In the first reading, we hear Job’s raw cry: “O that my words were written printed in a book, engraved on rock forever.”
Job longs for his story of innocent undeserved suffering, to be captured.
In an oral culture the engraving of words into rock was itself a prophetic statement, an echo even of the commandments hewn into the stone tablets of the law
He knows, despite his trials, “my Redeemer liveth, and that he will stand on the latter day upon the earth.”
In the Gospel of John, our Lord says: “Greater love has no man than this: that he lay down his life for his friends.” Not servants but friends, friends who are invited to share in his purpose: “This I command you: love one another.”
Job’s yearning to have his words carved in stone, reminds us of how stories matter, how lives count.
St Paul was the first author of the New Testament. He wrote letters, the foundations essentially of the early Church. Each precious, the first written words which spoke of Christ.
A letter is a testimony that its author has lived, loved, suffered, believed. This year, at the National Memorial Arboretum a new letter been unveiled: the memorial for Gay and Lesbian service personnel – a bronze sculpture in the shape of a crumpled letter.
Designed to evoke the letters which incriminated, in its new form is a letter from the past to the present; from those who served without recognition – to those who serve now, and to the nation that pays them tribute.
This bronze sculpted letter records that those people once humiliated and derided mattered; that their life and service will not remain crumpled or erased.
Job’s confidence that his Redeemer lives; AND Jesus’ laying down of his life—both point to the deep truth that love rescues, restores, transforms.
Service in the forces is deeply associated with sacrifice, risk and obligation. At the heart of the Christian calling in service is redemption and sacrifice is the outworking of love.
And so we remember on this the 80th anniversary of the end of the second world war and 107th of the Armistice of 11 November 1914, those who died for their friends and for their nation; and in remembering we also affirm their service, their lives, their identities, their faithfulness, are not lost, but held in God’s redeeming purpose.
The unveiling of the memorial on 27 October 2025 by the King bears witness to redemption of memory, of dignity, of belonging.
Jesus says “This I command you: love one another.” The ultimate service is laid‐down life. Our armed forces personnel serve on behalf of the nation and its peace. They risk, stand ready, and endure.
This Remembrance Sunday we honour them, we honour you from 20 Squadron of the Royal Logistics Corps: not only those who gave the last full measure of devotion, but those who serve every day.
As we reflect on the Memorial unveiled this year within the Church, we are challenged too as we continues to wrestle with how to interpret Scripture, in the light of the insights of modernity.
It is good that we gather on Remembrance Sunday to mark how service, identity, sacrifice and love are bound together and point to the ultimate reality of our redemption.
Job wanted his complaint written on rock; he trusted that his story would not disappear. And to Jesus’ friends, Jesus gives the commandment of love, the promise of redemption, the example of the laying down of one’s life.
The design of a bronze “crumpled letter” suggests the frailty of what was once hidden, but its solidity and engraved words turn testimonies of exclusion into public and royal affirmation.
Job declared “And though after my skin worms destroy this body, yet in my flesh shall I see God: Whom I shall see for myself, and mine eyes shall behold, and not another.
The message of that puzzling book is that injustice gives way to serenity, and a final vision of God’s loving purposes. They are fulfilled in his Son who laid down his life for his friends. Amen.