On a recent trip to Ottawa, I wandered over to the Canadian National War Memorial on Parliament Hill. The monument was surrounded by flocks of curious onlookers standing eight or nine deep behind a blockade.
A member of Hill security stood on the adjacent road, arms folded, inspecting us. "Move, buddy," someone complained, not quite loud enough for him to hear. "We can't see."
Suddenly a long red tide of uniformed guards swept past, so close I could have touched their tall black hats. They flowed as one across the road to the square in front of the tomb.
"What's happening?" someone asked.
"The PM of Britain's in town," I heard, to my left. "He's gonna lay a wreath on the Tomb of the Unknown Soldier." He said it nonchalantly, the way a farm kid would talk about a roosting hen.
A cavalcade of black cars beetled its way down from Parliament Hill, crossed Wellington and proceeded to the tomb of the young soldier whose name only God knows. Craning my neck around our vigilant guard, I could barely make out Prime Ministers Harper and Cameron as they stepped from their cars onto the pavement.
The dignitaries did a leisurely walk-past of the phalanx of troops. While a bugler played the Last Post, they stood shoulder to shoulder, heads bowed. Honouring the young man and those he represented who'd given their lives for the likes of us.
Only after the final note died, did Mr. Cameron walk forward to lay his wreath. The Parliament Hill cannon thundered and smoked twenty-one times. Cameras clicked, and then it was over.
When the Prime Ministers made their way back to their cars (the press in hot pursuit), the red tide flowed out, the black crawled back up the Hill, and we ordinary citizens scuttled away like so many crabs. Back to normal. For some, back to forgetting.
Back home a few weeks later, I attended a concert by Canadian tenor John McDermott. The beloved "singist" (as he jokingly refers to himself) is renowned not only for his voice, but for his powerful advocacy of veterans across North America. He talked a bit about remembering; sang about it too. Moved many - myself included - to tears.
But it was his remembrance of another death that stirred me most. Lifting his now white head, he sang with deep sincerity these words by Stuart Townend:
I will not boast in anything
No gifts, no power, no wisdom
But I will boast in Jesus Christ
His death and resurrection.
Why should I gain from His reward?
I cannot give an answer
But this I know with all my heart
His wounds have paid my ransom.
Remembrance Day is past. For most of the crowds that gathered at tombs and cenotaphs, forgetting days are here again. But if there's one tomb we should not walk away from, forgetting, it's the empty one that once held heaven's soldier, who gave his life for the likes of us.
