Monday, May 26, 2025
Memorial of Saint Philip Neri, Priest
Memorial Day in the USA
(click here to listen to or read today’s scriptures)
Where have all the flowers gone
You have been with me from the beginning.
Silent night. Holy night. All is calm. All is bright.
Memorial Day honors soldiers from every nation, many of whom were killed by each other. But on Christmas Eve 1914 the bullets stopped and for 24 hours the German boys played soccer with the boys from England and France. They shared their Christmas treats – wine and fruitcake and oysters. They sang the songs.
This also deserves a memorial day. Can it also honor those who did not kill?
No, not for long. When the higher ups got wind of the “Christmas Truce,” they quickly put a stop to it. If the soldiers realized they could be friends, they might never again be pawns in the game the politicians played.
My dad joined the US Army in 1943, and he spent the next two years on the Pacific front, in Okinawa and the Philippines. How could he not do his duty to take up arms against Hitler and the rest of the Axis powers? On the other hand, how could he, peace-loving man that he was, be willing to learn and use a rifle?
Dad’s skills with numbers and attention to detail won him a position in the signal corps, and on my brother’s wall there is a copy of the telegram he sent from MacArthur’s headquarters to all the armies of the Pacific, that the Japanese had surrendered and the war was over.
I remember Dad’s shotgun. On the farm starlings sometimes filled the trees around our house and barn. All those pellets in a shotgun shell scattered them and sometimes they didn’t come back. Occasionally Dad went pheasant hunting in the fall and occasionally took me too. He didn’t kill anything. The weather was beautiful and when we flushed pheasants they were beautiful, flying together into the sky.
During the Vietnam War, when I applied for status as conscientious objector, Mom and Dad did not object, although I know Dad wanted me to think differently. When I received letters from pastors past and present supporting my request, he read them without comment. I assume that when my draft number turned out to be high enough to keep me out of the army, he was relieved. But he didn’t say so, he just didn’t say anything.
I’ve been reading Flames in the Wind, about heroes from western Kentucky. Although he’s not in the book, Margaret’s dad Edward McLeod was one of them. A navigator in the US Air Force, he flew Flying Tigers over the Hump (the Himalayas) between India and Burma, carrying food and supplies.
Earlier during the Civil War, Kentucky families were as divided as the country, and the state government mostly maintained neutrality. Who were the heroes – the soldiers who fought and died, or the boys who stayed home and farmed the land, fed the cattle and chickens?
I have no right to answer that question, if it’s even a valid question to ask. Memorial Day was proclaimed to honor soldiers who died in the Civil War, and countless un-proclaimed men and women supported those men who died. So when I put flowers on my father’s grave, I think how he represents all of mankind, men and women, children who grow up and create their own profiles in courage, aiming always toward peace.
Love one another.
Love your enemies.
Boy, these are puzzles only God can guide us through.
The Spirit of truth will testify to me, says the Lord, and you too will testify.
(posted at www.davesandel.net)
#
