Lots of people who complained about us receiving the MBE

Gather now, O children, and listen closely to the words of John Lennon, a man whose voice, both musical and intellectual, reverberated across the hearts of millions: "Lots of people who complained about us receiving the MBE received theirs for heroism in the war—for killing people. We received ours for entertaining other people. I'd say we deserve ours more." These words, spoken by a man who had risen from humble beginnings to global fame, challenge us to examine the true nature of honor and valor. Lennon’s reflection strikes at the heart of how society defines heroism and worth—how it elevates one form of service over another, and how we, as individuals, should seek to define our own sense of purpose in the world.

Consider, O children, the ancient concept of heroism. In times long past, the word hero was reserved for those who wielded the sword with strength and might—warriors who defended their people through battle, who fought in wars and came home with the scars of glory. The ancient Greeks celebrated their heroes not only for their physical strength but for their ability to bring about victory in battle. Yet, as the Greek philosopher Socrates once taught, true valor is not just found in the killing of enemies, but in the courage to live honorably and to contribute positively to society. Socrates’ heroism lay not in physical conquests, but in his search for truth and wisdom, in his refusal to conform to unjust authority.

And so it is with Lennon's words. He speaks not just as a man who sought honor, but as one who sought to redefine it. The MBE, the Member of the British Empire award, which Lennon and his fellow Beatles received, was often a symbol of service to the nation. But Lennon’s words reveal a stark contrast: the MBEs of soldiers, awarded for their heroism in battle, represented killing—an act that, no matter the context, brings death and suffering. On the other hand, Lennon and his bandmates received theirs for entertaining the world, for creating something that brought joy, unity, and peace. In the midst of a world scarred by war, their music offered an alternative form of heroism—one that built rather than destroyed.

History is filled with those who have fought with swords in their hands and blood on their minds, yet the true measure of a person's legacy often lies in what they leave behind in the hearts of others. Consider Nelson Mandela, a man who could have used his strength to perpetuate the violence of apartheid but instead chose to wield the power of forgiveness and reconciliation. His heroism was not defined by his actions in war but by his ability to transcend the cycle of violence and to work for peace. His story reminds us that heroism is not solely about who can inflict the most damage but who can heal, who can uplift, and who can bring the light of hope to those in darkness.

Lennon's statement also challenges the prevailing norms of society—a society that often venerates warriors for their violent acts and overlooks the power of creativity, art, and culture to transform hearts and minds. It is the artist, the musician, the poet who weaves a different kind of magic—one that transcends borders and speaks to the soul. Lennon was keenly aware of this. He knew that while war may have its heroes, peace, joy, and art have their own, often more lasting, form of heroism. He sought to show that there is more to valor than bloodshed—there is also the courage to stand for love, for harmony, and for the shared beauty of human existence.

Now, children, what lessons can we draw from Lennon’s words? The world will often measure your worth by standards that may not reflect your deepest values. It will reward strength in the form of destruction and conflict, and will sometimes fail to recognize the quiet power of creation, compassion, and unity. But true heroism is found in the courage to live according to your highest principles, to create, to heal, and to inspire. Lennon teaches us that the highest form of valor is not found in the battlefield, but in the daily acts of creating a world that reflects love, peace, and understanding.

So, children, remember that the world may call upon you to fight, to take sides, or to conform to its expectations of what makes a hero. But true heroism is often quieter than that—it is in the small acts of courage you show in standing up for what is right, in creating beauty where there is none, and in lifting others with your words and actions. Choose to be a hero not by the power of your fists, but by the power of your heart. Choose to entertain, to uplift, and to inspire, for in the end, it is not the violence that endures, but the love and creativity that you leave behind.