“As Australians, when we remember Gallipoli, we do not glorify or celebrate war. War is not glorious; it is hideous and calamitous. It comes at a terrible cost…”
These were the words of my husband as he addressed the community of Jondaryan, a small farming town west of Toowoomba. He paused as the beating rotors of Australian and Singaporean helicopters from the local Army barracks approached in formation. The catafalque party of four young cadets stood guarding the flag; the faces of young boys’ stern and still as the sound and wind accosted us all.
The sounds of Anzac Day; the solemn silence, the whisper of hymns, and the solitary bugle that pierces the morning were suddenly juxtaposed with a fearsome reality of the deafening sound of war.
“…as a nation, we have chosen not to focus on great military victory or might…Anzac Day remembers the bravery and sacrifice all the more vividly for the fact that the Gallipoli campaign ended in defeat. We remember that our soldiers fight and die not because victory is assured, but because it isn’t.”
As a defence family, my children and I are well versed in the ceremony of Anzac Day; but perhaps more than ever, my children understood. It is easy in childhood to simplify war as the “good guys” vs the “bad guys”, the thrill of guns and uniforms, but the reality is far from it.
As my six-year-old son read through the hundreds of names the young men from this small country town, who humbly volunteered their lives to do what they truly believed was right; as he looked up at his father on the podium, slouch hat and uniform not so different from those the Anzacs were issued; he realised, as we all did, that the battles were the tragic a symptom of a broken world, and none are immune to its effect.
The cultural identity of Australia and New Zealand alike is often described by the Spirit of the Anzacs. But what is this “spirit” we are encouraged to embody in our own lives?
Humility
While Many nations approach the wars of the past with great pride over victory, but we have chosen to consider with humility the great loss of war. We sing the hymn, like a prayer our soldiers prayed in the trenches more than one hundred years ago;
Abide with me: fast falls the eventide,
The darkness deepens: Lord, with me abide;
When other helpers fail, and comforts flee,
Help of the helpless, O abide with me.
Swift to its close ebbs out life’s little day;
Earth’s joys grow dim, its glories pass away;
Change and decay in all around I see;
O thou who changest not abide with me.
Hold Thou Thy cross before my closing eyes,
Shine through the gloom and point me to the skies;
Heaven’s morning breaks and earth’s vain shadows flee;
In life, in death, O Lord abide with me.
It was not long into the campaign that our Anzacs realised that their enemies were no different; brothers in a foreign land. After months in stalemate, they might have resigned themselves to the likelihood of death; giving up all hope. Instead, perhaps better than any of us; in the midst of the fearful sound of gunfire and the solemn still of dawn, the Anzacs understood the greatest love; if their flesh was to be thrown into battle, it would be spent on hope.
“Greater love has no one than this, that a man lay down his life for his friends”
(John Chapter 15, verse 13)
“The Spirit of the Anzacs” is a term so often used, but less often understood, but if one thing is certain, in the face of death, they chose love over fear. If we as a nation are to embody the Spirit of the Anzacs, we needn’t look further than the love of Christ; who laid down his life for no earthly gain, but for love; for the joy set before him, endured.