In preparing for today, I came across the Litany of Remembrance, the first line of which is almost identical to one we hear as part of the Ode of Remembrance: “At the going down of the sun and in the morning, we will remember them.” The Ode, central to Remembrance Day ceremonies worldwide, is the fourth stanza of Laurence Binyon’s 1914 poem For the Fallen, honouring the lives England lost in WWI. In contrast, the Litany was crafted by two Jewish rabbis in the 1970s for use in synagogue services similar to our All Souls’ Day services, which reflect on all losses four times a year in conjunction with major feasts. Yet, the two works share words that are, in fact, older than both, appearing in Psalm 113:3, where they speak to an awareness of God’s presence in daily living. Similarly, the Litany moves through all seasons of life, affirming that our loved ones remain part of us, as they always have, through all joy, struggle, and decision-making. For, in fact, remembrance begins while our loved ones are still living, as a tool to create and sustain connection.

Don’t you enjoy moments of shared recollection, when your friends say, “Remember the time when we…”? I also find it particularly moving when I hear my words reflected back to me, as in, “You once said that…” Such moments instantly reinforce our bonds, reminding us that someone pays attention to us, truly hears and sees us, and that our lives are interwoven during our time on earth—and will remain so beyond. This is no different from when we recall time spent with those who have passed, or remember words they once said.

However, remembrance is more than just recollection. In synagogue services, prayers for loved ones are always followed by charitable giving because, in the Jewish tradition, the living carry on their loved ones’ work as a way of ensuring their eternal life—in essence, to “save them.” It’s a duty, similar to the call in the final stanza of In Flanders Fields to hold high their torch, involving self-giving. Yes, like soldiers, we sometimes lose sight of others’ humanity. Yet, even when wars may seem senseless and the losses futile, the value of individual self-sacrifice is always immense. Our faith itself is rooted in remembering God’s sacrificial nature and acting in imitation of it. As we bless the bread and cup, we say, “Do this in remembrance of me,” which makes Jesus present, heals us, and calls us to action. Similarly, our memories make our loved ones present, save them from oblivion, and occasionally, somehow, “save” us as well.

As an illustration, here is an excerpt from From Vimy to Victory, which I found while looking for Remembrance Day materials in my work as a school chaplain. This memory from Vimy Ridge shows that connection:

After a long, cold day… [Will] had nowhere to sleep. Then… two soldiers… invited Will into their ‘bivvy’ and he… was asleep in seconds and the next thing he knew, the groundsheet had been yanked away and a firm hand was pulling him upward. ‘Get your gear,’ his brother Steve said… Soon they were in some bombed-out ruins. Steve disappeared around the corner and Will followed, but couldn’t find him. … Then he remembered that his brother had been killed in battle two years before. Will couldn’t believe that he had lost him again… [but] he fell into an exhausted sleep. Before long, someone was shaking him awake. … ‘Don’t you know a big shell landed in that bivvy?… What made you leave?’

Two years prior, Stephen Bird had told his brother William, then 23-years-old and from Nova Scotia, ‘If I don’t come back, maybe I will find a way to whisper in your ear.’ In my ministry, I’ve been privileged to hear, a few times, of such “whispers” from beyond this life—moments of feeling a loved one’s presence quite tangibly, in dreams or even awake. These are connections that death cannot sever, and they continue to guard and “save us” from loneliness and despair, and awaken us to love and meaning. Remembrance is awakening.

In the story I just shared, Will awakes twice. The Litany, Ode, and Psalm 113 all reference the sunrise, and in the Act of Remembrance itself, the reveille—originally a signal for soldiers to rise from physical sleep—points to an awakening. For those who have gone before, it’s an awakening from the sleep of death to eternal life. For us who are still living, it’s a reawakening to the realization that we are not alone, that we have an active duty to maintain our relationships with the living, with the dead, and with God, in the here and now. True remembrance, then, is more than a tribute to the past. It’s a call to live in honour of those we remember, carrying forward their love, courage, and faith, thereby keeping a sense of their presence with us.

Questions to Consider

1. How do you experience and maintain a sense of connection with your loved ones, both living and the ones who have gone before?

2. Whose recent act of self-giving has particularly moved you – awakened you! – to the awareness of God’s presence?