Blessed are the peacemakers - Something different for Remembrance Sunday

Todays blog is a departure from the norm and a sermon for the season.

May my words be in the name of the living God, creating, redeeming and sustaining. Amen.

Thank you for inviting me to take your service here today. I bring greetings from all at St Augustine Academy and we are proud to be a secondary school serving your community. I know you have at least one of our students here and I thank you for bringing Matthew to confirmation.

When I agreed to take today’s service I didn’t notice the date, just the gap in my diary. For me Remembrance Sunday is always challenging. I hope you will also share my sense of challenge.

For my text this morning I’d like us to concentrate on that last verse of our gospel reading “Now he is a God not of the dead, but of the living, for to him all of them are alive.”

Those of us who are living have an awesome responsibility. When I was at school we learned about many wars and lots of people who had died. I remember being really moved by the poetry of Wilfred Owen, who wrote his poems from the trenches. We were often clear about who were the “good” people as history is nearly always written by the winners of war. Where has all that education lead me too? How have I made sense of all of that in the context of living out my theology and my understanding of the gospel message? Well, I have come to the conclusion that war is a

messy, bloody and destructive affair. War doesn’t decide who is right, just who is left! Neither side is justified in its actions. There are atrocities committed by all armies of the world.

Several years ago I went to Berlin and I visited Sachsenhausen Concentration Camp. It had a profound effect on me. On the train on the way back into the city after the trip I was chatting with the tour guide. He was an ex-military man He had been quite senior but now was anti-war and working to promote peace. We had a spirited discussion. One of the things that he said that really stuck in my mind was “What if wars were fought by the politicians and leaders who started the war rather than the soldiers who really could see no difference between them and the other side?” He told me that military strategists learn from war but politicians do not.

Today very little contact is needed to wage war. The “Cold War” which frightened a whole generation was based on the fear of pressing a “button” and that there were satellites at the fingertips of the leaders. If we are honest many of us still carry that fear today.

The 1st world war was meant to be the war that ended all wars. Then the 2nd world war would hopefully do that. I recently found out that the only year a British soldier hasn’t been killed since the end of the war is 1967. I find that astounding and disturbing. It’s like we are almost guaranteed war and conflict. Why is that?

Today we feel so distant from war. We sit in the comfort of our front rooms and watch the sky light up in war torn areas on our TV’s, giving little or no thought to the people who lives are snuffed out by that flash of light over the shoulder of the newscaster.

So what can we do?  How do we work towards peace? How can this world find an alternative to bearing arms in the name of peace and still fight for something so dear? We may be many miles from the nearest war but it is a part of our everyday life. We hear of war every day on the news. Some of you may also have family in the army which brings the threat very close to home.

I think there is a biblical basis for non-violent Peace building? We can use the New Testament as our basis. “Love your enemy” is one I always remember. Another is “Love each other as I have loved you” There are loads. I’m sure you could all think of your own texts.

Peace is often thought about as the absence of war. But it’s more than that. It requires an active participation from us. Like the peace and justice work carried out in South Africa by the truth and reconciliation commission set up by Archbishop Tutu. Or those that work for restorative justice services bringing together prisoners and their victims in this country. The anti-violence workers who go into schools and teach young people about equal and loving relationships. The list is actually endless. Are you on it?

Here are a few examples of modern day peace builders:

In Hebron after Israeli forces demolished the Al-Attrash home for the third time, the family, their friends and supporters peacefully resisted the uncalled for use of force and told the soldiers, “Don’t worry, we’ll build another one.”

The doctor who lost 5 members of his family to an attack on his home who works in a hospital bringing hope and healing to all who come through the door of whatever side and has written a book called “Thou shall not hate”.

The activists and the women who camped out at Greenham Common and the Iona community members currently demonstrating against Trident to say nuclear weapons are wrong.

The children in my school who walk away from conflict.

While war is definitely the opposite of peace and is never desirable, peace has a broader meaning. Peace is the mutual emotion of good will between two or more parties. This is true whether it be on the level of a relationship between couples or the relationship between countries. It is interesting to compare these two different sorts of relationships.

How long would a marriage last if the only reason the couple was not fighting and arguing was because the one of them had a large bat and was prepared to use it on the other’s head if they stepped out of line? Of course, we say, the relationship couldn’t last with all of that tension. So why do we think that international relations are any different? Are people really that different as a group than they are individually? Do the emotions of fear, anxiety and anger change because an individual is threatened by the military machine instead of a cricket bat? I don’t believe there is a difference.

The use of force is like putting a plaster on a severed artery. That kind of so called “peace” can last only as long as the dominant party remains strong and has the will to use its power. This has become overwhelmingly clear in the power struggle between Iraq, Afghanistan and America and Britain over the course of this last decade.

