Books of Remembrance by Marcia Lee Laycock

First World War Book of Remembrance, Ottawa Canada Books of Remembrance By Marcia Lee Laycock   It sounds like a gunshot. The report, echoing back from the marble walls, is the sound of a single soldier coming to attention. The sound comes from the sole of his boot as it strikes the floor in the Memorial Chamber on the second level of the Peace Tower on the Parliament Hill in Ottawa Canada. The soldier salutes, bows, stands in silence for a moment and then opens a glass case in front of him. Carefully he reaches in and turns the page of a large book. Then he closes the case and moves on. There are six cases, each containing a large book. The soldier comes to attention, salutes and bows at each one. This process is repeated every day at eleven o’clock. The six books contain the names of the thousands of men and women, Canadians, who have died at war. It took several artists many years to create the books, which are decorated with heraldic illumination and calligraphy. The paper and binding used were specially made. The steps and stand on which they rest are made of marble imported from the quarries of Flanders Fields. They are imbedded with brass plates hand-crafted from the shell casings retrieved from battlefields and bearing the names of the major battles in which Canadians took part. All the symbolism and ceremony surrounding the Six Books of Remembrance is meant to honour those men and women, some long dead, for their sacrifice and acts of valour. But there are more than six Books of Remembrance. Revelation 20:11-15 tells us there are books in heaven, too. The exiled Apostle John described them as he saw them in his vision. He wrote: “And I saw the dead, great and small, standing before the throne and books were opened. Another book was opened which is the book of life. The dead were judged according to what they had done as recorded in the books. (v.12) .... If anyone’s name was not found written in the book of life, he was thrown into the lake of fire.” (v.15) There will no doubt also be great ceremony, great honour, but also great disgrace associated with the books of remembrance in heaven. That final judgement will herald a new beginning for all of God’s creation. For some, those whose names are written in the book of life, it will be the beginning of an eternity lived in the presence of God. For others, those whose names are not in that book, it will be the beginning of an eternity lived in the absence of God. But there will be a difference between the ceremony in heaven and the one that is conducted on earth. The ceremony in heaven will happen in the presence of those people. They will be there to see the books opened and to hear their names called. Whose names will be written in the book of life? Jesus tells us  - “I tell you the truth, he who believes has everlasting life” (John 6:47). **** Marcia Lee Laycock writes from central Alberta Canada where she is a pastor's wife and mother of three adult daughters. She was the winner of The Best New Canadian Christian Author Award for her novel, One Smooth Stone. The sequel, A Tumbled Stone was short listed in The Word Awards. Marcia also has four devotional books in print and has contributed to several anthologies. Her work has been endorsed by Sigmund Brouwer, Janette Oke, Phil Callaway and Mark Buchanan. Her most recent release is Christmas, a collection of short stories that will take you from the far reaches of the galaxy to the Canadian Arctic and the streets of an inner city. Available in ebook and paper-back. Visit Marcia’s Website Sign up to receive her devotional column, The Spur

Remembering

As I write this on Easter Monday, this year it falls on one of the most important, significant days on the Australian calendar. No, it isn’t only the day after Resurrection Sunday, it is the day we remember death – the death of many Australian and New Zealand soldiers in battles fought around the globe since the late nineteenth century.

This is ANZAC Day, the Australian New Zealand Army Corps Day of Remembrance.

Australia is a very blessed nation in that no war has ever actually been fought on our own land. However, having said that, those who have seen the recent film. Australia, saw scenes of our most northern city, Darwin, being bombed in World War II. What may not be known as well is that enemy mini-submarines entered Sydney Harbour and caused loss of life and damage that brought home, in a way never expected by many other Australians on our eastern shores, that we were at war! Other than these incidents, we have been so blessed never to have had men fighting men on our own soil with all the horrors of war. We do need a day of remembering.

