The Sermon preached at The Royal Marines Band Service on Sunday 8 October 2023

The Rev’d James Francis RN

‘There is music in the midst of desolation and a glory that shines upon our tears…’

A few weeks ago my 84 year old father disappeared.  He went out for a walk.  He often takes himself off for an hour or so, to walk along the River Thames or potter down the King’s Road.  We thought nothing of it, until he’d been gone for several hours.  Thank goodness for a somewhat astute British Transport police officer, who found him confused and lost in Victoria Station and had the foresight to really listen to him.  He found out that my dad had been a professional musician, so the police officer got hold of some string music on his phone and as he played it my dad remembered his home telephone number, which allowed the police officer to call us directly.  That which was lost had been found. 

I don’t need to tell you that there is something very profound about music.  Music can be like a key.  It can reach into the very soul and unlock the door that our minds have pulled shut for some reason.  Even when the cognitive part of our brain and our memories aren’t working properly, music mysteriously manages to cut through almost everything and, when nothing else can, it unlocks things.

In an article on music and the brain the neurologist, Oliver Sacks, wrote about the preservation of musical memory:

“Familiar music acts as a sort of Proustian mnemonic, eliciting emotions and associations that had been long forgotten, giving people access once again to moods and memories, thoughts and worlds that seemingly had been completely lost.”

It is this musical stimulation of memories that takes place at moments of great gravity and communal grieving - witnessed by all of us most movingly at Queen Elizabeth II’s funeral.  It is one of the reasons that our National Act of Remembrance at the Cenotaph is so powerful.  As we listen to the Massed Bands of the Household Division strike up with Nimrod, from Edward Elgar’s Enigma Variations, something clicks in our subconscious.  The music cuts straight through to our heart and we are invited to share in a national moment of reverential stillness and corporate grief that culminates in a very special kind of silence.

For everyone associated with the Royal Navy it is Royal Marine Band Service that is the trusted custodian of our remembering.  And today is when the spotlight rightly falls on you and the sacrifices that the Band Service have made.

On Armistice Day last year - as I stood by the Memorial Stones outside Navy Command HQ on Whale Island, we waited to hear from across the water, as HMS Nelson ‘piped the still’ in the dockyard, and then the solemn saluting gun marking 11 o’clock - I was reminded of the original reason we remember in this way.  When the mortar and the firing stops… you wait and you wonder at the eerie silence… as you dare to hope if it really is all over…

It was the silencing of the guns that stopped everyone in their tracks in 1918.  The sudden end of the horrendous carnage and noise of war… Silence which (like music) is the antithesis of the noise of war, marked the cessation of hostilities.  And the sudden stillness and silence grew, moving out like a bow wave – from noticing that the guns had stopped firing in the immediate vicinity and then outwards throughout the land and across borders.  The world had stopped fighting and was now engulfed in that very fragile thing that is silence and peace – so fragile that even just one person can threaten it, as any concert musician knows, with as little as an irritating cough or a polite clearing of the throat… Real deep shared silence is fragile, rare and precious.  It is healing and holy. 

In Robert Laurence Binyon’s poem, written in 1914, Epitaph: For the Fallen which the Principal Director of Music is going to recite after we’ve sung the Naval Hymn, Binyon writes ‘There is music in the midst of desolation and a glory that shines upon our tears…’

We use music as we use silence, to conjure up a mood that is in harmony with the occasion, we use it to create a moment to dwell a marching pace or two, to pause and reflect… we use music to lament as well as to celebrate.  ‘There is music in the midst of desolation…

Thirty-four years ago last month, when the RM Barracks at Deal were shattered by an IRA bomb and 11 bandsmen were killed, as surviving musicians queued at the barracks payphone to reassure loved ones they were safe, neighbours opened their doors and allowed them to use their phones to call home.  The community were in it together.

A week later the School of Music and the Deal Band demonstrated their unbreakable spirit and courage by parading through the town, leaving blank files in the places of those missing.  The people of Deal came out in force, lining the streets in tribute.  It was an act of defiance but also perhaps the best way for fellow musicians to mark the loss of their comrades and give sound to their grief.  It also showed indomitable strength and presence of character, to keep calm and carry on; it touched the nation.  We all knew that what had happened was a monstrous atrocity, the musicians who died only ever wanted to play music.

As we remember our fallen comrades, through both World Wars and conflicts since, we might recall what Elizabeth II famously said, as part of her condolence message to the families of the 250 British victims of the 2001 9/11 terrorist attacks, “Grief is the price we pay for love.”

This morning’s reading from the Second Book of Chronicles, read by Musician Lawry, records the time when the Ark of the Covenant was paraded through the streets of Jerusalem and brought to Solomon’s Temple in 957BC where the Levitical musicians stood by with their cymbals, lyres and harps along with 120 trumpeters… (when you hear the 14 silver fanfare trumpets later, imagine what the sound would be like if you multiplied it to 120 - some brass section!!).  The chronicler tells us that the harmony between the trumpeters and the singers in the temple was such that only one melody could be heard… a perfect ensemble you might say, as the glory of the Lord filled the temple.

The temple trumpeters in Jerusalem were giving thanks and praise for God’s blessings.  Today we give thanks with our voices and our trumpets, bugles and bands, as we praise God for the gift of music, that key which unlocks our emotions and memories; and we honour all who have served in the RMBS, for their consummate professionalism, their musical skill, and their willingness to serve as the trusted custodians of our remembering - especially when that service has involved making the ultimate sacrifice.

Just as our corporate Acts of silent Remembrance are so iconic, so are the traditions and music of the Royal Marine Band Service.  Your music bring us hope and confidence and you help stitch together the Military Covenant that in the Armed Forces binds us together with the society that we serve with our lives. 

May you continue to fill our streets, concert halls and our temples with a beautiful noise for the Lord. 

There is music in the midst of desolation and a glory that shines upon our tears…’

Amen.