My Story

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In Memory of Gordon Gentle June 2004
By Rev. Dr. John Mann

Shock -denial -sorrow -anger. These are the feelings too deep for
words. Yet we have come here today to some how try to put our words together,
to somehow grasp the words that will help us to grasp our thoughts and
emotions and to offer them up to God. To offer them up because the shock,
de~ial,sorrow and anger are too heavy a burdento bear.

Usually when at a funeral we offer a tribute to a person's life, the first
19years are described in a sentence or two. When a young man is killed at the
age of 19,no amount of words seem enoughto contain his life.

Gordon Gentle was born on 23 December 1984. He was in every sense a
typical boy. If you wanted to find him, look up, because he was most likely
climbing a tree somewhere. He attended school at Bonnyholm,Crookston Castle
and HillPark.

One day when he was around three years old, Gordon traded his brand
new outfit to the ragman for a balloon.Later on he and his mates built the shed,
the ultimate boy's fort that they added onto and improved over the years.

His sister said the smell of his feet was enough to clear the room. But he
loved his sisters and felt like their protector. He loved a lot of folks and he was
the kind of lad who made friends easily;the kind of lad that's easy to love.

He was his granny's boy. He loved his gran. He was his mommie's blue-eyed
boy. He thought he was a stud, and he knew he was handsome. He knew how to
eat, gaining the nickname "refrigerator." As a growing boy his typical greeting

upon enterit\~ the ~ou~e W~s,"what's for eaten?"

Gordon took great pride in being godfather to baby Steven. He took great
pride-in his military service. He planned a career in it. On the 28th of June, 2004
while doing his duty, Gordon was killed in action.


The prophet Isaiah spoke words of hope; that the day would come when
people would turn their weapons of war into instruments of peace. Since the
prophet spoke those words, "they shall beat their swords into ploughs,"many
empires have risen and fallen. Each new empire puts its hand to the sword for
the sake of empire, and sometimes in the mistaken belief that war will make
peace."This time we'll get it right,"they say."This time will be the exception to
the testimony of history."

When the elders dream of war, it's the young men and women who die.

Because part of our task here is to offer upto God our anger at Gordon's
death, I want to put my anger into words, and then to hand it over to God. It
won't just go away,but the act of letting it go,is a crucial step in being free of
it.

I am angry at the political leaders who created this war. I am angry at
the politicians who themselves have never personally experienced the horror of
war, yet whoso easily have sent others into that horror.

I am angry at the political leaders who in the pursuit of empire have
sacrificed the lives of honorable people; and who see that sacrifice as an
acceptable loss.

I am angry at the political pretext for this war. The misinformation,the
lies that were put forth as justification. Those who are truly responsible for
Gordon's death will in all likelihood never face justice inthis life.

I want to believe that if there is a God in heaven, then there will be
justice, because I want someone to pay for Gordon's death. Only God may judge
who is ultimately responsible. I may only admonish. To those whom I would say

are ultimately responsible, President George Bush and Prime Minister Tony Blair,
I have only three words to say and may they someday be inscribed upon the
tablet of your hearts, "shame on you."

That is how I describe my anger.But anger is like a sword.We pick it up
and carry it as the motivation,the justification of the battles we fight.Yet God
calls us to turn our swords into plowshares. I must, we all must turn our anger
into the motivation for peace. Otherwise, we live only to repeat the never
ending cycle of violence and war.

May God in his mercy grant us freedom from anger.

Gordon now joins the ranks of fallen soldiers.His name will be inscribed
on the roll of honor of men~nd womenwho have given their lives in service to
their country. He will forever remain 19 years old. Because of his unfortunate
death, his name will always be a name we honor.

The only way that his sacrifice will not be in vain,is if we the living,live
with hope. Hope that someday we might catch just a glimmer of the promise of
peace. That we might hear just an echo of the sound of the implements of war
being turned into the instruments of peace.In living with hope we must work for
peace.

And for those you his friends, his comrades, someday when you are old,
when you have lived a full life, visit his grave. Tell him of your life. Tell him that
your life was worth living. Remember to thank him.

In closing I will share with you a poem I wrote in honor of Gordon Gentle.

I pray for a world-

I pray for a world
where peace is something
that people work for rather than fight for;

where peace is something
that people live for rather than die for;
where peaceful ends are pursued
through peaceful means.


I pray for a world
where old men don't start wars


that young men have to die in,
and where the poor man doesn't have to fight
the rich man's war.


I pray for a world
where before any politician agrees
to pursue war as a solution,
that he or she would sit for just an hour

with a mother and father whose child has died in battle.

I pray for a world where mums and dads
don't have to stand by the graves
of their sons and daughters,
watching as the earth falls upon their coffins;
but instead they grow old
and pass the earth on
to their children and grandchildren.



Within the realm of mankind there are those that exceed The expectations of the human soul, For they are the epitome of good will, and the extended hand of God, They come when called no questions asked, giving of themselves and their time. Neither for money nor fame, but only to serve their fellow man, They believe themselves neither as heroes nor as gods, But as simply doing their job. Their answer to the calls of need is, how can I help. Their answer to the danger is, it needs to be done. Their answer to their death is, please take care of my family. For there is no greater sacrifice then to give your life for another, Yet they do so without thought. Willing to leave behind their families for a stranger, Offering to give their life for someone not known, And once gone, their gentle souls committed to the ages Never again to be replaced. Let us never forget these perished men and women, Take one moment to honor their passing, For ours is the greatest loss of all. They lived to serve us, And in death they are the gentle heroes we have loved and lost. Let their memory shine forever, a monument to humanity.




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