A letter from the Vicar

Remembering the Past, Building Peace

‘In Flanders’ fields the poppies blow between the crosses, row on row, that mark our place: and in the sky the larks, still bravely singing, fly scarce heard amid the guns below.’

These familiar lines open John McCrae’s poem In Flanders Fields, first published in Punch magazine in 1915. Written amid the devastation of the First World War, the poem gave lasting expression to grief, courage and remembrance. Its image of poppies growing among soldiers’ graves became closely associated with those who had died, and the poppy remains an important symbol of sacrifice in conflicts across the years. Each time it is worn, laid at a memorial or seen in a field, it invites us to pause. Yet remembrance must be more than a familiar annual custom. It asks a searching question: why do we remember?

We remember first because every death in war represents a human life. Behind the names carved on memorials were people with families, friendships, hopes and ordinary routines. They belonged to communities like ours. Some volunteered; others were called to serve. Many endured fear, separation and suffering that those who live in peace can barely imagine. Remembering prevents their lives from becoming mere numbers in a history book. It honours their service, acknowledges the grief carried by those left behind and recognises the cost that war imposes on people long after the fighting ends.

Remembrance also challenges us to face the reality of conflict honestly. It can be tempting to look back only at bravery and victory, but a faithful act of remembrance must also make room for sorrow, destruction and regret. We can be grateful for courage without glorifying war. We can honour service while still longing for a world in which such sacrifice is no longer required. Silence, prayer and reflection create space for both gratitude and lament: gratitude for those who gave so much, and lament that human relationships so often break down into violence.

The prophet Micah offers a vision that speaks powerfully into this tension: ‘They will beat their swords into ploughshares and their spears into pruning hooks. Nation will not take up sword against nation, nor will they train for war anymore.’ (Micah 4:3). Writing around seven hundred years before Christ, Micah spoke during a period of invasion, insecurity and upheaval, when Samaria fell to Assyria. His words did not ignore the harsh realities of his time. Instead, they proclaimed that violence would not have the final word. Weapons designed to destroy would be reshaped into tools that cultivate life. Nations would no longer organise themselves around fear and hostility, but would learn a different way of living together.

For Christians, this hope is seen in the kingdom of God established by Jesus. Christ calls people away from hatred, revenge and exclusion, and towards reconciliation, mercy and love. This does not make the pursuit of peace simple or sentimental. True peace is more than the absence of open conflict. It is not achieved merely when weapons fall silent or when disagreement is hidden. Biblical peace is rooted in right relationships: with God, with one another and with the world entrusted to our care. It requires justice, because there can be no lasting peace where people are oppressed, ignored or denied dignity. It requires truth, because wounds cannot be healed by pretending they do not exist. It also requires forgiveness, patience and the courage to begin again.

Micah’s image therefore gives remembrance a practical purpose. If swords are to become ploughshares, the things that divide and damage must be transformed into means of growth. That work may begin on an international scale, but it also begins close to home. We build peace when we listen before judging, speak truth without cruelty and refuse to treat another person as an enemy. We build it when we challenge prejudice, make room for those who feel excluded and seek fairness for people whose voices are rarely heard. We build it when disagreement does not become contempt, and when we choose reconciliation rather than nurturing resentment.

These choices matter in our families, workplaces, churches and neighbourhoods. Peace may begin with an apology offered sincerely, a difficult conversation approached gently or practical help given without expectation of reward. It can be expressed by welcoming a stranger, supporting someone who is isolated or refusing to pass on words that inflame fear. Such actions may appear small beside the scale of war, but habits of peace are formed through everyday decisions. Communities become compassionate and resilient when people learn to recognise one another’s dignity, bear one another’s burdens and work together for the common good.

Remembrance also calls us to pay attention to those affected by conflict today. We can pray for people living amid violence, for those forced from their homes, for members of the armed forces and for all who carry physical or hidden wounds. We can support organisations that relieve suffering and help communities rebuild. We can encourage leaders to pursue justice, diplomacy and the protection of human life. Above all, we can resist indifference. The distance between our own lives and another person’s suffering must not become an excuse to look away.

Micah continues: ‘We will walk in the name of the Lord our God for ever and ever.’ (Micah 4:5). This is not simply a statement of belief; it is a commitment to a way of life. To walk in God’s name is to allow worship to shape our conduct. It means asking whether our words heal or wound, whether our choices deepen division or create understanding, and whether our communities reflect God’s concern for justice and compassion. Peace is not passive. It is a daily discipline sustained by prayer, humility and the guidance of God’s Spirit.

As we remember those who have died in war, we therefore look in two directions. We look back with gratitude and sorrow, refusing to forget the cost paid by others. We also look forward with hope, committing ourselves to the peace of which Micah spoke. Remembrance is most faithful when it changes how we live: when memory becomes compassion, gratitude becomes service and sorrow strengthens our resolve to seek reconciliation.

Let us ask God’s Spirit to make us people of peace, justice and compassion in today’s world. May our remembrance honour the fallen not only through words and ceremonies, but through lives devoted to healing division and cultivating hope. And as we keep silence, pray and stand together, may we say with humility and determination: ‘They shall grow not old as we that are left grow old: Age shall not weary them, nor the years condemn. At the going down of the sun and in the morning we will remember them.’

Rev Scott