From Tragedy to Triumph

In this you rejoice, though now for a little while, if necessary, you have been grieved by various trials, so that the tested genuineness of your faith—more precious than gold that perishes though it is tested by fire—may be found to result in praise and glory and honor at the revelation of Jesus Christ. 1 Peter 1:6-7

My dad’s parents had 8 sons and 2 daughters. All eight of their sons were in WWI or WWII. My mom’s parents had 4 sons and 1 daughter. They all fought in different theaters of WWII. I never knew my grandparents. They all died before I was born. I always missed their presence. I wondered what they were like, what kind of aromas would have filled my grandmothers’ kitchens? What tales would they have told about my parents when they were young?  What was it like for so many of their children to be on the war front not knowing if they were okay?  Now that my own parents are gone I find myself wondering about them and the questions I would like to have asked them.

They never liked talking about the war. Sometimes, if I listened carefully, I would hear mom mention something about all of the bombings in London when she was head dietician of the army POW hospital. Once the bombings startled her so much she bit through her bottom lip. Dad was in the Pacific Theater working radar, a new and developing technology. Whatever he did I never knew. Perhaps it was top secret. There was no PTSD back then, but there really was. The term hadn’t been developed yet. Soldiers returned home with grand celebration and resumed their lives. Like most postwar parents, my parents wanted to give me a better life than they had experienced. In a strange kind of silence they wanted to move on. They wanted to live again.

Our family loves to travel. In my goal setting way, I have decided that there are some places I want to go in my lifetime. Coventry, England has been high on the list. Why Coventry of all places? It certainly is not the Taj Mahal (been there done that, way overrated) St Michael’s Cathedral in Coventry was destroyed during one of the 1940 Luftwaffe blitzes. My mom had mentioned it to me.

The day we headed into town I had mixed emotions of anticipation and sadness. Anticipation, because I was actually there, and sadness at the thought of the tragedy that occurred on the night of November 14, 1940. Today, the city is bustling and thriving. There is little evidence that anything ever happened there until you see the remains of the old cathedral. It is a very sobering and moving experience. Looking one direction you see the remains of the old cathedral, looking the other direction you see new Coventry Cathedral rising up in a contemporary design. The two together are an emblem of triumph over tragedy.

I imagine November 15, 1940 was a cold day full of the odor of burning rubble, the sounds of sirens and mourning. That morning people rose up from the bomb shelters, stood amidst the rubble and determined in faith, hope and trust that the cathedral would be rebuilt. In 1962 from tragedy to triumph the new Coventry Cathedral was dedicated.

At times, I am tempted to feel like my life is full of a lot rubble and ruin. During those times I need to remind myself that from those piles of rubble God is producing in me a genuine faith that is far more precious than gold.  In this, I choose to rejoice!