Remembering...

We ended up missing the parade and local Remembrance Day service due to rain and wind, something Ariel didn't need to be out in, and went to church instead. Afterwards we drove over to the Cenotaph to leave our poppies, and let Ariel see the wreaths.

During the church service today, there were several moments in which we reflected on Remembrance Day, and the cost of war and the struggle for peace. I wanted to share the story that Pastor Dave read during church today that was in this months MB Herald, because it really puts this whole day in perspective.

Testimony
A child of war: The victim meets his bomber
By Jurgen Schonwetter

My heart raced and my hands trembled as I took off in my van after the last delivery that day of Meals on Wheels in Abbotsford, B.C. I had just delivered a hot meal to the home of an 88-year-old Canadian veteran.

While he took the meal in its styrofoam container to his kitchen, I fixed my eyes on the feature wall of the entrance. It was adorned with a large photograph of a World War II British fighter plane. A large group of soldiers were posing. On the white edges of the framed picture were handwritten signatures.

When Mr. Smith returned with the empty container, I talked with him about the picture. He proudly explained that had been a member of the Royal Canadian Air Force in joined military campaigns with British and U.S. forces. He had survived a number of 8½-hour round-trip missions in bombing raids over Germany. He named some major cities he had helped bomb.

Smith was a gunner and an expert in opening bomb chambers at specific times and at high altitudes. He smiled when he recalled having been personally honoured with a medal for bravery by King George VI of Great Britain. He also had on display in his basement personal letters of commendation from the famous “Bomber Harris,” the military chief responsible for all Allied bombing raids over Germany during World War II.

I couldn’t resist saying to him, without the slightest emotion, “Mr. Smith, did you know I was a 7-year-old child at the other end of your bomb chambers?” The old man was speechless.

I left with a friendly greeting.

Driving back to Abbotsford Community Services, I told my supervisor what had happened. She was amazed. I asked to continue serving this veteran with a regular hot meal. “It’s a challenge to me, particularly as a follower of Christ.”

The incident triggered a long-ago memory. Years earlier, with a bachelor’s degree in my pocket, I left for Associated Mennonite Biblical Seminary in Elkhart, Ind., where I also accepted the part-time pastorates of two nearby Evangelical United Brethren churches.

The congregations prepared a welcome banquet for me and invited local dignitaries. I shared my life story, including my traumatic experiences during Allied bombing raids over my hometown, Naumburg, a military garrison near Dresden.

My family lived on the campus of a four-square-kilometre ammunition dump. Massive bombing raids unleashed three levels of bombings: air-pressure bombs, then high-explosive bombs, and finally Napalm bombs. These reached their targets, of which I was one. It’s a miracle I survived in the basement of our apartment building.

During the last air raid, all occupants were required to enter a steel-enforced underground bunker. My mother, though not a religious woman, heard a voice telling her not to follow our neighbours underground. Soon afterwards, bombs destroyed the shelter, leaving no survivors.

After the banquet, a member of my church council – a man in his late 40s – approached me. He was visibly shaking.

“Jurgen, I was one of the U.S. bombers over your city,” he said. “Can you forgive me?”

God granted me a cleansing and radical erasing of any animosity towards “the enemy.”

The following Sunday, I preached from the passage in Isaiah where God talks of transforming swords into plowshares. “Years ago,” I said, “some of you saw me as the enemy. Today, I am your pastor.”



Remembering, never forgetting and always praying for peace.