THE sustained national pause for thought on Monday night,
centred on Westminster Abbey, with the dimming of lights around the
country and more informal gatherings for prayer and reflection,
often at war memorials, was most welcome, even if it was far from
universally observed. By all accounts the vigil in the Abbey was
thought-provoking and beautiful. If, as a correspondent observes,
it made little concession to a certain kind of popular taste, its
style and content seem to us well judged, particularly given the
occurrence later in the year of the Festival of Remembrance in the
Albert Hall, which usually includes a drumhead service. Moreover,
this is one of those matters in which the C of E is invariably
damned if it does, and damned if it doesn't. More important,
however, is to note the rarity of occasions on which the wider
community is brought together for silence and reflection. Although
Christians and others are naturally moved to prayer, interpretation
can be open-ended; and yet such times are usually brief and
confined to Remembrance in November, or to the aftermath of
traumatic events relatively close to hand, such as the terrorist
attacks of 2001 and 2005. The Great War, as we know, was early on
described as a "war to end war": a misnomer. It seems a paradox
that, given, for example, the horrific actions being taken against
Christians in Iraq, any powerful demonstration of national
solidarity with those who suffer today so greatly is unlikely to
take place until an entire community's fate is beyond human help.
As we heard in Isaac Rosenberg's poem from the Abbey: "Red fangs
have torn His face. God's blood is shed. He mourns from His lone
place His children dead."