Living Twice

The first century CE Roman poet, Martial, wrote, "Those who live in such a way that they can look back on their past lives with pleasure, live twice."

I love the photo that the Harenberg Kalender people have chosen to accompany this quotation, a beautiful barn owl sitting on a fence near some poppies - wisdom and remembrance combined.

But I do wonder whether any of us can truly look back on every aspect of our past lives with unalloyed pleasure... because life is never perfect, unsullied bliss. It is messy and complicated, with highs and lows, joys and sorrows, bad decisions as well as good ones. So I think that looking back with inevitably be with a mixture of pleasure and regret.

Part of growing older (and I'm 60 now) is coming to terms with our lives up to this time. If we are wise, it should be a time of self-examination, in which we learn to look with clear eyes at what we have done, how we have loved, what has gone right and what has gone wrong, and become reconciled with what we regret, learn from both those experiences and from what has nourished us, and move on with a new serenity.

I'm currently doing a course with the Charter for Compassion Education Institute, called Growing Whole, Not Old.  This week's lesson included a beautiful poem called Becoming an Elder by Cathy Carmody, which has shown me a new way of looking at my life:

Leaving behind my journey of struggling and racing through

the white water of many rivers, I become the river,

creating my own unique way.

Leaving behind my self-imposed role as a tree upon

which others have leaned, I now become the wind,

with the greedom to blow whenever and wherever I choose.

Leaving behind the boxes I've created in my life, 

crammed with roles, responsibilities, rules and fears,

I become the wild and unpredictable space

within which flowers sprout and grow.

Leaving behind the years of yearning for others

to see me as somebody,

I soften into becoming my future,

with permission from SELF to

continually unfold as I choose, without concern

for how others may see me.

Leaving behind years of telling and teaching,

I become instead a mirror

into which others can peer and

view reflections of themselves to consider.

Leaving behind the urge to provide answers for others,

I become - in the silence of this forest retreaat

- the question.

Leaving behind the rigor of my intellect,

I become a single candle in the 

darkness, offering myself as a beacon for others

to create their own path. I become an elder.

The Greatest Remembrance of All

Part of a prayer by Unitarian minister Rev. Chris Goacher reads: "We gather in remembrance of those who have sacrificed their lives for the freedom and safety of others, but also in shame at the wars we have failed to stop and the actions taken in our name ... Let us dedicate our selves to the greatest remembrance of all - that war should be no more."

These few words really sum up my feelings on Remembrance Sunday - that we should be grateful to, and remember with respect, those who sacrificed their lives that we might have peace; but also in sad reflection on the indifferent use we have made of it. it is a desperate irony that World War One was called 'The War To End All Wars', and yet, one hundred years on, humankind still seems unable to stop the fighting, the bloodshed, the cruelty, and wars continue to be fought the world over, for reasons of fear, and misunderstanding, the hunger for power, and the despising of the other.

So how can we dedicate ourselves to that "greatest remembrance of all - that war should be no more?" How can we, as individuals, and as spiritual and religious communities, witness for peace? How can we 'do our bit'? How can we make a difference?

I think we have to start where we are. It's all about compassion - trying to empathise with other people by imagining ourselves in their shoes. I am not naive enough to believe that we can "make it all better" by witnessing for peace and compassion. But we can at least try to be compassionate, where we are. For every other person we encounter is also a human being, a child of God, utterly worthy of being treated with justice, equity and respect.

Perhaps we can each make a resolution to reach out in friendship to our neighbours, to our friends, and even to casually-met strangers. Perhaps if we witness for peace in our own lives, this might have a knock-on effect, as the people we show compassion to, show compassion to others in their turn and so on.Who knows what we might be able to achieve, if we are brave enough to reach out in friendship, reach out in compassion, witness for peace?

Ways of Remembrance

Earlier this week, my husband and I visited the National Memorial Arboretum, near Lichfield. I had had qualms about doing this, as I had expected it to be very much about "remembering our glorious dead", which as a pacifist, I struggle with.

