The Peace of Knowing

Can you imagine not knowing what happened to your loved one who never came back from the war? Thankfully, God offers peace.

As I leafed through the latest issue of Smithsonian magazine, I paused at a favorite feature: “This Month in History: May Anniversaries, Momentous or Merely Memorable.”

Noting a picture of a woman who looked vaguely familiar, I skimmed the blurb about the person who was responsible for establishing the American Red Cross May 21, 1881—130 years ago—Clara Barton. Clearly Smithsonian considered that momentous. But I later learned something about Barton that evidently was not “merely memorable” enough for me to recall, had I ever even known it in the first place.

Courageous Clara

Clara Barton had never shied from threats of danger or from rendering service wherever it was needed—especially on the battlefields of the Civil War. Born in Massachusetts, her sentiments naturally lay with the Union, and she took it upon herself to gather much-needed supplies for the Union forces (often at her own expense) and to minister to their wounded, in hospitals or in the thick of a battle. But that was not enough.

Missing in action

Barton felt the need not only to care for the living, but to account for those soldiers reported missing in action. She wrote to President Abraham Lincoln for permission to begin an official search effort, which he quickly granted.

There certainly was a need. Barbara A. Somervill, in her book, Clara Barton, Founder of the American Red Cross, describes the monumental task confronting Barton: “So many soldiers died so quickly during the war that many bodies were placed in unmarked graves. There were 315,555 known Yankee graves, but 143,155 of them were unmarked. Plus another 44,000 deaths were recorded with no burial listed. In addition, thousands of soldiers on both sides of the war remained ‘missing.’ Some had deserted their posts, but others had died without anyone knowing it” (p. 57).

The search begins

Barton began her humanitarian efforts by advertising her “missing soldier” services in Northern newspapers, eventually receiving over 100 letters daily. Each provided a name, regiment and company and requested knowledge of the fate or location of a loved one or friend.

At first she organized all her records by hand, but when that became impossible to continue, government presses were enlisted to publish lists of names (the first of which contained 7,500) for distribution at post offices and in newspapers. Between 1865 and 1869, Clara Barton had responded to more than 63,000 letters and identified more than 22,000 missing soldiers.

As I read more in Somervill’s book, I envisioned young sons (children, really), husbands, fathers, sweethearts—all going off to war, possibly never to be heard from again. And their loved ones were left wondering and waiting, hoping and praying. How excruciating that must have been! How merciful it was to finally know what happened, at least for some.

Another time, another war

Not every body is recovered or even accounted for in times of war, no matter when or where the conflict occurred. That was brought home with stark clarity when our son Joel took us to the World War I military cemetery at Verdun in France, with its acres of perfectly aligned crosses, each marking the grave of a fallen soldier. The stillness and reverence enveloping the site was almost palpable, but that was soon to be disturbed.

As we approached the Douaumont Ossuary, the massive stone monument at one end of the formal burial grounds, I immediately noticed a long line of individual alcoves along its base, each with a small window designed as an individual viewing area. Reaching the first in line, I curiously leaned forward and was staggered by what I saw—an area filled with human bones, gray-white bones, hundreds of them!

Each alcove revealed more of the same—bones, sometimes in haphazard heaps, sometimes in orderly stacks. These were the unidentified remains of 130,000 French and German soldiers, tragic casualties of the 10-month Battle of Verdun fought in 1916. Those 130,000 families must have lived out their lives suffering the unrequited heartache of not knowing!

Peace: from the memorable and the momentous

There is a peace that comes from knowing. Clara Barton certainly provided a memorable service for many families during the Civil War, giving them closure so they could get on with their lives. More importantly, however, real peace, the peace that surpasses all understanding (Philippians 4:7), also comes from knowing. Knowing not only what God knows, but that God knows.

David summed it up in his beautiful psalm:

“Where can I go from Your Spirit?

Or where can I flee from Your presence?

If I ascend into heaven, You are there;

If I make my bed in hell, behold, You are there.

If I take the wings of the morning,

And dwell in the uttermost parts of the sea,

Even there Your hand shall lead me,

And Your right hand shall hold me.

If I say, ‘Surely the darkness shall fall on me,’

Even the night shall be light about me;

Indeed, the darkness shall not hide from You,

But the night shines as the day;

The darkness and the light are both alike to You” (Psalm 139:7-12).

Now that truly is momentous!

Having a husband and a son who are avid students of biblical history, history in general and military history in particular, it only follows that Karen Meeker has visited many battle sites and cemeteries over the years. “Thanks to my team of very knowledgeable and scintillating guides, I always come away with a new awareness, not only of history, but of God’s hand in the affairs of men.”