A few years ago my wife Katherine and I were on the island of Crete. After catching a train on a hot day we wandered hesitantly through a strange neighbourhood, and finally found what we were looking for: a cemetery for the Allied soldiers who fought in World War II.
It was an oasis of green in a sun-scorched landscape. A low stone wall surrounded the spot, while beautifully kept grass fringed perfect rows of white headstones leading down to the sea. In the midst of the dry hills it was touching to see our soldiers remembered so faithfully by other people, so far away from home.
ANZAC Day and Easter fall close together this year. And one big idea unifies the two: sacrifice. For New Zealanders and Australians, it’s the sacrifice of the men and women who fought for our countries. For Christians, it’s the sacrifice of Christ.
It’s an idea that moves us profoundly. The kind of idea that moves you to seek out a cemetery in a far away country, or a community to tend the graves of strangers.
You might have seen people singing in a church on a Sunday and thought, “I could never do that.” You don’t understand what motivates people to give up a sleep in, let alone sing songs in public. But if you’d be happy to attend a dawn ceremony for ANZAC Day, you actually understand completely. It’s sacrifice.
Sacrifice moves us to acknowledge someone, or something, greater than ourselves.
For Christians, Sundays are like an ANZAC dawn service, where we remember, with profound gratitude, the sacrifice Jesus Christ made for us. We believe that on a Roman cross, he bore the punishment that was due to all human beings for living for ourselves, rather than for God and others. The sacrifice of Jesus Christ sets us free from guilt and shame, and gives us new life.
This isn’t just worth turning up for on Sundays. It’s worth living your whole life differently for. To follow Christ’s example every day, setting aside our own desires, to put others first. Sunday is just one moment in the week where that gratitude, and that life of sacrifice, has a particularly visible expression.
The only difference between a church service and an ANZAC service is that Christians believe Jesus came back to life three days after he was put to death. Because of this, we remember his sacrifice not with grief, but with awe, hope and joy. It’s what compels a Christian to crow with Martin Luther King, “Free at last, free at last, thank God almighty I’m free at last!”
But this in itself doesn’t answer the question: Why are we so moved by sacrifice?
Perhaps we’re moved by sacrifice because it doesn’t come naturally to us. We’d much rather live each day for ourselves. The dominant philosophies of our time are self-centred. Fulfil your desires. Follow your dreams. Discover meaning in yourself.
The act of soldiers laying down their lives for their country confounds these beliefs. As does the image of a man on a cross, laying down his life for humanity.
Acts of sacrifice also defy a Darwinian view of the world. They can’t be reduced to the actions of “selfish genes”, happy to see their existence replicated and continued in another person. Or to a “herd instinct”, a subconscious awareness that by helping the collective I help myself.
Take the Malian migrant who scaled four storeys up a building in Paris to rescue a toddler dangling from a balcony. When asked what motivated him to act, he replied: “I did not think, I saved him.” People perform genuinely self-sacrificing acts all the time, whether it’s giving to charity, helping a stranger, forgiving a wrong, or dying for your country.
The Christian answer for why we’re so moved by sacrifice is that it’s what we were made for. That in those moments, when our finest instincts are on display, we are living in a way completely compatible with our design. That living for someone, or something else, is meant to be the norm, not the exception to the rule. When we see it, sacrifice rings true.
And that’s worth celebrating this Easter, and this ANZAC Day.