Forty-one, how can it be that 41 years have passed since Stewart Wesley Conger died? At times it seems like it was such a long time ago, but other days, it still feels fresh. The grief lingers.
I just finished reading The Man Who Read Books, by Rachid Benzine. It is a short book about a man who is born into pre-Israel Palestine, and how his life in exile is defined by the tragedies that surround him. As I read, for whatever reason, both Stewart and my father came to mind. It is amazing to me how much of our lives are shaped by the tragedies that happen to us and those we love. At one point, talking about his parents, who died during Israel reprisal attacks in Gaza, Nabil says: “Often invisibly, living or dead, your parents accompany you at every instant of your existence. Even without you realising. Like a self-evident truth or a regret that you carry deep inside all your life. You never get over their absence; it kills you a little more each day.” There is truth to that statement, unless, of course you choose not to remember.
Today is November 11th, Veterans Day (formerly Armistice Day) here in the USA. But this day has much larger significance than simply honoring our Veterans. Throughout the British Commonwealth the day is known as Remembrance Day. Today, I remember. But the day has even greater significance than that.
November 11, wasn’t always a day to remember lives lost in a war between the great imperial powers of Europe. Across Europe, November 11 was an important festival on the Christian calendar — St. Martin’s Day, or Martinmas, in memory of a pious bishop of the early church, Martin of Tours. And the powers that be, chose that day to end the Great War.
Martin of Tours (ca. 316-397) was born into a pagan family, but as a young man expressed interest in Christianity. His father, a soldier, was appalled by the religion and forced Martin to join the Roman army. While a soldier, Martin’s curiosity about Christianity grew and he became a “learner” of the faith.
According to legend, Martin was on patrol when he saw a naked beggar on the road. Moved with compassion, he dismounted his horse, took off his military cloak, tore it in half, and covered the man. In a dream that night, Jesus appeared to Martin and said, “Martin, a simple catechumen, covered me with this garment.”
Martin decided to be baptized and asked to be released from the army. “I am Christ’s soldier,” he maintained, “I am not allowed to fight.” He refused to wield the sword for Caesar.
Martin stated what most early Christians believed. Before theologians made a case for just war, Christians were primarily pacifists. Indeed, no record exists that Christians served in the Roman army before 170. The overwhelming consensus of the early church was that war was killing in service to the empire, killing was murder, and murder was wrong.
Martin left the army and became a monk, a priest, and finally, a bishop. He was known for peacemaking and his generosity toward the poor, especially children.
So what are you remembering this day? I will remember all those who died in war, but also those who died as "collateral damage.” I will remember Martin and his love for his neighbor.
Forty-one years is a long time. Some of the memories have faded. Most of the items of his that I kept are no longer with me. Yet I know, that I will never get over his absence. I often wonder what life would look like if he was still alive? Would have have a wife and children? Maybe even grand-children. Those thoughts make me sad. But I am grateful for the gifts Stewart continues to give me. For the joy of life that he was full of, and the future when we will be together again.
Say hi to Dad for me. I miss you.
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