A Sermon by Sydney V. (Skip) Jackson — January 3, 2010
Indianola Presbyterian Church, Columbus, Ohio
Texts:  Isaiah 2:1-4;  Luke 2:8-14

…neither shall they learn war anymore. — Isaiah 2:4b

…on earth peace, good will among people. — Luke 2:14b

Two weeks ago the youth Sunday school class presented a portrayal of the first Christmas, making use of certain Beatles songs to highlight some of what they’d been learning in class about Luke’s telling of the birth of Jesus.  As I watched and listened, I thought of how very appropriate “A Hard Day’s Night” was for the shepherds to be singing, beyond just the difficult labor of “shepherds living in the fields, keeping watch over their flocks by night.”  (How many of you have had to work the overnight shift?)  “It’s been a hard day’s night, and I’ve been working like a dog.”  Figuratively, shepherds were regarded as being little more than dogs.  They were considered ritually unclean and distrusted on account of their frequent contact with foreigners, so distrusted in fact that they weren’t allowed to give testimony in court.  It was a good song choice, as was Mary singing John Lennon’s “Beautiful Boy (Darling Boy)” to the baby Jesus.

 
As the portrayal went on, I admit I was a bit taken aback by “Great Groovy One” as a name for God.  Still, I’m sure I’ve named God in ways that left some of you similarly taken aback.  But then the youth closed their presentation by singing Lennon’s “Happy Christmas,” which begins with the line they used as the title of their portrayal, “So This Is Christmas.”  Once again we heard that quintessential Christmas dream of peace—“And so happy Christmas, for black and for white, for yellow and red ones; let’s stop all the fights.”  And I found myself profoundly moved and tears welled up as I listened to the voices of our IPC children singing the last lines of the song: “War is over, if you want it; war is over now.”

 

Here is Isaiah’s great vision—that “[nations] shall beat their swords into ploughshares, and their spears into pruning-hooks; nation shall not lift up sword against nation, neither shall they learn war any more.”  Here is the angel’s song of promise in Luke: “Glory to God in the highest heaven, and on earth peace, good will among people.”  The season of Christ’s birth turns hearts and minds to the dream of peace on earth—even in times of great trial and desolation.

On Christmas Day in 1864, in the fourth year of the deadliest war in our nation’s history, the Civil War, Henry Wadsworth Longfellow took pen in hand as he listened to the church bells that morning.  And he wrote the poem “Christmas Bells” about this dream of peace.  We know it as a familiar carol from its first line:

I heard the bells on Christmas day
Their old familiar carols play,
And wild and sweet the words repeat
Of peace on earth, good will to men.

Longfellow had just received word that his son, a lieutenant in the Army of the Potomac, had been severely wounded in battle.  Abraham Lincoln had just been re-elected President, but the war was going badly, and it seemed as if the din of battle might drown out the message of church bells.  Most hymnals don’t print the poem’s fourth and fifth verses, and we almost never sing them.

Then from each black, accursed mouth
The cannon thundered in the South,
And with the sound the carols drowned
Of peace on earth, good will to men.

It was as if an earthquake rent
The hearth-stones of a continent,
And made forlorn, the households born
Of peace on earth, good will to men.

Longfellow’s wife had died three years earlier in a fire.  He himself had been badly burned.  Now his son lies wounded in this horrible war.  You can hear his deep sorrow and despair in the sixth verse of his poem:

And in despair I bowed my head
“There is no peace on earth,” I said,
“For hate is strong and mocks the song
Of peace on earth, good will to men.”

But the Christmas dream of peace will not succumb.  It is God’s dream, after all, and so will prevail  In the final verse of the poem, the bells speak louder:

Then pealed the bells more loud and deep:
“God is not dead, nor doth He sleep;
The wrong shall fail, the right prevail
With peace on earth, good will to men.”

Fifty years later on Christmas Eve, 1914, peace broke out yet again in the midst of the terror and tumult of war—a war that was, with fifteen million killed, one of the deadliest conflicts in human history.  It was the first war to be billed as a “World” War, and by its close it was known as the “War to End All Wars.”  How ironic is that?  War upon war has followed WWI, almost in lock step.  And we know full well that war does not, indeed cannot, ever put an end to war.  Only love can do that.  Incidentally, there is one lone remaining U.S. Veteran of WWI, 108-year-old Frank Buckles, of West Virginia, who recently testified before Congress in support of a National WWI Memorial.  When he dies, death will indeed “End All Wars,” but only for all those Americans like Frank Buckles who fought in the “War to End All Wars.”

