Honoured and remembered
New Guinea Martyrs' Day: 5th September, 2010
Fr John Davis, Vicar of St Peter's, Eastern Hill
One of my most enduring Martyrs' Day memories is sitting in the stall facing this great memorial window in 1981 watching the tall stooped figure of Archbishop Sir Philip Strong climb tentatively up the steps to this pulpit. I had earlier picked him up at the Spencer Street Station — dark overcoat, black Homburg, very large and well-worn dark brown leather suitcase. He looked very frail. But when he got into this pulpit, out of that tired body came the voice of a lion. With the focussed evangelical vigour of his youth, this Anglo catholic prince bishop of another generation or three preached a most remarkable sermon, that I am sure continued in the best PNG style for at least 40 minutes. The text of that sermon is available on the site of The Canterbury Project on the net and was published as well by this parish in a small illustrated booklet. There was absolutely no problem in seeing how this great leader of the Church could and did inspire so many to service.
I remember too some years later after his death having the opportunity to do some research using his collected papers, and finding amongst them the Prayer Book that he carried in the top left shirt pocket of his Army Chaplain General's uniform, with the hole in the centre where an almost spent bullet had lodged itself. That wartime bishop of New Guinea who in 1939 was welcomed to his new cathedral in Dogura in the presence of the then vicar of this parish, was here preaching on Martyrs' Day in 1981 in front of his own representation in the window beside him. There may well be some others here this morning who were here that morning 29 years ago. It is not something that you forget.
To his dying day Archbishop Strong felt deeply the tragedy and the sacrifice that today we are honouring. There were some at the time who criticised him bitterly for not ordering all the mission staff out — or at the very least the nurses and teachers. They were all given the option, but all chose to stay. But in any case the events of the invasion of the coast of Papua happened so swiftly and so completely, that there was very little chance. But this was an enemy that within hours was beheading any possible focus of dissent. Only last week I was talking to someone whose aunt could have been one of those we are honouring today, but who was ill in another hospital. Another nurse was on leave. The bishop was in Port Moresby. And so it all happened.
Those who watched the recent TV series Kokoda were given a remarkable insight into what was apparently the first time that an overland invasion of the Imperial Japanese Army had been stopped anywhere in the whole Pacific war, finally within sight of the lights of Port Moresby. The country was defended ridge by ridge, hill by hill. But what we were not reminded of was that the actual landing point was precisely in the centre of this major area of Anglican missionary endeavour — schools, medical centres, bush churches and yes even an impressive cathedral. It was as if no one was there. No local people, no martyrs — just opposing military forces. It was a puzzling and surprising omission.
We are here this morning because we do not propose to forget. There is I think a strong sense in this parish and its people that the 1946 Napier Waller transept window with a panel for each group of those whom we today honour makes us shared custodians of this story. We have a clear responsibility to make sure that succeeding generations are told how this collection of people, largely in their 20s, offered so much, gave so much and have since inspired so much. The panels in this great window show them doing what they did — nursing, teaching, celebrating the mass, supervising the work on a construction site. It also sensitively shows their deaths and the instruments of death. In the best tradition of medieval stained glass, we can see the story unfolded before our eyes. It is uplifting, stirring, inspiring. How fortunate we are that this memorial was commissioned. If this is of further interest to you, there are many more details of the process and the intention behind it, on our own parish website www.stpeters.org.au , including a description of each of the panels. This is well worth a look.
The theme of the cost of accompanying Jesus runs all the way through the gospel narratives. It is said to be no easy thing to be a follower of the Lord. Certainly this aspect of the Lord's teaching is clearly given considerable emphasis. Yes, Jesus is loving, open, generous, able to offer healing and hope and life. Yes, there is no problem on the Lord's side.
The problem relates to our ability to make the distance, to take on the challenge, to begin to live through the implications of being a follower of Jesus Christ; of coming to God by attempting to live the teachings of Jesus, of trying to put them into effect. We are told absolutely clearly that this is hard and anyone who grapples with this knows that this is true. It's a funny way to win a campaign.
The hardest parts of the gospel account involve the potential renouncing and saying goodbye to the dearest relationships of blood or friendship — or indeed life itself. Perfectly ordinary people with perfectly ordinary hopes and needs and desires can be found in very extraordinary circumstances weighing up these very things. We are honouring the Martyrs of Papua New Guinea this morning because we believe that their response to the appalling circumstances that they and the people they were serving found themselves in, has made them worthy to join those of so many other generations and places who are honoured and remembered as martyrs for the faith. They would have searingly understood these very hard parts of the gospel teachings.
We then remember and honour their courage. All of them had people who loved them and whom they loved. Their last notes, hastily scribbled and sent out as the whole area tumbled into chaos, speak eloquently of their love and the pain of separation; two of them were about to be married to each other and they were apart, a son wrote to his father saying how frightened everyone was but how he needed to stay with his people. They served, they loved, they suffered — and yet we believe, as people of faith, that they won.
There is an ultimate seriousness to what the Lord came to bring to this world. The Scriptural language used speaks of the Kingdom of God — a time, a place, a life where both now and in the world to come, all is actually as it might be. A community of the Beatitudes, a world of faith and hope and love, a community of justice and of peace; a creation that is cherished and cared for, a social order of the Magnificat. The 1942 Martyrs of Papua New Guinea died with such a vision guiding their final actions.
Holy Martyrs of Papua New Guinea: pray for us.
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