The first time Australian armed forces were involved in a war was in the late nineteenth century during the Boer War in South Africa. The next time was years later when our troop ships left to support England during World War I. That we have made April 25th our nationwide day of remembrance often causes many to shake their heads in puzzlement – and perhaps even wonder. This was a time of war when the British and allied forces suffered a dreadful defeat at Gallipoli against the Turkish army. This photo of World War I memoribilea was taken in a small Australian town's museum - so typical of many, many such small towns and villages across our nation trying to help us "remember."

Over twelve months ago I made contact with a fellow Australian writer, Andrea Grigg. Since then, I have been privileged to meet this delightful, very talented Christian woman and am delighted she has signed her first contract for a Christian novel – an inspirational romance being released next year by Even Before Publishing in Queensland. Andrea is a lady of many talents and last year in my April post here I shared the ANZAC song she has written. The song and images of soldiers at war are so good I want to share it again. I trust if you viewed it then you will still do so again. It shows clearly what Australians are involved in today and I have just watched and listened again. It brought home to me once again just a very, very little of what our soldiers have faced – where they have died – not only at Gallipoli but in far too many countries and wars since. Sadly today, our soldiers are still serving and dying in places like Iraq and Afghanistan.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KrFGBXvHK4Ehttp://
This is the first time I remember our national ANZAC day being the very day after we have remembered THE Day death was conquered once and for all time. RESURRECTION SUNDAY!

How appropriate, and yet yesterday during our worship service, I couldn’t help but wonder just how many folk throughout Australia gathered at dawn services, at special church celebrations to remember that God raised Jesus from the dead. That DAY God demonstrated once for all time that Christ’ death on a cruel cross was acceptable to Him to pay the price for OUR sin.

Throughout the world, remembrance days of special significance for nations are held in the hope that people will not forget the sacrifices soldiers have made for those nations. The surviving soldiers of wars long gone are being replaced by other generations who could perhaps too soon forget what it has cost to live in peace, what it also warns about the cost of war. Sadly, this morning on our TV was a grieving mother of an Australian killed in Afghanistan. And so another generation is grieving today from modern wars.

Even more important for us never to forget is that a spiritual war is still raging. The enemy wants humankind’s allegiance. He hates God, seeks to enslave, to control, to destroy God’s creation – whether through physical wars or even more destructive, the war for our souls. But the Creator God is a God who loves so much He gave His only Son that whoever believes in Christ will not perish but have everlasting Life.

That is what we must never, never, never forget.
It was Jesus Himself who told His disciples the words we often hear at our ANZAC day services across the world.
“Greater love has no man than this that a man lay down his life for his friends.”
But it is sad to me the rest of Christ’s words in that passage in the Bible are most times omitted. He went on to say, “Your are My friends if you do whatever I command you.” (John 15:13-14)

Perhaps even more important for us today is to remember the apostle Paul’s words in Romans 5: 6-10
You see, at just the right time, when we were still powerless, Christ died for the ungodly. Very rarely will anyone die for a righteous man, though for a good man someone might possibly dare to die. But God demonstrates his own love for us in this: While we were still sinners, Christ died for us.
Since we have now been justified by his blood, how much more shall we be saved from God’s wrath through him!
10 For if, when we were God’s enemies, we were reconciled to him through the death of his Son, how much more, having been reconciled, shall we be saved through his life!

Mary is a best-selling inspirational romance author... A Queensland farmer’s daughter, she became a registered nurse before going to Bible College. She and her minister husband have three adult children and five grandchildren, enjoyed over 46 years of ministry including church planting in Australia, two years in England, three short term mission trips to Africa and now live in Tasmania, Australia's island state. Her 19th title, Justice at Baragula will be released next month, May, 2011. Do watch out for book giveaways here and also on her own blog http://www.maryhawkins.blogspot.com/

Finding The Words

Hi! I'm delighted to be part of this new blog effort to help inform people about some great writers who live all over the world. I write from Central Alberta Canada but have lived in a number of places, including a few miles from the Arctic Circle, in Dawson City Yukon, and a couple of degrees off the equator, in Papua New Guinea.

