Powers, Principalities and Prayers: Two Talks for Lent at Wells

Powers, Principalities and Prayers: Two Talks for Lent at Wells

The Very Revd Canon Professor Martyn Percy, Dean of Christ Church

It is said there are no atheists in the trenches. And perhaps when we are so particularly conscious of the anniversary of the end of the Great War this year, we remember the appalling suffering of the soldiers in the trenches; the mud, the blood; the pointless loss; the deaths endured for just a few inches of soil; the stupidity and futility of conflict. War makes as many atheists, I suspect, as it does turn people to God. But the phrase persists. There are no atheists in the trenches because we’ll clutch at anything in hour of deepest, darkest need; and in the hope of deliverance.

The First World War did some might strange things to Europe, and to our country especially. It took place in a context of social and political upheaval. The Revolution that came in Russia in 1917 was coming anyway. The Great War just paused it; then hastened it. Revolution was coming in Germany too. And in Britain, the end of the Victorian Era and the tired, tattered threads of Edwardian establishment had seen, amongst other things, the amazing birth of Socialism, and the movement for Women’s Suffrage - the Representation of the People Act enacted as law on February 6th 1918, giving women over the age of 30 the Vote. Revolution, let us remember, is not an event. It is, rather, a process. And such processes take years to unfold. Put simply, the Great War changed our relationship with the Establishment forever. It marked the end of class-based deferral; upstairs-downstairs ended, and our meritocracy began.

History is a common meadow in which all can make hay, as the Spanish Proverb has it. So what sort of history would I tell of the Great War, and of God? A number of things come to mind. The first of which, is that this was the first ‘mechanised’ war on European soil. Eyewitness to the American Civil War, some fifty years earlier, had been appalled at the slaughter caused by rapid-firing rifles. By the damage done by fast-powered ‘ironclads’ at sea, and early submersibles; and by the possibilities of rapid deployment of troops using railways. We sometimes forget that Wellington and Napoleon took the same time to cover distances with their armies as it had taken Julius Caesar and Hannibal to move across Europe. Machines move more people, and faster; they kill more people, and faster. Even without disease. But that spreads fast too. The Spanish Flu’ moved quickly because there was considerable social mobility, than say, for the time of the Black Death or Great Plague of London.

And in the midst of this, people’s ideas of God change. Or rather, God in relation to human suffering - what theologians call ‘theodicy’: how to understand evil in the world, when we are supposed to believe in an Omnipotent God of Love. In some ways, that is one of the main changes that the Great War brought Europe. There had been mechanised death in the American Civil War, and even in the Boer Wars. But Flanders Fields were ‘home’. Germans who went to the Front all wore utility belts bearing the legend ‘Gott Mit Unst’ - God with us. But God was with the Allies too. God was everywhere and nowhere. And for the first time in a continental war, since the seventeenth century, really, God was no longer a cause to invoke in the name of tribal, national or denominational superiority. The machines were the Gods.

That’s why, I think folk religion and superstition burst upon the trenches like shrapnel. ‘The shell has your name on it’ and ‘your number is up’ are two typical sentiments. Fate replaced faith. And yet, the chaplains could be heroes. There is a wonderful story told of Studdert Kennedy – or Woodbine Willie, as he is sometimes known. He was Ripon Hall alumnus, and Studdert Kennedy understood that Christian ministry – like Christ’s own ministry – was getting out into the world, and into those tough and demanding places that may require the ultimate sacrifice. In the trenches one day, Studdert-Kennedy heard of a small party of soldiers marooned in no-man’s land, trying to save a colleague. He crawled out, under fire, to meet them. ‘Who are you?’ asked one startled soldier when Studdert-Kennedy eventually reached them. ‘The Church’, he replied. ‘What on earth are you doing here?’ asked the solder. ‘My job’ replied Studdert-Kennedy.

So I think the Great War changed our attitudes to principalities and powers. An edge of cynicism and fate crept in to the new age of the twentieth century. But it was also an age that demanded equality, and did not respect, of right, the old order. The Church too, struggled. Arthur Winnington-Ingram (1858-1946) was bishop of London from 1901 to 1939. He has been known as the “bellicose bishop” for his extremely enthusiastic support of British involvement in World War I. He was no averse to running “Billy Graham Style Rallies” on the steps of St. Paul’s Cathedral, under a large banner proclaiming, “Here I am, Send me” - ripped off from the Isaiah chapter six, verse eight.

Winnington Ingram believed in the civilizing mission of the British Empire, and he disparaged the German people in terms that verged on jingoism and xenophobia. He gave speeches to recruit volunteers for the war effort, and he encouraged the younger clergy of his diocese to enlist as combatants. Stories propagated by Winnington Ingram included the crucifixion of cats, nailed to Belgian church doors by the ‘Heathen Hun’, Nuns raped, and so forth. Winnington Ingram regarded conscientious objectors - who were jailed for refusing to enlist - with particular distaste, and joined with others in suggesting that they should either be incarcerated in London areas most likely to bombed by zeppelins; or, perhaps, drugged and then dressed in military uniform, and then shipped across to France - where they could be legally shot by firing squad if they still refused to fight.

It was Bonhoeffer who, many years ago, said God loved us enough to see Christ pushed out of the world and onto the cross. God usually meets us in weakness, compassion and love; not in absolute power. Most people know the so-called ‘Serenity Prayer’ – or at least the first part of it. Very few, however, know that the original was written by Reinhold Niebuhr in the darkest days of the Second World War. The prayer goes like this:

God, grant me grace to accept with serenity, the things that cannot be changed;courage to change the things which should be changed;and the wisdom to know the difference…Living one day at a time, enjoying one moment at a time, accepting hardship as a pathway to peace; and taking, as Jesus did, this sinful world as it is. Not as I would have it, but trusting that you will make all things right, if I but surrender to your will. So that I may be reasonably happy in this life; and supremely happy with you forever in the next. Amen.

Many soldiers were given this prayer as they left America for Europe; or indeed England for Normandy on D-Day. And that’s the point, surely. God hears the prayer from the trenches. God has become one of us. He has loved us enough to live for us, as one of us, and amongst us. He is no stranger to our despair. He is with us – this is what Emmanuel means. He loves us where we are, and walks with us in the valley of the shadow (Ps. 23) – he is comfort in the dark and desolate places.

So let me end, finally, by pointing a Chaplain in the Great War that I have touched on in this brief homily. I have already remarked that one of the main changes in the Great War was that ordinary people lost touch with the Establishment, and no longer trusted it. This is caught beautifully by a War Poet, who criticizes a Bishop that has more than a passing resemblance to the establishment figure that was Bishop Arthur Foley Winnington-Ingram:

The Bishop tells us...

When the boys come back, they will not be the same: for they will have fought

in a just cause. They lead the last attack on anti-Christ; their comrade’s blood

has bought new right to breed an honourable race. They have challenged

death... and met him, face to face.

We’re none of us the same! The boys reply

For George lost both his legs,

And Bill’s stone blind;

Poor Jim’s shot through the lungs and like to die.

And Bert’s gone syphilitic – You’ll not find a chap who’s served that hasn’t found some change!

And the Bishop said: The ways of God are strange

But in contrast to the Bishop, War-time Chaplains emerged with a lot of credit, and did much to restore people’s faith in God - but not necessarily the established church. Geoffrey Studdert Kennedy (“Woodbine Willie”) (1883-1929) was a chaplain in World War I. He was given the nickname “Woodbine Willie” for offering Woodbine cigarettes along with pastoral care to soldiers in the trenches. His experiences in war led him to be a pacifist, and to make presentations for the Industrial Christian Fellowship after the war. His experiences in war caused him to re-examine his faith and to publish his theology. He also published poetry with “rough rhymes” that reflected the horror of his war-time experiences as well as questions and prayers of faith. He wrote After War, Is Faith Possible?.

Ultimately, our Prayer in Lent is the same as the Prayer from the Trenches: ‘hear my prayer, O God – and let our cry come unto thee’. He will not forsake us. Even in our darkest hours. So, may God bless you this Lent, as you walk in the Way of the Cross that leads us through all darkness and suffering, and to resurrection light. Amen.

God Today: The Aftermath of the Great War

Let me begin with a poem.

So Abram rose, and clave the wood, and went,

And took the fire with him, and a knife.

And as they sojouned both of them together,

Isaac the first-born spake and said, My Father,

Behold the preparations, fire and iron,

But where the lamb for this burnt offering?

Then Abram bound the youth with belts and straps,

And builded parapets and trenches there,

And stretched forth the knife to slay his son.

When lo! An angel called him out of heaven,

Saying, Lay not thy hand upon the lad,

Neither do anything to him. Behold,

A ram, caught in a thicket by its horns;

Offer the Ram of Pride instead of him.

But the old man would not so, and slew his son,...

And half the seed of Europe...one...by...one.

Faith can be tested by war, and people of faith may struggle desperately to find God in the midst of the carnage and suffering that war brings. But war may at times summon the best as well as the worst from humanity. Bravery, loyalty, determination, and heroic self-sacrifice may be demonstrated during war, perhaps in ways that could not have been imagined in advance. The vulnerability and risk of war can be an occasion for some to find God present in powerful ways, and for some to commit themselves in faith. Others may discover these revelations and strengths in their opposition to war or a particular conflict.

Questions of faith and meaning are inevitable in war. Some of the questions may be essentially the same questions that Christians face at all times, but the asking and the answering may have an intensity and imperative quality during war that is much less frequently encountered during times of relative peace. Austin Farrer, perhaps the greatest Anglican theologian of the twentieth century, concludes his book Finite and Infinite, a lengthy and detailed study of philosophical theology, with a surprising and poignant reflection on recent news:

As I wrote this, the German armies were occupying Paris, after campaign

prodigal of blood and human distress. Rational theology will not tell us whether

this has or has not been an unqualified and irretrievable disaster to mankind and

especially to the men who died. It is another matter, if we believe that God

Incarnate also died, and rose from the dead. But rational theology knows only

that whether Paris stands or falls, whether men die or live, God is God, and so

long as any spiritual creature survives, God is to be adored.[*]

How do theologians respond to war? For many people, William Porcher DuBose (1836-1918), considered by many the most creative theologian in the history of the Episcopal Church, was a line officer (combatant) and later a chaplain during the American Civil War. He was wounded in combat, taken prisoner of war, and also suffered through the losses of family and security due to the Civil War. His experiences of loss and suffering were formative for his theology of the cross and its role in salvation. He recalls his war-time experiences in his spiritual autobiography Turning Points in My Life.

Paul Jones (1880-1941) was the Missionary Bishop of Utah during World War I. He was also a socialist and pacifist who opposed American participation in World War I. He urged the teaching of the Sermon on the Mount should not be ignored, and the church should not become “the willing instrument of a national government.” His position proved unpopular for some in the Episcopal Church of his era, and the House of Bishops forced him to resign. Bishop Jones had a role in the founding of the Episcopal Pacifist Fellowship, which later became the Episcopal Peace Fellowship.

George Bell (1883-1958) was Dean of Canterbury Cathedral and bishop of Chichester. Bell supported the anti-Hitler confessing church movement in Germany during World War II. Bell unsuccessfully tried to gain British government support for the resistance movement in Germany. He realized all Germans were not Nazis. Bell opposed the saturation bombing of Germany by the Allies. He believed the indiscriminate bombing of civilian non-combatants would cause the Allies to lose the moral high ground in the war. Bell supported bombing of industrial and military targets. His opposition to carpet bombing was politically unpopular, and may have prevented him from being named Archbishop of Canterbury. Bonhoeffer’s last letter was to Bell. And the person that the German Protestant pastor Martin Niemoller wanted to see first, after the war had ended, was Bell.

So we have been thinking about the Prayers from the Trenches. And I want to suggest to you that we work our doctrines of God out by the manner in which we seek to pray. Yes, the God you pray to is the God you tend to believe in. So what can we say about prayer – and especially in this season of Lent?

According to the American writer, Anne Lamott, the prayer of the Daily Offices can be simply summarised. Morning Prayer, she suggests, can be condensed into a single word: ‘whatever’. And Evening Prayer needs only two words: ‘ah, well…’. Lamott says elsewhere there are only three other prayers, really: ‘Help’, ‘Thanks’ and ‘Wow!’. We perhaps spend too much time asking, she suggests – pleading, really – and not enough thanking. And very little time just saying of and to God, ‘wow’. Lamott would also agree with Woody Allen: ‘If you want to make God laugh, tell him your future plans.’

Prayer, I suppose, is one of those activities that Christians (indeed, folk of all faiths) engage in, but seldom pause to consider what it is they are doing. The habitual, impromptu and mysterious nature of prayer is part of its fascination. Here we have the language of faith, of desire, of hope, of healing – and even occasionally of justification and commination. And occasionally the quirky: ‘Hail, Mary, full of grace, help me find a parking space’: a prayer that not only rhymes, but also seems to work – for some.

Several years ago I was an honorary Chaplain to a professional Rugby Club. I performed all the usual duties. Perhaps inevitably, in all the fracas and fury of a game the name of God would often be invoked by the supporters. And after that crucial-but-missed-kick, my neighbour might turn to me and say, 'I don't think your boss is helping us much today.' The retort from me: 'Sorry. But I'm more sales and marketing, not production...'

In rugby, the wages of sin are a penalty. When there was a kick for goal, a prayerful hush would descend on the ground. Invariably, my fellow fan might turn to me again and exhort me to pray ('Say one for us, Padre...' – the classic request, so beloved of our vernacular spirituality). If the kick went over, I would be thanked for my successful prayers. If it missed, I’d be asked why God no longer favours the home side! And this is the heart of the matter. Every passionate sport fan prays. But does God intervene to answer prayers?