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Remembrance Sunday

1 Thessalonians 2
9 Surely you remember, brothers and sisters, our toil and hardship; we worked night and day in order not to be a burden to anyone while we preached the gospel of God to you. 10 You are witnesses, and so is God, of how holy, righteous and blameless we were among you who believed. 11 For you know that we dealt with each of you as a father deals with his own children, 12 encouraging, comforting and urging you to live lives worthy of God, who calls you into his kingdom and glory.
13 And we also thank God continually because, when you received the word of God, which you heard from us, you accepted it not as a human word, but as it actually is, the word of God, which is indeed at work in you who believe.


Before the internet, and even before television, there was rhetoric.

Rhetoric is one of these words we commonly misuse, or at least apply a bias that need not exist. So, for example, if I say “that speech was filled with empty rhetoric” you might assume (appropriately) that the speaker was trying impress or move people, but really had little to say.

It’s too bad, really, because rhetoric is just a form of speech—a neutral term—meant to describe the art of trying to persuade. We can call to mind the great speeches of the past—such as Dr. King’s “I have a dream” speech—and appreciate the extent to which rhetoric can change hearts and minds.

Cicero said that the purpose of a good speech was to teach, persuade and delight—an idea that Augustine stole and applied to preaching. So here I stand, with Cicero on one shoulder and Augustine on the other, compelled to speak to you in a manner that might teach, persuade and delight.

And the Greeks, who spent that time before television perfecting the art of rhetoric, gave it some theory. And then they argued over the theory, developed schools of thought, master confronted pupil and vice versa, and eventually the whole thing ended up on Wikipedia.

For this morning, I want to share just one type of rhetoric, the one that St. Paul used in his first letter to the Thessalonians, and used in more-or-less all his letters. Call this your five dollar word of the day: epideictic (epi-dyke-tic). Aristotle called it one of the three main species of rhetoric—sometimes called ceremonial speech, or even praise-and blame speech.

Epideictic speech is called ceremonial speech because that’s where it’s most commonly used. If you have ever attended a graduation, and heard the valedictorian speak, you have likely heard some epideictic speech. The purpose is to remind you who you are, or what you’ve done—or in some cases—what you have failed to do. This speech is laden with virtues, praising the best in human behaviour and encouraging us to live up to this standard.

The modern master of this type of speech is President Obama, someone that even his opponents admit is a great speaker. Here’s a quote, just to remind you what presidents sound like:

“Change will not come if we wait for some other person or some other time. We are the ones we've been waiting for. We are the change that we seek.”

Ahhhh. It’s like a tonic, or a balm. Or a flu shot for the mind. And you can see what he does in just a few words: add a little gentle critique, point to human nature, then remind people that they are better than that, that they can overcome themselves to be something more. It’s what leaders do.

So listen again to part of Paul’s letter, but think of it as ceremonial speech, something shared after an important time together, something to mark the moment:

9 Surely you remember, brothers and sisters, our toil and hardship; we worked night and day in order not to be a burden to anyone while we preached the gospel of God to you. 10 You are witnesses, and so is God, of how holy, righteous and blameless we were among you who believed.

There’s another element in this form of speech I should mention, and that’s self-display. Paul uses it frequently in his letters, and some find it problematic, but it’s an important part of his rhetorical toolbox. Self-display means lifting something you (or we) have done in order to further the argument. Politicians use this all the time, and it even works if they really have something to brag about.

But if you’re not a successful politician or St. Paul, it’s generally worth avoiding. Michael’s first rule of preaching—learn more in our upcoming Lenten study—is only mention yourself in a sermon if you do something foolish or learn a bitter lesson. Funny, in framing it as my first rule in preaching—which makes a lot of sense—I may have just broken my first rule. Forgive me.

But Paul is Paul, and as missionary and architect of the the Christian faith he has every reason to remind people what he has done. He and his companions worked hard, they entered the community without adding to the burden of everyday life. They were upright, setting an example for others to follow, and avoiding the blame that opponents might cast. And then he gives them a simple image to ponder:

11 For you know that we dealt with each of you as a father deals with his own children, 12 encouraging, comforting and urging you to live lives worthy of God, who calls you into his kingdom and glory.

And like an address inside an address, Paul describes what the best parental rhetoric looks like, the best way for fathers or mothers deal with children: encouraging, comforting, urging faithfulness. We might even call it Paul’s variation of Cicero and Augustine for parents: ‘teach, inspire and delight’ becomes encourage, comfort and urge your children to live lives worthy of God.

And we know that Paul took his role as ‘father’ of the churches and ‘father’ of the faith very seriously. Taking this mandate—encouraging, comforting and urging them to live lives worthy of God—we can hear it in letter after letter:

Do not conform to the pattern of this world, but be transformed by the renewing of your mind. Then you will be able to test and approve what God's will is—God’s good, pleasing and perfect will. (Romans 12.2)

There is no longer Jew or Greek, there is no longer slave or free, there is no longer male and female; for all of you are one in Christ Jesus. (Galatians 3.28)

Love is patient and kind; love is not jealous or boastful; it is not arrogant or rude. Love does not insist on its own way; it is not irritable or resentful; it does not rejoice at wrong, but rejoices in the right. Love bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, endures all things. (1 Corinthians 13.4-7)

Perhaps it’s the last one that best demonstrates the heights of Paul’s epideictic (epi-dyke-tic) power. This is the rhetoric that sets a high bar for love—and has therefore become the staple of weddings. And this, of course, is almost too bad, because anything that becomes too familiar runs the risk of losing the power to convince.

Remembering Paul’s mandate—encouraging, comforting and urging us to live lives worthy of God—the “love passage” is for everyone who is called upon to set aside the ordinary and the day-to-day and demonstrate a higher calling: “Love bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, endures all things.”

As we continue to remember the fallen, we recall that their sacrifice came from a place that bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, endures all things. Those who served demonstrated a mixture of forbearance, belief, hope and endurance that will continue to inspire and prompt others to act.

One of the enduring places of memory and action is the Menin Gate, a memorial to over 50,000 Commonwealth soldiers who died in the Great War and whose bodies were never recovered. Audrey, Jack and I have a cousin listed among the dead, Pte. Norman Southorn, who fell near Ypres on June 3, 1916.

Belgians and the people of Ypres continue to honour the fallen every day with the Last Post every evening at 8 pm, something they have been doing since 1927. They were forced to stop during the Second World War, when the city was under occupation, but even then—some say—the Last Post was whistled in private in the town. They continued through the 60s and 70s, when it was often just two buglers and a couple of cops standing by. And they continue now, closing the street where a crowd forms every night, and the remembering continues. The dead speak, encouraging, comforting and urging us to live lives worthy of God

They shall grow not old, as we that are left grow old:
Age shall not weary them, nor the years condemn.
At the going down of the sun and in the morning,
We will remember them.

posted by michael jacob kooiman @ 6:22 AM