As we pay tribute to-day to those who died, as well as those who suffered in body, mind or spirit as a result of the two great wars of the last century, and the many conflicts that have continued to this day: We will remember them.
I want to explore this morning something of what that might mean for us. At one level our remembrance may be very personal. Some of us hold in our hearts particular memories of those who died or whose lives were blighted by their experience of war, or by the consequences of war – the partner or parent who never came back, or who did return, scarred by what they had seen and done. At another level our remembrance is collective. As a community we call to mind the dark days that our nation had to endure, the obstinate endurance of the civilian population as well as the sacrifice of hundreds of thousands of mostly young lives, and we pause both to recognise the cost of that sacrifice, and to resolve that such things must never be allowed to happen again. But it’s one thing to shake our heads, and say ‘Never again’ – I believe our remembrance needs to dig deeper than that if our act of remembrance is to have any bearing on the future.
Gospel means ‘good news’, and so it is when we consider the gospel message in the round, but there was not much ‘good news’ in any of this morning’s readings. When Jesus spoke of not one stone being left upon another (Luke 21.6), he may perhaps have foreseen the sack of Jerusalem by the Romans in 70AD, and the destruction of the temple, or he may even then have been looking to a more distant future. Since the first century there have been all too many occasions when nation has risen against nation, kingdom against kingdom (v 10), and even when Christians have been betrayed by their close relations, and put to death. The world in which we live, good as it is, is also home to much that is evil. In some favoured places – like Hampstead – and in some favoured times – which would include most of my lifetime – we may be able to push such uncomfortable truths to the back of our minds, nodding at them perhaps once a year as we do to-day, but they won’t go away just because we prefer not to look that way. I don’t want to sound like Cassandra, but it’s not difficult to see the storm clouds gathering on the horizon. As the population of the world grows, it is by no means clear that there will be enough food or water or energy to go round, particularly if we fail, as we failed at Copenhagen last year, to address the probable causes of climate change. Still less is it clear that those who have access to these vital resources by reason of our wealth or geography will be content to share them fairly with those who do not have such access. As travel becomes ever easier, as distances shrink, and poor people move to seek work and better opportunities for themselves and their children, we can already see liberal policies on immigration and cultural integration coming under strain. Voices are being raised to suggest that multi-culturalism has failed – has it really failed, or has it not really been tried? Already we hear much more about the clash of civilisations than we do about any dialogue of civilisations, and many people would say that religion – the cause of so many wars in the past – is a large part of the problem. Against this gloomy background it is hard to escape the fear that our children and grandchildren may have to cope with a much more sharply divided, even violent world than many of us have known. [PAUSE] We will remember them. Yes, we will remember them to-day, but will we forget them to-morrow? What should our act of remembrance mean for the way we play our part in shaping the future?
In a recent lecture at the Australian Catholic University in Melbourne, Australia, the distinguished German theologian Hans Kung argued that the age of globalisation requires a global ethic. Drawing on his deep knowledge of Christianity, Judaism and Islam, he notes that we share two great ethical principles. The first is the principle of humanity. In the face of all inhumanity our shared religious and ethical convictions demand that every human being, man or woman, white or coloured, young or old must be treated humanly. And then there is the Golden Rule found in so many religious and ethical traditions stretching back for thousands of years: What you do not wish done to yourself, do not do to others. Arising from these two fundamental principles he identifies four widely shared ethical directives, each of which may be expressed in either negative or positive terms:
- Do not murder, torture, wound – revere life.
- Do not lie, deceive, forge, manipulate – revere truth.
- Do not steal, exploit, bribe, corrupt – deal honestly and fairly with our neighbours.
- Do not abuse sexuality, do not cheat, humiliate, dishonour – respect and love one another, recognising the equal dignity of men and women.
Now you may be saying to yourselves: that’s all very well, and probably true of Christianity, Judaism, Buddhism and many other religions, but is it really true of Islam? Does the Qur’an really require the good Muslim to respect the equal dignity of men and women? Are not Islamic suicide bombers inspired by their religion to seek paradise through engagement in bloody jihad? To which some might respond: what is the war on terror but a thinly disguised Christian jihad, prosecuted by leaders and combatants who are apparently unabashed about the use of inhuman torture to achieve their ends?
To such objections, Hans Kung would respond that we need a better understanding of the historical roots of religious belief. Over the centuries, each of the great religions has passed through a succession of changing paradigms. Christianity for example has passed through the Hellenistic paradigm of the Early Church, the Catholic piety of the Middle Ages, the Protestant paradigm of the Reformation, and the liberal modern paradigm of the Enlightenment to a postmodern paradigm, in which we are learning to respond ecumenically to the challenge of secularism. But because, in matters of religion, each new paradigm does not necessarily banish the old, we have to live with a more or less perpetual co-existence of divergent religious cultures and traditions, which have the capacity to engender conflict. If we extend that perception to other religions, where ancient paradigms also live on, we can readily see how divergent strands of religious belief, sometimes with their roots in the distant past, may still have the capacity to fuel conflict to-day. In short we should not blame Islam as such for the carnage wreaked by suicide bombers, any more than we should blame Judaism for the expulsion of Palestinians from their land, or indeed Christianity for the torture of prisoners in Iraq.
Yet there will not be peace among the nations without peace among the great religions. As we seek to build support for a global ethic appropriate to the age of globalisation, on the basis of the truly human and generous principles that we do in fact share, each of us will need to be humble about the differences that exist within our own religions, reflecting our historical development. Under the umbrella of the United Nations the Church has of course contributed to such endeavours in the past. Within Europe we have at least created institutions that make intra-European conflict less likely. But the challenge is now global, and we have to reach out more effectively to men and women of good will who belong to other faiths both in this country and around the world. We know it won’t be easy. We may even be reproached for daring to argue that it should be attempted. As Paul says, we should not be weary in doing what is right. To engage in such a dialogue, and to seek to bring about such a common understanding, might help to avert the catastrophe that must surely overtake us if we allow ourselves to be drawn into demonising those whose culture and traditions we perceive as alien. To engage in such a dialogue as a church and as a nation will honour the memory of those whom we remember to-day.
Yes, we will remember them.