Anzac Day quenches our thirst for something greater

People may tell you that organised religion is dead or dying. The Census found half of us adhere to no religion(“religion” meaning adherence to a system of beliefs and practices).

But I don’t swallow the “dead or dying” diagnosis. Tens of thousands of us just turned out at the crack of dawn in organised demonstrations of faith.

We don’t call it “church”. We call it Anzac Day

But just look how it follows the pattern of organised religion. Just look at the media coverage. Everybody knows what Anzac Day looks like.

The ways most faiths do corporate worship are also well known – our media still regularly feature church services for weddings and funerals.

We respond to the symbols and the rituals. They’re old but they still pack a punch. From the most traditional to the most contemporary, churches follow a well-worn pattern of gathering, greeting, thanksgiving, karakia, sharing from revered texts, silent reflection, and in every case, recognisable rituals and symbols which go back centuries.

Anzac Day ticks all of these boxes. We call the gatherings “services”. We promote them: they’re not secret gatherings. We prepare a venue and ensure that the sound and lighting system is working.

We festoon the venue with symbols and decorations. We all gather at the same time in a traditional public space.

We even live-stream it on the internet and TV and radio.

We expect the local journalists will be there. We say karakia. We sing hymns. Sometimes (if we’re lucky) there’s a top notch choir or soloist. Usually, someone gives a carefully prepared homily on the theme of the day.

We play ancient tunes that move every heart. We repent of past mistakes and we express sorrow for the victims of those tragedies. We hold times of silence. We give thanks for the good things we enjoy.

We engage in responsive prayer (we call it “The Ode”) and we solemnly repeat our Amen: “We will remember them.” Some of the participants wear uniforms. We all pin on a holy symbol.

And, before and after the special day, our media are festooned with films, podcasts, docos, articles, photos, memes, and hours and hours of live coverage of what we Kiwis and Australians are doing on our holy day.

We even have a nationwide holiday that carries the kind of respect usually only given by people of faith to their holy days. You may not call it “spirituality”, but you’d be wrong. Anzac Day is New Zealand’s most holy day. Waitangi Day is a close second.

I’ve said this before and others much wiser than I have expressed it better: Time and trend will regularly supplant one set of rituals and symbols from a people group (as is happening here with organised religion). But nature abhors a vacuum.

New Zealanders (and Australians) may look like two of the most secular nations on earth. But Anzac Day proves that all people have a thirst for the spiritual. Increasing numbers of us – regardless of age or education or ethnicity – just love to gather and celebrate holy mysteries.

I suspect that most of don’t even realise we’re doing “public religion”. Perhaps a future Census should ask us if we adhere to the Anzac religion? Because, without a doubt, we are relating to something greater than our selves.