As Remembrance day approaches, this is an encouraging blog by Stuart Hull. 'Remembrance, he says, should be more than remembering.' Using Paul's letter to the Romans, Revd Hull delivers a message of drawing courage from God's word and holding on to the true hope we have in Christ.
Trenches are back. They never really left, of course. A common theme of military training remains the digging of defensive positions to provide protection for otherwise vulnerable infantry. In fact, if you were to look across many of the training grounds here in the UK and those across our partner nations on the continent, you would see a growing pattern of criss-cross dugouts winding through farm and woodland.
The advance of drone technology and the thunder of artillery dominate much of modern warfare, with daily lessons being learned as the war in Ukraine continues. Yet amongst each advancement in the science of war, scenes that feel like they belong to a First World War history book have violently re-emerged.
The trenches of our training grounds are claustrophobic and difficult to navigate. Damp wooden panels uphold dingy dugouts. The crack of training ammunition reverberates along the muddy corridors, but the loss of vision around a blind corner stops troops seeing how many enemies may lie beyond. The trench system becomes congested as casualties mount. It is heavy with smoke, and loud with the sound of grenades as enemy positions are breached.
As I follow behind, I speak to those who are left in the wake of a fresh assault. Since this is merely a training exercise, I am blessed that they are able to talk back to me. As a chaplain I carry no weapon, and my ammo pouches contain Snickers bars and chocolate Freddos. My daysack shifts across my shoulders, weighed down with the comparatively light burden of a pocket communion kit, a small tube of anointing oil, camo-adorned New Testaments, and spare bandages and tourniquets. Each item has its place in the trench, and without my prompting, the conversation often turns to God.
In these moments you cannot help but think of those who have faced real conflict amongst the wire and mud; those who have gone before us, and those, not so very far away, who are fighting in very real trenches today.
The testimony of our TV screens tells us that trenches are indeed back, and the witness of history reminds us of what that can mean. So, we remember, and we prepare.
Remembrance must always be more than remembering.
Taking active inspiration from the memory of those who have fought before us remains a long-standing military and Christian tradition. Countless parish greens across the UK centre around a plinth that lists the names of those whose lives were lost in the trenches. In addition to these honoured dead, I cannot help but think of those saints who have fought the good fight long before me, and I am drawn to Romans, chapter 16.
Like a grand military campaign, the scope of Paul’s epistle to the Roman church is vast and often daunting. The evil of sin is clearly defined, its destructive power deafening, and its pervading darkness obscuring the path before us. The enemy often acts unseen, operating with a vast array of weaponry that seeks to distance us from our true calling to draw closer to God. The diverse and fledgling Roman church must have felt this keenly, sheltering within the heart of an empire that was a master of war, and glorified in violence both in battle and the arena. Yet Paul’s message of hope to them remains undimmed. He spoke to them of a single righteous act that had won for them a greater victory than ever could have been dreamed of by Julius Caesar or Nero: the cross of Christ.
Many have commented that Romans 16 seems distinctly out of step with the rest of Paul’s letter. Its ending with such an exceptionally long list of personal greetings appears odd to many. However, this is to miss the point that Romans is not principally an academic treatise. It is a letter written to support a church that was preparing for war.
Ultimately, wars are fought by individuals, often drawn together from disparate communities for a common purpose. The church in Rome would be no stranger to persecution, and with his list of personal commendations Paul brings to the fore the efforts of individuals whose names would have otherwise been lost to history were it not for their gospel ministry.
Whether you are the sole Christian in your office, or the senior minister of a large church, ministry can be lonely. Sometimes the way ahead appears uncertain, and our efforts can feel isolated, but we can draw courage from the fact that we follow in the line of not just Paul, but also Phoebe, Junia, Apelles and Tryphena.
Their reference in Scripture is tiny, and their great deeds unlisted, but their names are now written in eternity. They are remembered because they became part of a larger narrative than themselves; they gave themselves wholly to something greater. It is not necessary to list their deeds, it is simply enough to know that they were commissioned as ambassadors for the Kingdom, and in their own way, they fought the good fight.
That same fight is ours too. But our battle is not against flesh and blood, and our courage must always be bound up with the love that God has for his broken world. We may feel unseen, lost in the midst of our own battles, but we must always remember that our day-to-day efforts are intertwined with the hope of eternity, just like Apelles, and just like Tryphena.
We honour those who sacrificed their lives for their country, and we hold dear the names of those who were faithful custodians of the gospel of Jesus.
Because Remembrance is about more than simply remembering. Because of Jesus, hope is back.
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Revd Stuart Hull is a Church of England minister who trained at Wycliffe Hall. He serves as an Army Chaplain.
Views expressed in blogs published by the Latimer Trust are those of the authors and do not necessarily represent the official position of the Latimer Trust