Padre Talk

IF WE BREAK FAITH

We have stood under leaden skies on November 11^th and tried to swallow the huge lump in our throats as the time-honored words sounded in our ears: “They shall grow not old as we that are left grow old.  Age shall not weary them nor the years condemn.”

We have seen veterans, now stiff with age, march with ramrod precision to the barked commands of yesteryear, click their heels and throw their salutes to comrades whose “failing hands” have thrown the torch.

Remembrance Day is a time when private grief is unlocked by the pomp of those who wish to honor their fallen comrades.  At the cenotaphs youngsters shift from foot to foot and shiver in the cold wind as the names of the “glorious dead” are read, booming with electronic force out over the late autumn air.

The last wreath is laid, the final salute is given and then the bitter-sweet notes of The Last Post.  And now the silence; the long, heavy, impatient silence.

Reveille now; time to wake up! Familiar hymns - “O God, Our Help in Ages Past” or “Eternal Father, Strong to Save” - are sung with ragged enthusiasm; the prayers are said and now its off to the Legion.  Nothing like hot coffee on a cold day.

Now is the expansive time for fellowship, for stories and good memories and hearty laughter, as well as the inevitable sentimental songs.

But outside, as the dead leaves blow off the trees and swirl around the cenotaph, a woman stands absent-mindedly fingering a paper poppy and gazing for a last moment at the wreaths.

She is looking down the years and, with melancholy memory, she sees her man who didn’t come back from the war.  She touches the bit of yellowed newspaper in her pocket, the bit with his picture on it.  The years melt away.  Time is telescoped.  Her day of personal tragedy is no longer years old.  It is present and powerful with longing for “what might have been, if only . . .”

Remembrance Day is a solemn occasion that should not be forgotten in camaraderie of the Legion hall.  This day is a reminder that in the midst of life we are not far from death.  And death is just as real for starving refugees in any of the world’s trouble spots as it was for the refugees of Europe 50 years ago.  And it is just as real for our young soldiers who are dying on battlefields far from home, and for their loved ones.

Every year this day forces us to ask ourselves, if only for a moment, whether the sacrifices were worth it.   Did the death of all the Johnnys and all the Marys, whose lives were snuffed out in the blaze of their youth, accomplish anything?

Despite all good intentions, peace is more elusive than it has ever been.  In our hearts and minds lurk the same selfishness, the same greed, the same murderous impulses that moved the dictators.

Perhaps Remembrance Day should be known as Forgiveness Day.   As we accept God’s forgiveness we are free to forgive others.  Then this will indeed be a day to remember.

Let us not break faith.