I write a lot of devotional material as well as fiction, so for my first post I thought I'd do a piece I wrote for Remembrance Day. It has to do with writing as well, so I thought it would be fitting for this blog.

And since this is my introduction, I'm giving away a copy of my devotional book, Focused Reflections. Just leave your comments and I'll let you all know who won. It's a slim book so I'm willing to ship it anywhere in the world.

Here's my first post - Finding the Words

Several years ago I heard Eli Wiesel speak at a writers’ conference. He told the story about the catalyst that made him write his prize-winning book, Night. After WW2, he had gone to Paris to try and find surviving members of his family. He got a job as a journalist and on one occasion had to interview Francois Mauriac, the famous writer.

Mauriac spoke about Jesus and Wiesel finally could stand it no longer. He exploded and told him to stop “talking about your Jesus.” He said that not far from where they were sitting atrocious things had happened to his people. “And we have no words,” he said. “We have no words.”

Mauriac was deeply moved and responded – “You must find the words. You must write this story.” Wiesel began to write.

He was fortunate. Some did not find the words and the result was depression, mental illness, even suicide.

My father was one of those who had no words. He talked very little about the war. I learned more about his military service from my mother than from him. But once, late one night when we were having a rare father-daughter talk about faith and religion, he told me how God met him in an old church in Germany.

He spent the first years of the war in Canada, working as a clerk in the RCAF,because he “made the mistake of telling them I could type.” We have a picture of him in uniform, brandishing a rifle, smiling proudly, the Halifax harbour behind him. Then he was moved to England where he again worked at a desk. We have another picture of him on a golf course in Ireland. Then the war was over, and somehow – he always thought it was a mistake of paper-work - my father was sent to continental Europe with the occupation forces. He found himself moving with the liberation army through France and Germany. One day he found himself at the gates of Bergen-Belsen. It was at that point, after the allies had won and the Second World War was over, that my father's war began.

He would never say what it was specifically that caused it to happen. Perhaps he looked too long into the face of one man, a man his own age, whose eyes were glazed with hunger and shadowed with pain, a man who looked a hundred years old, 'though he was only twenty. Perhaps my father looked into another face, one without any sign of emotion, of anguish or compassion, a face which, though living, was dead. Perhaps he could not stop staring at the piles of dead bodies, the bones and skulls, or perhaps he was required to record the numbers, the unfathomable numbers. Perhaps he could not bear the smiles, the smiles of survivors who welcomed their deliverers in silence. He would never say what it was, but something that day, in that place, made my father's mind stop. It stopped and could not go beyond the horror, the fear, the guilt.

I don't know how long he was in the psychiatric hospital. I know he was afraid to leave it, afraid even to go for a walk beyond the doors of the building. Until one morning when one of his nurses brought him his clothes and told him to get dressed. She walked him down the hallway, outside and to the front gate. She unlocked it, pushed him gently beyond it and closed it behind him.
My father told me he didn’t know how long he stood there, afraid to move, afraid that someone would walk by, afraid most of all, that he would hear the German language spoken. Then he said he was filled with a desire to find a church. He started walking and soon stood in the centre of a huge cathedral. He sat in one of the pews and stared at the stained glass windows all around him. Then he fell to his knees and wept. When he looked up the light was streaming through the windows above the altar. He said it was like watching a movie – the life of Christ flowed by in brilliant colour. When it was over, the fear was gone. He never returned to the hospital.

When he returned home he was not the man my mother had known six years earlier. He could not sleep and loud sounds made him shake. He had not conquered his fears but buried them in a shallow grave. Many times they were resurrected and continued to plague him. I know in some ways he remained an unreachable stranger, even to those who had been closest to him. I know my father never found the words.

And I know Francois Mauriac was right. We must find the words to express those things that are ugly and even evil. We must find them and write them down and then allow them to go out into the world. We must find the words, words that help us remember, words that help us to heal. Lest we forget.


Marcia Laycock is an award winning writer of devotionals and fiction. See her website - http://www.vinemarc.com/