Juxtaposed

The Friday before last I abandoned my usual responsibilities and headed to London. The reason for the trip was Westminster Abbey's decision to host a service of 'celebration' or 'thanksgiving' for 50 years of 'continuous at-sea deterrent' (for which read, nuclear weapons with the potential to annihilate the planet and its population). Stepping out of my routine on a "school day" isn't something I decide to do lightly, but it felt necessary to be outside Westminster Abbey that day.

I wish, when I had first heard about the event, I had been shocked by it: sadly, I wasn't. Sadly, while it seemed indescribably far from my understanding of the Christian Gospels, it fitted rather better than it should have done with my impression of where the institutional church aligns itself to the powers of empire. I was glad, relieved even, that many of those I told about the event, were in fact shocked that the church (or to be fair one particular, peculiar facet of it) would even dream of doing such a thing.

For me the message of the gospels is crystal clear: Jesus calls us to a ministry of peace. I do not believe that peace is achieved through the threat of violence, but through this radical invitation to love, not only our kin, our community and our neighbours, but even our enemies.

I have, haven't we all, heard the argument that nuclear weapons have, in fact, brought peace. I disagree. For one thing, I don't think the threat of aggression and a semblance of security is in fact peace. Peace is something much deeper,and much more beautiful. More importantly still, I fear that in creating a myth of peace for the wealthy west based on fear, separation, exclusion and the exporting of conflict to be played out in proxy wars in those places where we have decided the human lives have less value; denies the reality of the experiences of many of the world's population. My vision of peace is one which is found in genuine justice and freedom; and it encompasses all of my brothers and sisters,wherever they may be in the world. My vision of peace does not include having the possibility to deploy weapons of mass destruction at a moment's notice.

With attention drawn to the event and media coverage questioning the Abbey's decision to host it, lip-service was paid to it not being about celebrating the potential for mass destruction of this abhorrent weaponry. In the end though, the ringing of the celebratory bells as the invited guests poured out of the Abbey belied all the conciliatory words, and showed its true colours: that at least those sections of the church, monarchy, government and military who gathered in that place, at that time, wanted to celebrate the fact that we could wipe out the world at the flick of a switch.

All of which is, to some extent, preamble for the blogpost I was actually planning to write, which was going to be based on being asked, multiple times, variants on the question "did you enjoy it?" And on my struggle with exactly how it was appropriate to answer.

Because yes, actually, I did. In many ways I had a really lovely day. Much of it was good fun, and there was plenty of energy among those of us who had gathered outside in protest. I believe praying for peace, especially in such contexts, always has beauty and value. I met up with many friends, people who I am glad I know and people who continue to inspire me by their commitment to peace. I had good conversations. I spent a day outdoors in the fresh (ish) air and it didn't rain. It felt like a positive and important gathering and I was glad that the media showed an interest. My personal highlight was the chance to tell a whole bunch of French school kids (and their teachers) about why we were there (probably not a part of the standard London school trip they were expecting but they seemed reasonably interested!)

So yes, I did enjoy it, very much so, but to just say yes feels like it fails to express the complexity of my emotions about the day. I'm not sure I have the right words to describe how I felt, but it's definitely more complicated than just saying I had a nice time. Given that the service in the Abbey was going ahead, I was very glad to be there but I wish, to the very core of my being, that no church would ever even contemplate hosting such an event, rendering the presence of those of us outside superfluous.

For all the joy and sense of hope which such gatherings inspire, there was also something almost sickening about seeing and hearing the glorification of destructive potential, the more so for the fact it was happening in a church, a space in which it should have been the absolute antithesis of what is acceptable as a cause for celebration. The medals and uniforms, the pomp and ceremony, the ringing of the bells, ... It all felt so very, very wrong; so very out of kilter with how I want the world to be: so yes, I enjoyed the day, but I somehow at the same time felt deeply uncomfortable that that was the case.

Whatever the complexities of describing how I felt, I am sure it was the right place to be.