I watched as a jackdaw hopped across the garden this morning. She found a tightly packed pine kernel and set it upright on the ground. Then, having admired her construction, she grabbed it and flew away. I mused on how this dark bird might have been building a November cenotaph, for as the 11th month begins, Christians traditionally turn their minds to fond thoughts of those who have gone before us.
Although there is a sadness in the thoughts that accompany the feasts of All Hallows and All Souls, the liturgical purple of mourning does not feature in our churches. That is because we are celebrating the victory that we have gained over death. This month, tied to the beginning of winter and the sight of the gardens and fields dying, is not the lamentation of the end; it is the hope and trust that the slumbering earth will soon experience the resurrection of spring.
Compare these positive hopes with the honour paid to the dead of the Great War whom we also commemorate this month. Over 60,000 Irish people died in the wretched trenches that scarred the opening years of the last century. These Christians are honoured in a way that is radically different from the way that Christians normally honour their dead.
When we remember our own dead, we remember them first and foremost as people. Each has carved an individual place within the hearts of those who knew him or her. On the monolith above every grave there is a tribute to the special person who lies below. We trust that they are saints now, that they are at peace, and from their gravesides we pray for them and relish our fond memories of them. These people are our saints and, like the heroic saints of the past, we learn a lot from the example of their lives.
I often feel that those whom we remember as the war dead are not as honoured as the ones we loved. Certainly they are given noble titles such as "glorious"; and we promise that we will "remember their sacrifice"; but do we? Have we learnt anything from the sacrifice of so many millions of real people within our living memory. I fear not!
As long as the Western world, the land that could be today's Christendom, swings happily to war, there is a pollution of the memory of those who died. We should have learned by now that taking up arms and following the paths of violence are actions that make a mockery of the deaths of these people - but we have not. A true tribute to those who died in the "war to end all wars" would be to respect their dream as we would respect the dream of a loved one.
What did the Great War achieve beyond their deaths? Have any of the recent wars in Iraq, Chechnya or Kosovo, or the present conflict in Israel brought the chance of enduring peace that these Christians died for? We should honour our war dead by suing for peace in the world - that would be a true tribute and a real resurrection for these people.
A monolith is a tribute, but it is a stone, and cannot learn. We should be the real tribute because we can learn from those who died before us. Our friends, our families, our unknown soldiers deserve this month. To all their tender memories, let us honour their lives and sacrifices with prayer for peace throughout the world.
F. MacE.