Lest We Forget

My first pastoral charge was memorable for many reasons. Some of those memories aren't great, but the passage of time takes the sharp edges off of it. I've come to value my former colleague's ministry for what it was - a good and faithful one that simply didn't match with mine at the time. He did have some good stories to tell from his long time in ministry.

Tomorrow is Remembrance Day here in Canada, and we celebrate with deep reverence. It's also a day on which I always think of my colleague and one of those good stories.

My colleague was a prairie preacher who had been in ministry since "Jesus was in shorts" (as he used to say). Every Remembrance Day, he would tell us about a time in his ministry when he went to a public school to talk to the children about Remembrance Day and what it meant. He always took this famous poem with him:

In Flanders Fields
By: Lieutenant Colonel John McCrae, MD (1872-1918)
Canadian Army

In Flanders Fields the poppies blow
Between the crosses row on row,
That mark our place; and in the sky
The larks, still bravely singing, fly
Scarce heard amid the guns below.

We are the Dead. Short days ago
We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow,
Loved and were loved, and now we lie
In Flanders fields.

Take up our quarrel with the foe:
To you from failing hands we throw
The torch; be yours to hold it high.
If ye break faith with us who die
We shall not sleep, though poppies grow
In Flanders fields.

See more history here.

Well, on one occasion in a small, small hamlet in Saskatchewan, my colleague was doing his regular Remembrance Day visit to the local school and shared the poem as he usually did, and became a bit emotional as he read it (as most of us do).

But this time it was different. A girl in the class put up her hand meekly and in a very quiet voice she said, "Reverend, that poem was written by my grandpa." As he would tell you himself, my former colleague was rarely at a loss for words, but he had none. The class was silent for a long time and he went over and hugged the girl and told her that her grandfather had given us all a great, great gift. He later checked the family history, and the girl was absolutely correct. John McRae was her grandfather. He wrote the girl a note thanking her for sharing that with the class.

Whenever I hear In Flanders Field, I think of that story, of my colleague, and of that little girl, who may well be a grandparent herself by now.

And I remember.

That we owe so very much to the women and men who defended our country in times of war and protect us in the name of Peace even now.

It's a day for Remembrance. And Gratitude.

Lest we forget. Lest we forget.