us. May this Mission Community, and its many
communities, always be places with the wisdom to value the treasures of the
past, and yet the boldness to dream a new dream, do a new thing, and sing a new
song.”
Sometimes a new
chapter is welcomed with excitement and we look forward to singing a ‘new song’
in our lives. At other times we feel
like we have had a new chapter thrust upon us – such as bereavement, divorce,
redundancy, children going to school or university, health issues, and we can
feel overwhelmed by trying to accept this new chapter and to ‘sing a new song’.
But God says “Behold,
I make all things new” (Revelation 21 v5) and he promises to “Take hold of your
hand and keep you” (Isaiah 42 v 6). I
have found these promises to be abundantly true, in my major life changes and
move to Devon.
I had to smile as I
read further in Isaiah 42 v 10: “Sing to the Lord a new song, his praise from
the ends of the earth, you who go down to
the sea.” Isn’t that all of us who are blessed to live
in such a wonderful part of the world, here in Devon by the sea? As we head
further into 2019, we can depend on God’s promises and we can depend on one
another in our communities as we make that journey together.
I thank you for the
wonderful welcome I have received and I very much look forward to getting to
know you all more.
January 6th, known as Twelfth Night, is the official end of Christmas. Time to recycle the tree, take down the cards and the Christmas decorations. Let’s pause, though, before we pack away the crib, with its figures of the three wise men. For this is their time. In the Church calendar, January 6th marks the Epiphany; the festival of those mysterious strangers who, gliding across the desert on camels, follow the star all the way to Bethlehem.
Back in November, I visited Abu Dhabi for a few days. One afternoon, I was lucky enough to be taken to a rather plush hotel to taste their ‘camelccino’ – camel milk cappuccino! I could choose my topping: an outline of a camel either in chocolate or in gold leaf. Gold, I was told, was actually very good for me. But I played safe and opted for the chocolate.
It set me thinking about the gifts brought to the baby Jesus by the wise men; the gold, frankincense and myrrh. Traditionally, these are thought to be the tributes of three great kings to one who is even greater: gold, a pure and precious metal, to symbolise his majesty; frankincense, burnt in temples to deities, his divinity; myrrh, used for embalming, his death.
Another interpretation considers how in ancient times gold was placed on open wounds to aid healing; frankincense to inhibit inflammation; myrrh to help digestion. It suggests that the wise men might have been presenting the Holy Family not with tributes, but with gifts of healing.
Others have understood both the visitors and their gifts rather differently. They believe the men were magicians who dealt in alchemy – changing base substances into gold. Canon Angela Tilby, for example, suggests that their surrender of the gifts meant the admission of fraud; the giving up of powers based on deception or magic.* She sees it as a sign that the birth of Jesus was ushering in a new order, one in which the powers of sorcery and enchantment have no value.
Today enchantments of different kinds surround us still: the enticement of wealth; the power of charisma; the cheapening of life. Perhaps, as Angela Tilby suggests, the laying down of gold might signify our refusal to be driven by the love, or fear, or worship of money? Perhaps the laying down of frankincense could mean our refusal to be swayed by the cult of charisma, or the culture ofcelebrity? Perhaps the offering of myrrh could represent our refusal to be complicit with those institutions and practices that fail to honour and value human life? Such an understanding could herald in a year inwhich we reflect more deeply on how we act as consumers and as citizens.
However we might interpret the offering of those gifts to the baby Jesus, overall they signify a greater sense of wellbeing – spiritually, physically, ethically. That’s a pretty good way to start the NewYear. Happy Epiphany!
Last year the radio station Classic FM conducted a poll to discover the nation’s favourite Christmas Carol. Many of the well-known and well-loved carols feature in the top thirty: Hark the Herald Angels Sing, Silent Night, Once in Royal David’s City, O Little Town of Bethlehem and more. Most of us love to sing carols. They are often joyful, yet also have the power to touch us deeply. My personal favourite comes in at number fifteen: It came upon a Midnight Clear. This is the first verse:
It came upon a midnight clear, That glorious song of old, From angels bending near the earth, To touch their harps of gold: ‘Peace on the earth, good will to men, From heaven’s all-gracious King.’ The world in solemn stillness lay, To hear the angels sing.
