Luke 19:36-44 ‘Three Processions to Remember’
The words we hear from Luke’s Gospel this morning describe the atmosphere of a great procession, people lining the way from the Mount of Olives all the way to Jerusalem. Perhaps we can imagine the scene as the people wave palm-branches and, if they don’t have palm branches, their very hands in the air, while the multitude of people joyfully praise God ‘with loud voice’ as they chant, “Blessed is the king, who comes in the name of the Lord! Peace in heaven and glory to highest heaven!”
Yet amid all the joy and celebration, Jesus seems to be feeling alone and vulnerable. As he rounds a bend in the road, and the full panorama of Jerusalem comes into view, Jesus weeps and says, “If you, even you, had only recognised on this day the things that make for peace! But now they are hidden from your eyes. Indeed, the days will come upon you, when your enemies will set up ramparts around you and surround you, and hem you in from every side. They will crush you to the ground, you and your children within you, and they will not leave within you one stone upon another; because you did not recognise the time of your visitation from God.” (NRSV)
I wonder who actually heard those words of Jesus, spoken as they were in the commotion of singing, shouting and movement. I wonder who heard those words about missed opportunities for peace, and the destruction that would come about as a result? It seems that Jesus alone knows what will happen over the days that will follow and his words of caution, swallowed-up as they are in that atmosphere of carnival and celebration, take-on the weight and severity of an Old Testament prophet. Words of warning that the crowds seem blissfully unaware of.
I thought about the imagery surrounding Jesus’ Triumphal Entry into Jerusalem; I ‘soaked-up’ the atmosphere that prevailed that day, along with Jesus words. And it seemed to me that there were many similarities here to the processions we see, participate in and remember in our own living memories. On television we may have seen newsreel footage (from WW1 and WW2) of UK troops marching through towns and cities ready to embark by train, plane and ship to foreign fields of battle. In our minds-eye we can see the bands as they play rousing music, and the streets lined with crowds of people who cheer, wave banners and Union Flags, and whose hearts are so full of national pride as their men leave all that is secure and familiar: their loved-ones, to stem the dark tide that threatens all they hold dear.
I wonder whether those people – the marching forces and the people lining the streets – could possibly have anticipated fully what they would be faced with, over the months and years that would follow the declaration of war and the mobilisation of troops. I wonder whether it would have been thought possible that the UK would have to barricade itself against the opposing force to keep its coastline safe from invasion; that so many villages, towns and cities would face destruction; that no person would be unaffected by brokenness and terror, at home and abroad.
But I wonder too what Jesus’ words would have meant for those who might have thought of them, as man and machine were transported overseas and by air, at those processions through 1914 and 1939? Did Jesus weep once again at this sight as he said, “They will crush you to the ground, you and your children within you, and they will not leave within you one stone upon another…”? If he had spoken these words, I expect they would have been drowned-out once again by the clamour, shouting and cheering of the crowds.
Only those who experienced them know the full horror of the two World Wars. The horrors of war that can only be guessed at by the likes of myself, through the stories of old soldiers, sailors and airmen – and those of the women and children and men who remained at home. The full horrors of war we can only glimpse at today through the eyes of war-artists and poets, and film-makers. And horrors were endures too, suffered by all that fought, by all nationalities. On the battlefields, on (and under) the oceans, in the air and at home, physical wounds and emotional trauma was suffered. No-one escaped the impact of war. And it must have seemed that, for so many, they had been ‘crushed to the ground, them and their children within them, not leaving within them one stone upon another.’ Yet amid the nightmare visions and experiences of war there also existed a remarkable spirit of resilience, community and camaraderie.
The poetry written by those in the trenches testifies to the strength of spirit, the resilience, and even the humour, which enabled the men engaged in battle, and the women and men of the field hospitals, to maintain that all-important spark of encouragement and hope. There are remarkable stories of strength and camaraderie, which stripped-away differences and division between different nationalities fighting alongside – and against – one another. The poignant account of German and British soldiers playing football one Christmas Day during WW1, in ‘no-man’s land’ between the trenches and among the spent bullets and barbed-wire, testifies to the spirit of shared humanity that can exist between people – even in the midst of war. The following poem called ‘German Prisoners’ was written by Joseph Lee (1876–1949). He saw much action in WW1 and was a prisoner of war in Germany, and it also speaks of this shared humanity and compassion.