The result of security being based on the use of force is that the violence trickles down (or up) into our everyday society. Just look at the headlines of every day’s paper and we quickly see many violent stories. I truly believe that violence just creates more violence.

So how can we begin building peace within ourselves? We need to look at Jesus’ example and like him preach love to a warring world.  We as peace building Christians have a responsibility to spread our peace into this violence and into a hurt and scarred world.

A Chaplain colleague will tell his school this next week.

Shortly we will remember the 11th hour of the 11th day of the 11th month, 1918. And so ended a war they called “great”. Estimates of between 9 million and 16 million soldiers and civilians from both sides died of war related causes in a space of four years. This was “the war to end all wars”. But history shows that we don’t learn from history.

We keep on remembering but then we keep on forgetting. Names of countries cry out war. Afghanistan, Iraq, Kuwait, Democratic Republic of Congo, Sudan, Somalia, Rwanda, The Falkland Islands, The Former Yugoslavia, Burma, Vietnam, Korea the list goes on. Men, Woman and children taking last steps on this earth before a bomb or bullet or booby trap or blow, snuffs out the life of another brother or mother or father or daughter or son.

So it is correct that we remember this week those that have passed on as a result of war. The selfless sacrifice and the senseless slaughter. The faces of the known and unknown. The dead, the dying and the ones that carry the scars both physical and emotional. The conscientious objectors shot for cowardice. The millions of unnamed women and children who are deemed collateral damage. It is right that we remember them all.

In our red poppies we remember those lost in wars past and present but in our white poppies we hold on to the hope of peace. A peace that passes all understanding. You won’t find that kind of peace in the latest game of Call of Duty or in the clenched fist before a fight. You have to find it within and then speak it out.

“Blessed are the peacemakers” Jesus once said “for they shall inherit the earth”. The military and politicians are fighting over the earth. Will the peacemakers win? Maybe it’s up to us to bring out the peace and kill off the war.

I started with that text from the gospel and I want to end with it because we must remember and learn from all who have gone before us and have died, especially the peacemakers. “Now he is a God not of the dead, but of the living, for to him all of them are alive.”

Amen.

An unusual story with a happy ending

A young woman that I first met a couple of years ago came back to the hospital. I met her when her baby died after her womb ruptured. This unusual situation nearly ended the life of the young woman too. Against the odds this woman and her husband had not given up hope of having a child and were now pregnant. She was having to be in hospital for the remainder of her pregnancy. She would get really bored because she felt well but needed to be in or around the hospital in case her womb ruptured again.

I popped up to see her regularly. At one point I visited nearly daily as she started to talk about difficult issues she had faced as she was growing up. I think these issues were coming up because she had so much time to think. Also as you prepare to be a parent, it also makes you think about the parenting that you have received.

 

The baby that died was a girl. I had taken her funeral and had got to know the family a bit through that experience. In between that baby and the boy baby that was now being carried there were other miscarriages and another womb rupture. This pregnancy was indeed a miracle. It felt like the whole hospital community was holding its breath.

 

A healthy baby boy was born to ecstatic parents a few weeks early as there was a fear that the womb wouldn’t hold out. It’s so nice to have a happy ending sometime.

We all have our limitations

One day my bleep went off and I was asked to go to a ward where a 53 year old woman was dying. I arrived at the ward and found out that the woman was in a side room. I was just about to enter the room when a nurse warned me that the patient had head and body lice. I had no time to digest this information as I literally had my hand on the door. I walked in and there was a small woman in the bed, completely covered and with a couple of towels around her head. In the room was her husband and her son and daughter from a previous relationship. I spent sometime talking to them. They seemed to be uncomfortable talking to me. I assumed, rightly or wrongly, that this was because of my clerical collar. It does put some people off. I then feel it’s my job to get over that barrier.

I got them to tell me what had been going on and all I was told was that the woman had had a stroke. I asked them if they wanted me to say some prayers. They said they did so I said my prayers and blessed and anointed the woman as well as inviting them to anoint their loved one. I placed my hand on her head and made the sign of the cross on her forehead. I was acutely aware that this woman would not be touched by many, who would fear catching the head and body lice from her. I just think what if that was someone I loved. I’d want them touched or even what if it was me because, there but for the grace of God.

This woman took about a week to die. During that time I also got to meet her 15 year old son. The family started to talk to me in a more relaxed way.

 

After she died I had a phone call from the undertakers asking me to do the funeral. I’d had no indication from the family that this was what they wanted so I was surprised. I rang the family to make the arrangements for the funeral and was relieved when they said they’d prefer to come and see me at the office rather than me go to their house.

 

I try to be loving and open to everyone I meet but I would have found it difficult to concentrate in an unclean home. Actually it's not so much the cleanliness but bad smells that challenge me. We all have our limitations and I’m aware that that is one of mine.

The husband and youngest son came to see me at work. I got all the info I needed as we chatted over a cuppa. Compared to how they were when we first me they were now quite chatty.

