For the soldiers in the trenches of the First World War, the comforts of faith were essential. Indeed, so bravely did the French priests serve – often enrolling as humble squaddies (poilus) – that even the anti-clerical French leader Georges Clemenceau thanked them profusely after the war, and relaxed his formerly aggressive brand of secularism.
Among the British troops, a small edition of the Bible was issued with their kit, and it surely provided spiritual support to the soldiers who experienced so much suffering in the theatre of war.
So it’s regrettable that Britain’s leading independent cinemas refused to show a three-minute film about the role of the Bible in this momentous conflict. Pearl and Dean, the cinema advertising society, was to have screened this short feature, made by the Bible Society, as part of Armistice Day memorials, but 125 screens in Britain and Northern Ireland have turned it down.
The Empire chain said that they have a policy of not screening advertisements from any religious group, and they will stand by that. This is an indication, perhaps, of how religion has become in itself a controversial topic, rather than – as it was – part of the culture of national life. Perhaps there is a fear of secularist complaints. Maybe there is apprehension that other faiths – Islam, notably – might demand “equal time”, and that sets up a scenario of grievances.
Yet this trend of airbrushing faith out of the past – short films made by the Church of England have been rejected previously – is a dereliction of duty to history. It is a historical fact that chaplains brought the comforts of faith to the men at the front. At Armistice day, 3,475 “padres” were with the troops, of which 651 were Catholic. The famous Fr Francis Gleason of the Munster regiment, mentioned in Robert Graves’s memoir, Goodbye to All That, not only blessed the men, but led and defended them too.
But it is in services such as the commemoration at Westminster Abbey on Sunday that the centrality of faith emerges, marked by the beautiful hymns and scriptural readings. And how inclusive, indeed, it all was, with the participation of young boys and girls from so many backgrounds, joining together in solemn remembrance.
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Where Britain and France mark Remembrance Sunday, America honoured Veterans Day on Monday of this week. The singer-songwriter Rosanne Cash – the eldest daughter of the celebrated Johnny Cash – posted a message of gratitude for her family members who had served in the military.
She’s a remarkably sensitive performer and after a series of family losses some years ago, Rosanne wrote this memorable reflection on what grief teaches us:
You begin to realise that everyone has a tragedy, and that if he doesn’t, he will. You recognise how much is hidden beneath the small courtesies and civilities of everyday existence. Deep sorrow and traces of great loss run through everyone’s lives, and yet they let others step into the elevator first, wave them ahead in a line of traffic, smile and greet their children and inquire about their lives, and never let on for a second that they, too, have lain awake at night in longing and regret, that they, too, have cried until it seemed impossible that one person could hold so many tears, that they too, keep a picture of someone locked in their heart and bring it out in quiet, solitary moments to caress and remember.
This is so true: everyone has a sorrow, and many people carry a cross with courage and fortitude – a silent cross we don’t always know about.
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I attended a charity concert in a local church earlier this month, which featured a range of music, both classical and sacred. Unusually, one young tenor chose to perform the song made famous by Frank Sinatra, My Way. In theory I disapprove of this composition, which is derived from a French chanson, with lyrics by Paul Anka. The words are egotistical, self-pitying, self-justifying, self-glorifying, bombastic and, although in this case performed charmingly, best suited to some mawkish drunk crooning about how he had been right about everything.
And yet, as Noël Coward wrote, “strange how potent cheap music is”. I may deplore My Way, but it’s shamefully compelling.
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