Yesterday (November 11) was Remembrance Day in Canada, when we all stop to remember and give thanks for the sacrificial living of the men and women who gave themselves to the military, and who gave their lives up for the nation. This day or remembrance has taken on new meaning since the Afghan conflict, because sudden,y there is new crop of youthful soldiers of both genders, and a new list of those who lost their lives in this war. There is renewed interest in the schools to study the history of conflicts in which Canada has been involved. Students have visited the sites of famous battles in Europe, as well as distant cemeteries where the bodies of Canadian soldiers lie far away from home.
Because of the beautiful poem written by John McCrae in 1916 (In Flanders Fields), the poppy has become a national, and virtually universal symbol for the remembrance of war dead. An author, interviewed on CBC the other day, commented that, while in Europe for a Remembrance Day ritual, she saw poppies on the graves of German soldiers. Although they were enemies in World War Two, they have adopted the poppy as have we.
A number of things filled my mind as I worked my way through Remembrance Day. (I conducted worship and preached in the church where I work this Sunday). First of all, I reflected on how the poppy might become a 'tainted symbol' for Afghan vets. Poppies grow in Afghanistan as well as in Flanders. And in Afghanistan they are guarded and defended by the Taliban as a source of income for their war effort. I imagine that at lest some of our war dead there died in, or near, poppy fields.
I also thought about the veterans who return from war, and how they are affected by that experience. Only with the advent of modern psychological understanding has the reality of Post Traumatic Stress Disorder come to be acknowledged and treated. In the old, old days, it was called "Shell shock" and left untreated. And veterans rarely, if ever, talked about what they had seen or had to do. Today, that is changing, and soldiers are getting healed from their war experience rather than being traumatized for the rest of their lives.
I also reflected on the smaller number of World War Two vets who appeared at the National Memorial in Ottawa. Thy are old men now, and they are dying out. The opportunity to say thank you to that generation of soldiers is slowly coming to an en. It is beautiful to see young children, getting an idea of what war had done to these old warriors, can thank them face to face for their sacrifice of life.
When the Korean War came along, I was sixteen, and longed to be a soldier and be involved. It didn't happen, and now, I'm glad. I have a neighbor who managed to enlist at age seventeen, and at seventy-eight, he still cannot assimilate the horrors he witnessed in Korea. That experience has marked his life indelibly to this day. His seventeen year old mind simply was not prepared for that experience, and his seventy-eight year old mind still struggles to deal with it. Who knows how I, at sixteen, would have been twisted by that "adventure?"
So, I am thankful for all the people who entrusted their lives and skills to the military over the decades: I thank my father, James Sr., Nicola Goddard, Red Campbell, Mel Moroz, and the thousands of others whose names I do not know. And I wear my poppy humbly, and with gratitude.
Because of the beautiful poem written by John McCrae in 1916 (In Flanders Fields), the poppy has become a national, and virtually universal symbol for the remembrance of war dead. An author, interviewed on CBC the other day, commented that, while in Europe for a Remembrance Day ritual, she saw poppies on the graves of German soldiers. Although they were enemies in World War Two, they have adopted the poppy as have we.
A number of things filled my mind as I worked my way through Remembrance Day. (I conducted worship and preached in the church where I work this Sunday). First of all, I reflected on how the poppy might become a 'tainted symbol' for Afghan vets. Poppies grow in Afghanistan as well as in Flanders. And in Afghanistan they are guarded and defended by the Taliban as a source of income for their war effort. I imagine that at lest some of our war dead there died in, or near, poppy fields.
I also thought about the veterans who return from war, and how they are affected by that experience. Only with the advent of modern psychological understanding has the reality of Post Traumatic Stress Disorder come to be acknowledged and treated. In the old, old days, it was called "Shell shock" and left untreated. And veterans rarely, if ever, talked about what they had seen or had to do. Today, that is changing, and soldiers are getting healed from their war experience rather than being traumatized for the rest of their lives.
I also reflected on the smaller number of World War Two vets who appeared at the National Memorial in Ottawa. Thy are old men now, and they are dying out. The opportunity to say thank you to that generation of soldiers is slowly coming to an en. It is beautiful to see young children, getting an idea of what war had done to these old warriors, can thank them face to face for their sacrifice of life.
When the Korean War came along, I was sixteen, and longed to be a soldier and be involved. It didn't happen, and now, I'm glad. I have a neighbor who managed to enlist at age seventeen, and at seventy-eight, he still cannot assimilate the horrors he witnessed in Korea. That experience has marked his life indelibly to this day. His seventeen year old mind simply was not prepared for that experience, and his seventy-eight year old mind still struggles to deal with it. Who knows how I, at sixteen, would have been twisted by that "adventure?"
So, I am thankful for all the people who entrusted their lives and skills to the military over the decades: I thank my father, James Sr., Nicola Goddard, Red Campbell, Mel Moroz, and the thousands of others whose names I do not know. And I wear my poppy humbly, and with gratitude.
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