People often make fun of Canada’s RCMP. From the distinctive red dress uniform, to the variety of accents, to jokes about the shorthand name “Mounties.” In the way of all Canadians, it’s taken in stride with a smile and a shrug.
However, the Royal Canadian Mounted Police are just that…police. They are the protectors that dedicate themselves to the people and the country they love. They stretch from one coast to the other and to the fartherst northern reaches. The men and women that join the RCMP are made of stern stuff. Integrity, honour, faith, courage, compassion, and strength.
On Thursday, March 3rd, four RCMP constables were shot and killed just outside Mayerthorpe, Alberta. A farming community just a couple of hours from where I live.
Peter Christopher Schiemann, Anthony Fitzgerald Orion Gordon, Lionide Nicholas Johnston and Broack Warren Myrol were killed in the line of duty, and I borrowed this poem from Grace’s blog, because her friend says it better than I ever could.
The Judgment
The officer stood and faced his God,
Which must always come to pass.
He hoped his shoes were shining,
Just as brightly as his brass.
“Step forward now, Officer,
How shall I deal with you?
Have you always turned the other cheek?
To my church have you been true?”
The officer squared his shoulder and said,
“No, Lord I guess I ain’t,
Because those of us who carry badges
can’t always be a saint.
I’ve had to work most Sundays,
And at times my talk was rough,
And sometimes I’ve been violent
Because the streets are tough.
But I never took a penny
That wasn’t mine to keep.
Though I worked a lot of overtime,
when the bills got to steep.
And I never passed a cry for help
Though at times I shook with fear.
And sometimes, God forgive me,
I’ve wept an unmanly tear.
I know I don’t deserve a place
among the people here.
They never wanted me around
except to calm their fear.
If you’ve a place for me here, Lord,
it needn’t be so grand.
I never expected or had too much,
But if you don’t…I’ll understand.”
There was silence all around the throne,
where the saints often trod.
As the officer waited quietly
for the judgment of his God.
“Step forward now, Officer.
You’ve borne your burdens well.
Come walk a beat on heaven’s streets,
You’ve done your time in hell”
)