After they left I had to open all the windows. I really felt for the son. He must get bullied at school because of his dishevelled appearance as well as the strong smell of cats. How far does my role extend in these circumstances? Should I point out that they smell? Is it appropriate before the funeral? I decided I needed to get through the funeral and see what happened after that.

The funeral went well but I have never seen the family since then. Did I wimp out but not tackling some of the presenting issues? Probably, but I guess we all have things we could do better.

Will there be LGBT people in heaven? Absolutely!

One day while I was wandering through a ward a man stopped me and asked if he could talk to me. I pulled up a chair and he told me he was an alcoholic. He said he wanted to stop drinking and needed some support. I listened as his story unfolded.

I have lots of experience with alcoholics as my dad and sister both died from alcohol related diseases. It is fairly unusual for an alcoholic to ask for help. This man seemed genuine in his desire to seek help. He told me he had been to AA but not found it helpful. When I pushed him as to why not he finally told me he was gay and felt he wasn’t properly understood. I said that I would find him some local organisations that he could go to and come back with the info.

I was able to find a local gay and lesbian group that ran various support groups as well as a generic counselling service. I rang them to check that this man would be able to use their groups. The man I spoke to was very surprised that a “vicar” was aware of their group and willing to make a referral. When I checked why he was surprised, he told me the only thing they ever got from religious people was hate mail. I explained to him that I thought that sort of behaviour was unacceptable and based on dodgy theology and not all Christians are bigoted. He said he was pleased to talk to someone who was so ordinary.

I think the Church and Christian’s should be ashamed of themselves for giving such a negative view. Jesus only every preached love. Where’s the love in bigotry? Those of you reading this that are not Christian, please don't judge God based on the behaviour of Christians who say you're on the outside only people like me are allowed in. What I have to say to those Christians who preach hatred and bigotry is if you don't like the company you are in here on earth you are not going to like heaven either. Hadn't you noticed the crowd that Jesus knocked about with? Any way enough of my rant...

When I went back to the patient, he was overwhelmed that I had found a support group for him and that it was for gay men. He started to cry. When he had composed himself I told him he had to do all the hard work, all I had done was provide the information. He was being discharged that day, so I wished him well and reminded him that today was the first day of his recovery. He promised me he was going to do it and get the help he needed. I said he needed to make that promise to himself. I gave him a hug and said he had all the answers inside of him and not to be afraid to listen to that still small voice.

I wonder what happened to him?I can only hope that he found the love, support and acceptence that he so badly needed.

No miracle cures

Summer was in full swing when one of our regular patients with cystic fibrosis took a turn for the worse. He had reach 27 years old and was now dying. His mum worked in the hospital. The extended family gathered around him in the side room of our specialist CF ward. There were about 14 people who all took turns to be at his side. Most of them were unable to speak and felt useless at varying times.

 

The nurses were also greatly affected by what was going on. They nurse these young people over a number of years and it must be hard for them. I think specialist units like that should run regular supervision sessions for the staff because of the blurred boundaries that occur in these situations. Staff also need a place where they can safely express their own grief as they get to know these patients and their families in much greater depth than the ordinary run of the mill patients.

 

During those last few hours, the young man was able to say what he wanted to happen to some of his possessions and what music he wanted for his funeral. I was so impressed by the way he was facing his imminent death. His family coped with this but had to leave the room to weep when it got too much. I would just follow each of them out in turn and hold onto them, or stand beside them, until they felt able to carry on. When he stopped breathing, his dad started to shout my name. He wanted me to do something, but what could I do? I also felt useless. I reassured them that it was OK and that the young man was at peace now and no longer struggling with the things that were so difficult for him. I said a prayer and told them to all come and give him a kiss and give him a message to take with him as hearing is the last sense to go. It was all so poignant.

I felt the poignancy more so because the young woman that I had been supporting over the years was also there. I had to take special care of her because I was acutely aware that she was staring into her own future. Life is so tough sometimes.

I was in the privileged position of being able to take this young man’s funeral. It was a grand occasion with lots of laughter as well as tears. I felt it was a very fitting end to a young man who had lived the best life he could despite the awful hand he had been dealt.

A funeral visit with a difference that left me smiling

On this particular day I met a young mother of 4 children. She had gone into labour at 23 weeks with her 5^th child. The baby had lived for 8 hours. What impressed me was the honesty of the encounter. The day I met the woman, she was raw with emotion. She had a friend with her and they were both visibly upset. I blessed the baby and spent time talking to them both. The woman didn’t have much faith in her partner but knew she could rely on her friends. I told her to contact me if she needed anything further.

The next I heard was from a funeral director, who asked me if I would take the baby’s funeral at the mum’s request. I said I would and so contacted the mum to arrange a time to visit her and plan the funeral.

