Remembering forward

Remembrance Day often seems to pull the church in two directions. We wear red poppies and remember and honour the dead, our mouths filled with words of sacrifice. Or we wear white poppies, and we speak of peace and holy resistance, protesting the speed in which nations resort to war. Some of us wear both, some neither. We hear the trumpet and try to be silent as we remember, pushing against history’s continuing waves. We try to stand together. We are uneasy in the early days of November.

Recently, I’ve been reading the hymns of Fred Kaan, which are prayerfully filled with contemporary social and theological concerns. You might know his famous hymn “Hands shaped like a cradle,” the communion hymn which invites us to put peace into each other’s hands. But the hymn that pulls at my heart this month starts with these words: “God! as with silent hearts we bring to mind / how hate and war diminish humankind / we pause-and seek in worship to increase / our knowledge of the things that make for peace.”

This is a strong and, sadly, always timely prayer.

Kaan’s pacifism

Fred Kaan himself knew this diminishment first hand. He was born in Haarlem in the Netherlands in 1929, lived through the Nazi occupation and saw three of his grandparents die of starvation. His parents became deeply involved in the resistance movement, sheltering refugees and leading community efforts. After the war, he became a pacifist and started attending church as a teenager. His hymn prays for deep faith, high hope and strong love with which we might disarm our trust in power, and he ends with these words:

“May we, impassioned by your living word / remember forward to a world restored.”

These words slow me down. “Remembering forward” feels like a parable or a koan, an invitation to puzzle my way through toward a holy wisdom.

Towards the sunrise

When we remember the past, there is a risk we only retread old paths of violence and grief. Remembering forward might pull us past that. It might be remembering the long waves of promise, longing and fulfilment that echo throughout Scriptures. It might be resurrection hope that turns from the battlefield’s defeat towards the still-dark Easter garden. Remembering forward might mean finding a way to remember that is not only anchored in our broken past but in the assurance of new life ahead of us, of dawn’s light on the horizon.

There is an old tradition of burying our loved ones ad orientem – facing to the east – with feet towards the rising sun. It is a physical reminder of our optimism that whatever darkness grief brings, a new day will dawn and death does not win. This, too, might be remembering forward.
As we follow the Prince of Peace, we need to find ways to bring our optimism into all our remembering. What do we need to bury that the world might be restored? What seeds need to fall to the earth and die, and where will new life surprise us?