When first I saw you in the curious street
Like some platoon of soldier ghosts in grey,
My mad impulse was all to smite and slay,
To spit upon you—tread you ’neath my feet.
But when I saw how each sad soul did greet
My gaze with no sign of defiant frown,
How from tired eyes looked spirits broken down,
How each face showed the pale flag of defeat,
And doubt, despair, and disillusionment,
And how were grievous wounds on many a head,
And on your garb red-faced was other red;
And how you stooped as men whose strength was spent,
I knew that we had suffered each as other,
And could have grasped your hand and cried, “My brother!”
You know, I have often hear people saying how they look back on some aspects of the years of WW2 with a certain fondness. The spirit of ‘togetherness’, of ‘community’ and compassion (lit: ‘suffering with’) that prevailed, holding people together, supporting each other, in a shared experience of hardship, pain and grief. “As Jesus came near and saw the city he wept and said, ‘If you, even you, had recognised on this day the things that make for peace.’” Jesus’ words here speak to us today, as we remember the horrors of war and those who served their country – and those who lost their lives. Jesus’ words here speak to us today as we are called to ‘recognise’, and reflect upon the possibilities for, peace between people, nations, and within the communities in which we live. That is, fostering a spirit of ‘togetherness’, of ‘community’, of shared humanity and compassion, looking for things that holding people together, supporting one-another, in a shared experiences of life – good and bad.
We have been thinking about the similarities of the procession of Jesus as he approached Jerusalem and all the pain he suffered, and the procession of troops as they left their homeland to engage in combat and the suffering they – and those they left behind – would experience. And it occurs to me that there is another procession, familiar to us all, and which takes place every year on the 11th hour of the 11th day of the 11th month. A procession of real contrast for, where in the two we have been thinking about thus far (Jesus’ triumphal entry and the departure of troops) there was an atmosphere of carnival and excitement, here we experience the solemnity and sadness of loss. Here the crowds do not cheer or shout with joy, but remain largely silent.
I first witnessed a procession to mark the anniversary of Armistice when, as a young boy, I accompanied my father to the Cenotaph in Central London. I remember the men and women marching as one, with the same stealth and determination as I had seen in the newsreel, when so many of those marching in front of me that day had left to fight in the wars. Here before me were people marching, many in military uniforms, many in civilian clothing, many adorned with medals shining in the sun. And everywhere it seemed was the blood-red of poppies. I thought I noticed that, as they marched in step, in time, on foot and being pushed in wheelchairs, the strange sense that they were in a far-distant place. They seemed to be carrying deep, painful memories of experiences shared with those around them, and many who weren’t there any more. They carried their heads erect and proud, faces as if they were chiselled in stone, yet with eyes glazed and distant, soft and vulnerable. Still today, so many carry with them the disabilities, the scarring (visible and invisible, physical and emotional) caused by wounds inflicted and suffered as a result of war.
That is why we remember, this Remembrance Sunday. We stand in deep appreciation, awe, solemnity and gratitude for those who suffered as a result of war, for those who suffer still, and for those who lost their lives. For all who were crushed to the ground, men, women and children, and for those who found themselves to be broken beyond repair – to the very core of their being.
It was in 1916 that the National Mission of Repentance and Hope rode on the message that war would never end until Christ was ‘enthroned’ in the hearts of all people; that God is love, and that all people made-up God’s family, and that people would continue to destroy themselves until this reality was recognised. Furthermore, their message stated that it was necessary – for Christ’s sake, as for the many dead – that ‘Britain’ would need to be re-built, like Jerusalem, as a fairer, more ‘just’ place. These are words of hope, and of challenge, for us today as they were in 1916. They remind us that God is a God of love, and that as Jesus wept over Jerusalem he lamented the fact that God’s family would not recognise that he was in their midst, prompting their hearts to ways of peace.
Through the power of the Holy Spirit, God is among us – our ‘visitation’ from God – so let us recognise the love and peace he brings us, even amid our memories of war and destruction, and as we remember those who served and died. We remember them. Amen
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Disclaimer: I have been privileged to share with God’s people, for more than ten years since my Ordination, many, many sermons and Bible studies. As so often, preachers ‘absorb’ words and other insights without knowing or remembering their original source. If any of the above seems somehow ‘familiar’, please accept my humble apologies – I have not wittingly reproduced any writing as my own that should be otherwise acknowledged.
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