The peace that is known as the Christmas Truce occurred as a brief, unofficial pause in hostilities for as many as 100,000 British and German troops at a number of scattered locations along the Western Front in 1914.  (A photo taken near Ypres, Belgium, appears on the bulletin cover.)  In 1984, folk singer John McCutcheon wrote a song based on the Christmas Truce of 1914 called “Christmas in the Trenches” in which he captures the essence of what occurred as reported by soldiers on both sides in letters they wrote home to loved ones.

My name is Francis Tolliver, I come from Liverpool. 
Two years ago the war was waiting for me after school.
To Belgium and to Flanders, to Germany, to here,
I fought for King and country I love dear.

’Twas Christmas in the trenches, where the frost so bitter hung,
The frozen fields of France were still, no Christmas song was sung.
Our families back in England were toasting us that day,
Their brave and glorious lads so far away.
I was lying with my messmate on the cold and rocky ground
When across the lines of battle came a most peculiar sound.
Says I, “Now listen up, me boys!”  Each soldier strained to hear
As one young German voice sang out so clear.

“He’s singing bloody well, you know!” my partner says to me.
Soon, one by one, each German voice joined in in harmony.
The cannons rested silent, the gas clouds rolled no more,
As Christmas brought us respite from the war.

As soon as they were finished and a reverent pause was spent,
“God Rest Ye Merry, Gentlemen” struck up some lads from Kent.
The next they sang was “Stille Nacht.” “’Tis ‘Silent Night’,” says I.
And in two tongues one song filled up that sky.

“There’s someone coming toward us!” the front line sentry cried.
All sights were fixed on one long figure trudging from their side.
His truce flag, like a Christmas star, shown on that plain so bright
As he, bravely, strode unarmed into the night.

Soon one by one on either side walked into No Man’s Land.
With neither gun nor bayonet we met there hand to hand.
We shared some secret brandy and we wished each other well,
And in a flare-lit soccer game we gave ’em hell.

We traded chocolates, cigarettes, and photographs from home,
These sons and fathers far away from families of their own.
Young Sanders played his squeezebox, and they had a violin,
This curious and unlikely band of men.

Soon daylight stole upon us and France was France once more.
With sad farewells we each prepared to settle back to war.
But the question haunted every heart that lived that wondrous night,
“Whose family have I fixed within my sights?”

’Twas Christmas in the trenches where the frost, so bitter hung.
The frozen fields of France were warmed as songs of peace were sung.
For the walls they’d kept between us to exact the work of war
Had been crumbled and were gone forevermore.

My name is Francis Tolliver, in Liverpool I dwell.
Each Christmas come since World War I, I’ve learned its lessons well,
That the ones who call the shots won’t be among the dead and lame.
And on each end of the rifle we’re the same.

“…the ones who call the shots…”  The Christmas Truce occurred again in 1915, but to a lesser extent because of strong opposition from high-ranking military officers who vowed that no such truce would be allowed to happen again.   In early December, British commanders rotated troops through various sectors of the front to prevent them from becoming overly familiar with the enemy.  And they ordered Christmas Eve artillery bombardments, seeking to ensure there were no further lulls in the conflict.  Still, On Christmas Day 1915, after some shouting between both trenches, the Royal Welsh Fusiliers got out of their icy trench and greeted the Germans. 

 

Bertie Felstead, a Corporal in the Fusiliers, recalled that the Germans probably were already out of their trench before the British got out.  He claimed that nothing was planned and that what happened was entirely spontaneous.  A football was produced from somewhere—though none could recall from where.  Felstead said, “It was not a game as such—more of a kick-around and a free-for-all.  There could have been 50 on each side for all I know.  I played because I really liked football.  I don’t know how long it lasted, probably half-an-hour, and no-one was keeping score.”  Carols were sung.  Food was shared and small gifts exchanged.  The truce lasted through Christmas night, although in some areas it continued until New Year’s Day.

 

In 2005, the last remaining Allied veteran of the truce, Alfred Anderson, died in Scotland at the age of 109.  Bertie Felstead died in 2001 at age 106.    [http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Christmas_truce ]

Isaiah envisions a world where no one will learn war anymore.  Who is it that does the teaching?  The angels sing to shepherds, “Peace on earth, good will among people,” and the bells of Christmas Day ring out the same joyous refrain.  Who is it firing the cannons that almost drown out the ringing?  “…the ones who call the shots?”  The ones “on each end of the rifle”?  It’s all of us!
I firmly believe that our IPC children were singing true two weeks ago:  “War is over, if you want it.”  If enough people want it, war is over now.  Amen.