But how wrong I was. We arrived about quarter to two, having spent the morning in Lichfield, and saw on the notices that there is a daily talk in the chapel at 2.00 pm. So we hung around the gift shop for a few minutes, where you could hardly move for things with red poppies on, and then headed over to the chapel.

Outside the door, there was a beautiful prayer for a better world, written by a 13 year old named Anna Crompton, which was not what I had been expecting. Here are the words:

The NMA volunteer told us a little about the history of the place, and about some particular memorials to look out for. And then we were free to wander as we willed.

Like most folk, we headed first for the main Armed Forces Memorial, which commemorates all the service men and women who have given their lives for their country since 1945 - since we have been "at peace". It consists of four concentric half circles, two on each side, and the names are arranged in chronological order, and then by service. So for each year, there is the list of names for Army, Navy, and Air Force. It has been designed so that on 11th November each year, the light of the sun focuses directly on it at 11.00 am. I found three things very poignant:

1. they have used up 227 panels so far, in the years since 1945.
2. there is a lot of blank wall left for future deaths.
3. to spot the name of Private Lee Rigby among the dead in 2013.

I felt tears pricking my eyes for the first time.

Then we wandered fairly randomly, stopping to look at whatever attracted our attention. One of the first I saw was a memorial to all the Jews who have laid down their lives for their country - Britain, not Israel. It had been dedicated a few years previously "350 years after Jews were readmitted to England", which I found terribly sad.

One thing I had spotted in the list of memorials on the map we had bought was a memorial to the Quaker Friends Relief Service, so we headed out to find it. When we got there, I was so filled with joy. It takes the form of four high-backed, stone settles, arranged in a loose circle, so that one could have a meeting for worship right there. On the facing part of each settle, the Quaker values of Peace, Simplicity, Truth and Equality are engraved, one on each.

There was also a beautiful memorial for individuals, divided into twelve monthly sections. Any family can buy an eternal poppy, and add the name of their loved one to the display. I found this really moving.

Of course, most of the memorials were military, and it was fascinating to see how beautiful and appropriate most of them were. The Signals Corps had a statue of Mercury, the Royal Welsh a great slab of Welsh slate, the Navy one of different colours of blue glass/perspex with a yellow panel representing the rising sun and an orange panel representing the setting sun, and so on. But there were also other memorials for those who had played supporting roles in times of conflict - the Women's Land Army, Bevin's Boys, the Royal National Lifeboat Institution, and memorials for dogs and horses, who had also given their lives.

As the afternoon wore on, we got tired, and headed back to the Visitor Centre for coffee and cake. And then realised that we hadn't seen a couple of memorials that the guide at the beginning had particularly mentioned, so we set out again. And I am so very glad that we did.

On the way, we came across one of the newest memorials, to the service personnel who had lost their lives in Iraq. And that was so sad to see. And then on to the lovely memorial for all the thousands of Poles who had given their lives for the Allied cause in World War II, when their own country didn't exist any more.

And we also came across some beautiful gardens of remembrance which had nothing to do with war at all - any member of the public can subscribe to buy a tree to remember a loved one. And there was one terribly sad section of trees dedicated to babies "born sleeping", or who had lived only a few days. And I saw one tree with two signs, for a husband and wife, who had died within eleven months of each other.

But not all the individual trees commemorated a death - one sign I saw celebrated a 65th wedding anniversary - how lovely!

Finally, we came to the new Shot At Dawn memorial, which is set in a corner of the 150 acre site, so that it is the first point to be touched by the light of dawn each day. It commemorates the 306 British and Commonwealth soldiers who were shot for cowardice or desertion during World War I. It consists of a single statue depicted with his hands tied behind his back, and a blindfold on, and behind him, the 306 individual stakes, each with a name. Once again, I was in tears.

And there was so much we didn't see. The NMA's strapline is "Where our nation remembers", and it is certainly that. I thought back to our morning visit to Lichfield Cathedral, with its memorials to the war dead of Staffordshire, and the long entombed bishops, and reflected on how life has changed. Today we commemorate our dead with living trees, in a secular, but most sacred, setting.