It is unusual because it doesn’t actually mention the birth of Jesus. Instead it concentrates on the message of peace sung by the angels. First published in 1849, it was written by Edmund Sears in Massachusetts at a time when America was gripped by social unrest as Civil War loomed. That tension is reflected in a later verse in the carol:
Yet with the woes of sin and strife The world hath suffered long; Beneath the angel-strain have rolled Two thousand years of wrong; And warring humankind hears not The love song which they bring: O hush the noise of mortal strife, And hear the angels sing.
The poet longs for humanity to hush its noise for long enough to hear the love song of the angels and to kneel before the infant Jesus who brings the promise of love, joy and hope into the world. The carol ends by expressing his longing for that day when:
Peace shall over all the earth, Its ancient splendours fling, And all the world give back the song, Which now the angels sing.
There will be many opportunities to sing carols this Christmas. Please do come and celebrate the birth of Jesus with great joy and thanksgiving. And let’s take time together as well, to hush our noise, pray for peace, and listen for the love song of the angels. Hilary
What is the difference between remembrance and remembering? In dictionary terms, very little, but the term ‘remembrance’ is often used in connection with special moments in time. We remember a wide range of things in passing, randomly, but remembrance is about setting time aside to think deeply about the past.
The first two-minute silence of remembrance in Britain was held on 11 November 1919, when King George V asked the public to observe silence at 11am, exactly one year after the end of World War One. He made the request so “the thoughts of everyone may be concentrated on reverent remembrance of the glorious dead”. This reminds us that remembrance is a shared activity – something we do as a community.
During the 1970s many people predicted that Remembrance Day would soon be forgotten. In fact, since the Falklands conflict and wars in Iraq and Afghanistan, Remembrance Sunday seems as relevant today as it was in 1919. It is a day which marks more than the end of one terrible war, in 1918, where industrialised killing achieved horrors never previously imagined. On this day we fall still – to remember the cost of war, and the burdens carried by those who fight in our behalf. Many of those leaving our armed forces become homeless; some suffer lasting mental health problems.
Remembrance isn’t just about recollecting things we know – it’s about learning. We might find out about long forgotten wars – for example those who served in less well known conflicts in 1940s Israel, 1950s Korea, 1960s Malaya, or 1990s Bosnia. We might take the time to find out about those wars happening across our world today, often unnoticed by the media. We might say a quiet prayer for all those in harm’s way somewhere in the world, and those who wait for them.
If remembrance means learning, we might look at the bigger picture of the 20th Century, where around 200 million people died, directly or indirectly, as a result of war, and millions more were displaced or exiled.
This year naturally we focus on the 1918 Armistice. Some communities across the UK will be thinking this month not just about those named on war memorials, but those who returned and tried to pick up the pieces of their lives. We remember, too, families who have endured wars at home, waiting for an awful telegram.
Remembrance is an action, a choice. It might mean hearing new stories. For example, finding out more about the largely forgotten contributions of African and Caribbean servicemen to the First World War, where over 2 million Africans and 16,000 Caribbean citizens were active participants. We might find out more about the wide ranging roles undertaken by women in war.
Remembrance also means trying to understand; to fathom what causes wars and what avoids them. To understand the full range of experiences of those who go to war, oppose war, or whose lives are consumed by war.
And finally, through understanding, we seek wisdom. One thing all faiths have in common is hope for peace – generosity before guns, tolerance before trumpets. Peace, we know from experience, is precious and needs to be cherished and protected.
Christians know that peace is God’s hope for the world, and that it begins with a simple action – treating others as we hope to be treated ourselves. As we fall still this November we call to mind a powerful truth: peace begins among us.
Last year the radio station Classic FM conducted a poll to discover the nation’s favourite Christmas Carol. Many of the well-known and well-loved carols feature in the top thirty: Hark the Herald Angels Sing, Silent Night, Once in Royal David’s City, O Little Town of Bethlehem and more. Most of us love to sing carols. They are often joyful, yet also have the power to touch us deeply. My personal favourite comes in at number fifteen: It came upon a Midnight Clear. This is the first verse: