Workplace sermon 5 : Remembrance Sunday

Matthew 25:1-13

This autumn, whenever it has been allocated to me to preach, we have been looking together at work. Today we are reminded that there are times when we are called away from our work, to fight a great battle. Among the war memorials kept for future generations in this building is that one to the men of the flour mill. Called away from their work. And as eight out of every ten soldiers survived the First World War and returned, there were of course other men called away from the flour mill until the battle was done.

We might not have been called away from our work to fight battles with guns and mortar shells; but many of us have been called away from our work to fight battles. Against cancer. Against depression. Or to fight for the freedom of a close relative whose interior landscape is being invaded by dementia. And then again, for some, to rebuild their lives after the death of their partner or son or daughter in a more recent theatre of war, whether as a soldier or a civilian.

Some of these battles, we will overcome and return to our everyday work, albeit changed by the experience. In some of these battles, we will ultimately lose our lives, or the life of a loved one we have fought for.

In these times, we experience the dark night of the soul. Our beloved Jesus, who in times past might have felt so close, is experienced as in another place, delayed in coming to us. In that dark night, which seems more than we can bear, and where sleep comes as a blessed temporary relief, we need the oil of hope.

Hope is something the value of which is not recognised in our society. We have traded it for a cheaper alternative. We say ‘I hope that it won’t rain tomorrow’ or ‘I hope you are feeling better soon’. We use the word to mean a vague and general wish, which has no power in the world. It has nothing in common with the hope of a new beginning that sustained our parents and grandparents through War. It has nothing in common with the hope that might sustain us as we battle terminal illness.

Our Christian hope is this: that nothing can separate us from the love of God in Christ Jesus our Lord (Romans 8). No matter what we go through, and no matter how we feel; no matter how dark the night or how long the fight; and no matter whether we live or die: we are not abandoned.

Hope is not based on the strength of our will, but on God’s promises, which are in turn grounded in his character.

The oil of hope can be found in the midst of the dark night of the soul, but that is a risky place to find ourselves in. Better to store up hope when we do not need it, to remind ourselves daily of God’s promises – to soak ourselves in them, so that they stain into us – so that the reservoir is at hand when we find ourselves needing to draw on them. Then we do not need to fear the darkness. After all, it is only in the night that a lamp serves any purpose.