There seems to have been an element of blurring about Friday’s events. With no lockdown in progress the day would probably have been wall-to-wall parades and parties,a very public demonstration of what, in many people’s eyes, are all the great things about this country. Overshadowed by the need to stay at home and keep our distance, the vast programme of happenings, whether military, civic, secular or religious, has been scrapped. Instead we have a nauseating diet of sentimental nonsense of TV and, where people’s desire to show the virus who’s boss is strong enough, sparse outdoor gatherings.
Somehow it’s almost as if the virus, not the might of Hitler’s war machine, were the enemy. And like in those dark times of threat and sacrifice, we must all band together and defeat this invader with stoicism, resolve and sheer Englishness.
You would be utterly naive to think this had not occurred to the nation’s leaders; who, in these times of anxiety and stress would not want to be pictured as some sort of modern-day Churchill. It’s crass and cynical but there are plenty willing to lap it up.
I have nothing against reaffirming our undying thanks to the ordinary people whose sacrifices, both figurative and literal, helped preserve the freedom and way of life of this country. But as an excuse to hand out the beers and wave flags in the faces of our enemies - I’m afraid I’m not convinced.
VE Day itself MUST have been a celebration of course. And all the chest-beating tribalism utterly justified. But 75 years on surely everything bar the duty to say thanks has changed. We’ve had 75 years of reconciliation and the world is arguably a better place for it. It takes us to remember what happened to us, recognise the hurt we caused others and reconcile the two - that’s the healing process.
If there’s one thing this cathedral is famous for it’s the fact that it was almost, though crucially not entirely, bombed out of existence. The chance to reflect in the ruins of the original building is as much a part of any visit here as the chance to marvel at its stunning replacement. From the moment the fires were finally extinguished and the words Father Forgive inscribed on the crumbled masonry, this place has been all about coming to terms with what happened and working to prevent its repetition. There are signs of reconciliation everywhere you look. Statues, crosses improvised from the remains, symbols of friendship and trust across national boundaries.
And of course the words. This lunchtime’s reading and reciting of the Litany of Reconciliation is perhaps the smallest service I’ve ever been to. Even more so because I can only ‘be there’ at the other end of a live stream. It comprises simply seven sentences of prayer and responses. Take away a mention of a link to another service and a spot of music from another event and this would be over and done in less than two minutes. Yet it still has a resonance and a power.
This service of the Litany of Reconciliation is especially moving today not because of this weekend’s anniversary and all the to-do surrounding it. It is moving and poignant because it is so everyday. Literally. These words, these hopes are said in this cathedral practically every day. Not as a huge banner parading, fanfare blasting colour spectacle, but a quiet daily reaffirmation often in the presence of only a few people.
A reminder that we don’t need pomp and circumstance, or fly-pasts, or bunting to say thank you, or say sorry, or promise to try harder in the future. It’s something we should do every day.
