The Second Discourseman
On the day after the death of Prince Philip, I was quietly watching coverage of the 41-gun salute taking place around the country, when my friend entered with a look of concern. “You alright?” Yes, I was fine. A short while later: “Are you sure you’re okay?” I was somewhat bemused; I knew that as a staunch monarchist I was an anomaly in my student house, but it hadn’t crossed my mind that a little sombre reflection would come across as unusual, considering the previous day’s news. The enquiry was kind, yet in a way misplaced. This was not my personal grief, but rather a small act of sharing in the mourning of a nation, for a man who had served it well.
I do not expect those with no appreciation for the monarchy to quite understand this example of participatory sadness, but it was one more hint that our society is becoming a stranger to solemnity. For my friend, my silence must indicate an inner turmoil being bottled up. In reality, I was just a bit sad. The death of the Queen’s ‘strength and stay’ is one of those apparently distant events which may only reach our hearts after careful, quiet contemplation – in this case, after contemplating the humble faithfulness of the Duke of Edinburgh to his wife and his country.
We are well aware of our individualistic, impatient approach to pleasure, which attaches an immediacy both spatial and temporal to our desires, but perhaps this also extends to our mourning. I wish to tread carefully here. I do not want to speak against the priority we give to personal grief; of course our deepest sadnesses must concern those closest to us. However, in a culture where “Silence is Violence”, and all the world’s pains must be met with frenetic action, it seems that we are losing the ability to stop and allow our hearts to slowly well with the sorrows, oft-mingled with strange beauty, which lie all around us, near and far.
Most young people today – unless in school – will not even think to observe the two minute silence on Remembrance Day. We should not be too surprised by this, as the World Wars fade into history. But consider the recent weekly response to today’s griefs, as we stared at the colossal death toll from COVID-19. Rather than solemn quiet, the streets rang with a crescendo of expression. Clapping wasn’t enough, saucepans were needed; and as we were piously reminded, saucepans weren’t enough, action was needed. Even if a particular tragedy does not directly affect us, we can still affect it, and this becomes the basis for our grieving.
Here is where those famous words from Ecclesiastes display their full significance – there is ‘a time to weep, and a time to laugh; a time to mourn, and a time to dance; a time to cast away stones, and a time to gather stones together’. The chronology of life is in the hands of our gracious, mysterious God, and he apportions periods of joy and sadness, silence and action. As Prince Philip so wonderfully embodied, we would do well to take time to step back and learn, so that we may serve our Creator and love our fellow creatures with all the more vigour and wisdom.
The Four Discoursemen 