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Karen Hollis | Nov 10, 2024 Remembrance Day
Matthew 25:34-40 Then the king will say to those at his right hand, ‘Come, you who are blessed by my Father, inherit the kingdom prepared for you from the foundation of the world, for I was hungry and you gave me food, I was thirsty and you gave me something to drink, I was a stranger and you welcomed me, I was naked and you gave me clothing, I was sick and you took care of me, I was in prison and you visited me.’ Then the righteous will answer him, ‘Lord, when was it that we saw you hungry and gave you food or thirsty and gave you something to drink? And when was it that we saw you a stranger and welcomed you or naked and gave you clothing? And when was it that we saw you sick or in prison and visited you?’ And the king will answer them, ‘Truly I tell you, just as you did it to one of the least of these brothers and sisters of mine, you did it to me.’”
May the words of my mouth and the meditations of all our hearts be reflections of your word to us today, in Christ’s name we pray. Amen
We come to this day of Remembrance with complexity. While we come to remember those servants who have gone before us and are still with us, we are also looking ahead, wondering what is coming next for our world. We come to this day both individually and collectively, because while tomorrow is a national day of remembrance, it is also deeply personal. I don’t really come from a military family, but even I have a grandfather who served. Lives of service, regardless of the context, deeply shape people and families.
I have a good friend who is retired military. She talks about the best quality of military personnel as that instinct to run toward trouble, asking: “how can I help?” She says, even when engaging in a conflict, you’re focused on the people around you: the people you’re there to help and the people with whom you’re serving. Among military personnel there is a deep desire to be of service, no matter the cost or outcome.
While we have many examples of those who put service above self, on this day, I like to remember St. Martin of Tours, who the church lifts up on Remembrance Day because of his military service and unwavering commitment to the common good.
If you aren’t familiar with St. Martin, his story is worth knowing. He lived in France in the 4th century; he was a soldier, a priest, and a bishop . . . above all he was human, and it was his ability to connect on a human level that made him good at all of his vocations. The celebrated story of St. Martin takes place during his military service. It was winter, a particularly cold winter, and while riding along on his horse, Martin encountered people who were under-clothed, shivering, and reaching their hands out in need. He was moved with compassion and offered each person he met an article of clothing. As he rode into the French town (ah-mee-ahn) Amiens, he encountered yet another person freezing in the cold. Martin, with only his cloak left to clothe himself, took it off, cut it in half with his sword, giving half to the man, keeping the other for himself.
There were people on the street watching him; some laughed because he was quite improperly dressed. But others who had more depth of understanding, groaned deeply because they themselves had not acted with such compassion . . . realizing that they had much more to give than Martin, and could have clothed the man without reducing themselves to nakedness.
That night Martin had a dream that Christ came to him wrapped in the piece of cloak he had given away, saying, “Martin, who is still but a catechumen, clothed me with his robe.”
Martin demonstrated his understanding that in his role of soldier, he was there to serve. It was his job to meet people on a human level and alleviate suffering where he could. He applied this knowledge later as a bishop, at a time when, as one commentator put it, Christianity was becoming the “Roman empire at prayer” and any deviation from the sanctioned theology and practice was seen as a threat to society. The emperor offered to send troops to suppress a heresy in Spain, and Martin alone opposed this decision. It wasn’t that he approved of heresy, rather he knew it was an improper use of the military. It is their role to help, not to overpower people.
Martin was never popular among the other bishops, and while this move didn’t help, he was much more concerned with living in the way Jesus taught. In every age, Jesus teaches us a way of being together that supports the continuity of life. Jesus helped people clear their eyes to see the world differently; he identified corrupt behaviours; he called out people in power for their unjust actions and affirmed those who gave selflessly; he taught alternatives to violence through healing and reconciliation. Jesus modeled for us how to meet people where they are, whether they are struggling with disease, scraping together the means to survive, or wrestling with themselves; Jesus teaches us how to meet one another in our humanity. St. Martin, like so many we remember and honour today, kept this central as engaged the stuff of his time and place.
As we look around at the world today, like so many have done before us, we see lots of opportunity to meet one another in our humanity. It’s a bit stunning that we are where we are and it is natural to wonder as we engage in our time and place: is this of God? What is God up to here? Or perhaps we need a reminder of what we have to stand on in times such as these.
I invite us to return to the image of the world as God’s body. God’s body is the created universe, which includes our earth and all created beings. God is still greater than God’s body in the same way we are more than our bodies alone. As such, God doesn’t keep all the power for God’s self, rather God shares with every created being. And since we all bring different needs and gifts to the table, all with a desire to thrive, things get messy. And at times, the goodness of God is distorted and becomes what we refer to as sin and evil – they are distortions of the good. Even when the distortions become monstrous, they don’t represent another reality – they don’t have an identity on their own. Everything that exists is a part of God . . . the goodness of God is the foundation of all.1
So, is this of God? . . . perhaps it is a unique distortion of God’s goodness. It does not come from God or have any existence outside of God . . . and so is not in charge, all appearances to the contrary. In the wise words of Sallie McFague, “God may not control all events, but God is in charge. We are partners with God in helping the world to flourish.” In ways we do not understand but believe to be true, all is ultimately held in the hands of God, as we know in the resurrection.
Like those who came before us, we are partners with God and we get to decide who we will be, how we show up, what we do. Our job is not to fix everything, but to do something. Let us join with the helpers of every kind to harness the goodness of God for the common good. Thanks be to God.
1 Sallie McFague, A New Climate for Theology p. 77-78.