When I arrived at the house all the other children were present, aged 13, 11, 9 and 2. There was also a friend present with a small child. It was the most interesting funeral visit I have ever done. The children were so naturally honest and inquisitive. I was asked questions like “How will the baby get to heaven if he’s body is burnt?” “Will the baby recognise us when we get to heaven?” “What is heaven really like?” The questions went on and on. In between answering these profound and theological questions I was talking to the mum about what she wanted included in the funeral. The whole family decided on what music and reading to have. When I suggested the children write a letter to their baby brother they seemed really pleased.

When I left the house I had a crowd of kids around me and my motorbike asking me questions like “Do I live in a church?” and “Could they have a ride on my bike?” I don’t usually leave funeral visits smiling but I did on that day.

When it came to the funeral all the children had written a letter to their brother and or drawn a picture.

The day of the funeral came. At the beginning of the service the mum broke down and started to weep. The oldest child went and got my colleague from the mortuary, who had also been working closely with the family, and brought him down to sit with her mum. I was touched by the daughter’s thoughtfulness. When it came to it she then read her letter beautifully. The younger children were overwhelmed by the event and gave me their letters to read out. If I’m normally reading a child’s words I read it through with them first just to make sure I get it right. In this instance I had no preparation. I think I managed to work out the spelling and grammar well enough, but it tested me. Afterwards the letters and drawings were put on the tiny coffin.

After the service, as we gathered around outside, my colleague beckoned me over. The children were asking him questions and he said he needed my help to answer. They wanted to know how all the dead people fitted into heaven and was there still enough room for everyone. The look that exchanged between me and my colleague said it all. He was mightily relived that I seemed more qualified to answer the question. The children seemed satisfied with my answer about not needing our bodies, so not taking up so much space.

I love kids and their directness. They often ask questions that adults would really like to know the answers to if only they were brave enough to ask.

A story of perseverence

I can’t believe that I had already entered into my fourth year of hospital chaplaincy. It doesn’t seem like five minutes ago that I was so new and inexperienced and didn’t even know how to find my way around the hospital.

A patient that I had met in my first year was re-admitted. I met her initially when she was in ICU. I was called because she had been told there was nothing more that could be done for her and she was going to die. It just shows you that it’s not always possible to predict what will happen. Some patients do defy the odds and this woman fell into that category.

This patient amazes me and is a testament to my belief that the human spirit can endure much given the right kind of support. When I first me her she was petrified she was going to die. She was not overly religious but was desperately wanting to cling on to something. She asked me to pray with her. What I ended up doing was an Iona healing anointing which she seemed to take great comfort from. As she physically plateaued and hung between that place of death and life, she emotionally deteriorated and sank into despair and depression. Her world shrunk to the size of her bed. She became obsessed with the times that her drugs were due and what doses she was being given. She had lost any perspective on the outside world. She was extremely demanding of the medical staff and they were at a loss as to how to help her. She was on a ventilator for a long time so communication was difficult, but not impossible. What was  important was that neither side got frustrated in the difficult communication process. As she physically got stronger, her anxiety levels increased. She was afraid of her fragility and that she would end up going backwards.

When she was moved out of ICU and into an ordinary ward her depression was at its height. I started visiting her on a daily basis and every day I would take a positive thought with me, which I would print and stick up on the wall which she spent so much time staring at. Part of her problem was that she was an elegant woman, who had a good job and was always immaculately presented. Because of her illness she no longer had a working bowel and had been fitted with a bag, which unfortunately made awful noises. Due to her not being able to maintain any nutrition her hair fell out. Now she was so physically debilitated that instead of getting up and going to work everyday and being in control of her life, she couldn’t even get out of bed or wash herself. No wonder she was depressed!

After a year of being in the hospital she was transferred to a specialist unit, from which she eventually went home.

I got to know her quite well during that year and admired the way she struggled to make herself eat. I watched and encouraged her as she set goals of sitting up and then getting out of bed and then staying out of bed. Sometimes it was a question of 1 step forward and 2 steps backwards. To me what was important was that I continued to journey with her no matter what direction she was going in.

After she left I had a few updates from the nurses about how she was doing at the other hospital but eventually there was no news.

When I saw her back in our hospital I was keen to see how she was after such a gap. She was remarkable. She had adjusted her life to live within the boundaries she now occupied. She knew she would never work again and would not be able to do long haul travel but that didn’t mean she had nothing to live for. It was great to renew our acquaintance and see how far she had come. 

I fed this back to her and said how well I thought she had done. She was much more serene and philosophical. She told me that she wanted me to do her funeral and that she had told her brother what she wanted. It seems that not even the fear of death had kept its hold over her. Even though she was still enduring horrible physical illnesses, emotionally she was on an even keel. She was back with us for a few months before she went back to the specialist unit and then back home.

It’s stories like this that keep me going in the face of such adversity.