Recently I was at a social gathering where the topic of discussion was Canada’s military role in Afghanistan.
Everyone was concerned about the young men and women of the Canadian Armed Forces who placed themselves in peril in order to make a better world for everyone. We talked of these courageous soldiers who are overseas to protect us. Some have sacrificed their lives. All of us expressed hopes and prayers for the end of the conflict.
I fell into conversation with an older woman, who recounted the events of VE Day in Stratford, Ont., when the Second World War ended in Europe.
She said when the news broke, the streets of the town were flooded with men, women and children running to church. It didn’t matter what church. All churches.
They were everywhere, all at once, all over the sidewalks and in the middle of the streets. They were scurrying, hurrying, running headlong with a purpose, an almost desperation to get to a place to express their gratitude for the end this terrible war.
Some ran down the street that I live on today, right past my house, heading to the church at the end of my block. I stood on my porch the other night and tried to envision it.
I recall seeing newsreels of celebrations in major cities like New York. They showed people dancing in the streets, sailors kissing girls and ticker tape parades down the broad avenues.
Certainly there were celebrations like this, the woman said. But they took place as the news unfolded in later days and when soldiers returned home. In fact, the war in the Pacific would not officially end until August of that year. But that day, the day she told me about, had finality. War was over for much of the world and everyone knew the rest of it would be over soon.
People ran to church.
As the woman spoke to me about it, I imagined bewildered preachers of all faiths, hurrying to pull on their frocks and religious cloaks, doing their best to console, comfort and give thanks as the people poured in. The houses of worship were filled to the rafters.
It occurred to me that this was probably the last time any town or city in Canada has experienced such a day when almost every soul came together like that.
We still have war. They still all begin the same way. There is great indignation, stirring passion, religious righteousness, and throwing down of gauntlets. These emotions are followed with second guessing, criticism, heartbreak, demands for peace and gloom.
I can only imagine how it might be if the news breaks that it’s all over in Afghanistan. No more war. They’re all coming home. We’ll see them soon.
I would run to church on that day.
But in my time wars have not ended abruptly. In South East Asia, the Middle East, the Baltic States and Africa, there never seems to be an end. No closure. There is a constant rage.
There is a constant fear of terrorism.
There is no May 7, 1945 when a world war stopped. It just stopped!
But there is a May 7, 2006. Sixty-one years later to the day. And it just happens to be a weekend.
Realtor, baker, candle stick maker. Would it kill us if we all went to the church, synagogue, mosque or temple on that weekend? I doubt it. After the rhetoric, don’t they all say the same thing?
Love thy neighbour.
Heino Molls is publisher of REM. E-mail [email protected] or discuss this article in the REM Discussion Forum.
