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Good morning. Tomorrow will see the annual National Service of Remembrance held at the Cenotaph in Whitehall. Lutyens’ design for a temporary structure quickly entered the national psyche. Over 15000 service personnel marched past it on the victory parade of 19th July 1919. The Cenotaph became a place of pilgrimage with hundreds of thousands of people wishing to pay their respects in the days which followed this first parade. A more permanent structure seemed to fit with the mood of the nation, and the Cenotaph as we see it today was unveiled by King George V on 11th November 1920. Since that date the Cenotaph has borne witness to a myriad of state occasions, both in times of celebration and national mourning. It has played host to countless acts of remembrance and provided the occasional backdrop for protest. The silent dignity with which it greets all occasions is echoed in the silence which is central to the act of remembrance. It is a silence which will have a special poignancy this year, as memories of Her Late Majesty circulate among the veterans who will also march past. But the silence does not stand alone in this ceremony, the evocative music creates a feeling of lament; the first bugle call sounds ‘the last post’, bringing the lament into an attitude of vigil; wreaths are laid; prayers are offered; and the buglers sound another signal to the parade – ‘the rouse’. Not just a time to wake from sleep, but an instruction to get on with the day at hand. The symbolic resonance of a new day speaks of new beginnings. For the Christian, the act of remembrance points beyond itself to the hope of resurrection. The silence of the empty tomb transformed by the resurrected life to which it bears witness. Such theological idioms may seem a long way removed from the everyday language of our service personnel. And yet, they, too, often reach for a language of hope in the face of loss. It became common practice during operations in Iraq and Afghanistan for formal notification of casualties to be accompanied by tributes from family and colleagues. Among the many generous and moving words offered, some soldiers developed their own religious language. “See you at the great reorg in the sky” may lack some of the creedal precision of Nicaea, but it speaks to the hope of a new life. A life in which the sufferings of this world are brought to an end.