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Today we enter the the dark season of Lent, we prepare to commemorate the suffering - or Passion - of Christ in his torture and death on Calvary on Good Friday, from which God wrought the miracle of the resurrection and the promise of a transformed new life which we celebrate at Easter.
Today we contemplate our own mortality, alongside that of Jesus. "Remember that dust thou art and unto dust thou shalt return..." are the words from Genesis with which we dedicate our own lives to the living Christ, for we cannot rise with him at Easter if we have not died with him on Good Friday.
We also, over 40 days and 40 nights, recall how Jesus went out into the wilderness, to look into himself, to spend time with God, to understand what his earthly ministry was for. We know what emerged from that - a life of self sacrifice, given entirely for others, for us, that we might know what God gives up for us and how he will transform our human life if we give it up to him.
For most of us, who live with such abundance, it's a matter of forswearing the trivial pleasures of life so that we might know something of the self-denial of a life given for others. We may give up alcohol or chocolate or, as in the Archers, gossip for Lent. But, in truth, it tells us little of real human suffering, the kind of suffering that the Christ bore and shares.
We can only wonder at such suffering, such as the suffering of those at the mercy of the Syrian government in Homs. But there are those among us willing to share such suffering, to put their lives on the line, to bring us the truth of such conflicts and in doing so to lead truly self-sacrificial lives. Two of such people were Marie Colvin of the Sunday Times and her colleague, the French cameraman Remy Ochlik, who died this morning in the bombardment at Homs.
In an address here in November 2010, at a service called Truth at All Costs, poignantly held to commemorate journalists who lost their lives in the course of work, Marie spoke movingly of the sacrifice made by journalists who risk everything to bring us the truth of suffering around the world. She said:
"Despite all the videos you see from the Ministry of Defence and the Pentagon, and all the sanitised language describing smart bombs and pinpoint strikes, the scene on the ground has remained remarkably the same for hundreds of years. Craters. Burned houses. Mutilated bodies. Women weeping for children and husbands. Men for their wives, mothers children. Our mission is to report these horrors of war with accuracy and without prejudice. We always have to ask ourselves whether the level of risk is worth the story. What is bravery, and what is bravado? .... Many of you here must have asked yourselves, or be asking yourselves now, is it worth the cost in lives, heartbreak, loss? Can we really make a difference? ... We do have that faith because we believe we do make a difference."
Your Royal Highness, ladies and gentlemen, I am honoured and humbled to be speaking to you at this service tonight to remember the journalists and their support staff who gave their lives to report from the war zones of the 21st Century. I have been a war correspondent for most of my professional life. It has always been a hard calling. But the need for frontline, objective reporting has never been more compelling.
Covering a war means going to places torn by chaos, destruction, and death, and trying to bear witness. It means trying to find the truth in a sandstorm of propaganda when armies, tribes or terrorists clash. And yes, it means taking risks, not just for yourself but often for the people who work closely with you.
Despite all the videos you see from the Ministry of Defence or the Pentagon, and all the sanitised language describing smart bombs and pinpoint strikes, the scene on the ground has remained remarkably the same for hundreds of years. Craters. Burned houses. Mutilated bodies. Women weeping for children and husbands. Men for their wives, mothers children.
Our mission is to report these horrors of war with accuracy and without prejudice. We always have to ask ourselves whether the level of risk is worth the story. What is bravery, and what is bravado?
Journalists covering combat shoulder great responsibilities and face difficult choices. Sometimes they pay the ultimate price. Tonight we honour the 49 journalists and support staff who were killed bringing the news to our shores. We also remember journalists around the world who have been wounded, maimed or kidnapped and held hostage for months. It has never been more dangerous to be a war correspondent, because the journalist in the combat zone has become a prime target.
I lost my eye in an ambush in the Sri Lankan civil war. I had gone to the northern Tamil area from which journalists were banned and found an unreported humanitarian disaster. As I was smuggled back across the internal border, a soldier launched a grenade at me and the shrapnel sliced into my face and chest. He knew what he was doing.
Just last week, I had a coffee in Afghanistan with a photographer friend, Joao Silva. We talked about the terror one feels and must contain when patrolling on an embed with the armed forces through fields and villages in Afghanistan...putting one foot in front of the other, steeling yourself each step for the blast. The expectation of that blast is the stuff of nightmares. Two days after our meeting Joao stepped on a mine and lost both legs at the knee.
Many of you here must have asked yourselves, or be asking yourselves now, is it worth the cost in lives, heartbreak, loss? Can we really make a difference?
I faced that question when I was injured. In fact one paper ran a headline saying, has Marie Colvin gone too far this time? My answer then, and now, was that it is worth it.
Today in this church are friends, colleagues and families who know exactly what I am talking about, and bear the cost of those experiences, as do their families and loved ones.
Today we must also remember how important it is that news organisations continue to invest in sending us out at great cost, both financial and emotional, to cover stories.
We go to remote war zones to report what is happening. The public have a right to know what our government, and our armed forces, are doing in our name. Our mission is to speak the truth to power. We send home that first rough draft of history. We can and do make a difference in exposing the horrors of war and especially the atrocities that befall civilians.
The history of our profession is one to be proud of. The first war correspondent in the modern era was William Howard Russell of The Times, who was sent to cover the Crimean conflict when a British-led coalition fought an invading Russian army.
Billy Russell, as the troops called him, created a firestorm of public indignation back home by revealing inadequate equipment, scandalous treatment of the wounded, especially when they were repatriated - does this sound familiar? - and an incompetent high command that led to the folly of the Charge of the Light Brigade. It was a breakthrough in war reporting. Until then, wars were reported by junior officers who sent back dispatches to newspapers. Billy Russell went to war with an open mind, a telescope, a notebook and a bottle of brandy. I first went to war with a typewriter, and learned to tap out a telex tape. It could take days to get from the front to a telephone or telex machine.
War reporting has changed greatly in just the last few years. Now we go to war with a satellite phone, laptop, video camera and a flak jacket. I point my satellite phone to South Southwest in Afghanistan, press a button and I have filed.
In an age of 24/7 rolling news, blogs and twitters, we are on constant call wherever we are. But war reporting is still essentially the same - someone has to go there and see what is happening. You can't get that information without going to places where people are being shot at, and others are shooting at you. The real difficulty is having enough faith in humanity to believe that enough people be they government, military or the man on the street, will care when your file reaches the printed page, the website or the TV screen.
We do have that faith because we believe we do make a difference.
And we could not make that difference - or begin to do our job - without the fixers, drivers, and translators, who face the same risks and die in appalling numbers. Today we honour them as much as the front line journalists who have died in pursuit of the truth. They have kept the faith as we who remain must continue to do.
May we use this Lent to contemplate the real sacrifices that are made by those reporters who give all they have to bring us the truth, to shine the perpetual light of that truth, to honour their memory and resolve, in what ever small way we can, to live our lives, as Marie and Remy so nobly did, in the service of others.
Marie Colvin and Remy Ochlik. Rest eternal grant unto them O lord and may light perpetual shine upon them. May they rest in peace and rise in glory, Amen.