A Reflection for Memorial Day

25 May 2020

The location  of the first observance that eventually came to be known as Memorial Day is a little controversial.  While the government designated some town in New York State as having held the first commemoration of the war dead, anyone from Pennsylvania knows that the custom of placing flowers on the graves of the those killed in war, a custom that that evolved into Memorial Day, was in the village of Boalsburg on an unrecalled date in October 1864.  

Boalsburg sits at the intersection of US 322  and PA 45 a few miles south of State College.  Because two of my closest friends from our years at Penn State have lived there for about four decades, I've lost track of how often I've been there, occasionally spending Memorial Day weekend with Al and Karen when distance was not the obstacle that it is now.  

Memorial Day was not begun as a day for cookouts, road races, traffic jams, and sunburns, nor was it meant to be the first official day of summer.  It came into being to give us the opportunity to remember, acknowledge, and pray for those who died during the civil war, a devastatingly bloody war in which an estimated 620,000 soldiers died.  Today it commemorates all those who died in war.

My mom always referred to Memorial Day by its original designation of Decoration Day. It was, and should be, a time to visit the graves, place flowers and American flags, and, at least in Catholic cemeteries, to leave behind candles in red glass jars in memory of the dead from all wars.  It is a time for public services in memory of those who died.  

There was an annual service in front of the memorial at Plymouth High School that involved the band, multiple clergy, and a variety of veterans' organizations. Most painful to see was the group of Gold Star Mothers.  The pain never left their faces.  There were speeches, prayers to open and close the service, and music, always including the National Anthem.  Though the red and black wool serge band uniforms got mighty uncomfortable in the summer heat, participation by band members was NOT optional.  It was always difficult to hold it together as a lone bugler sounded taps at the end.   

We ask: Why?  We don't ask why war happens.  War is a built-in feature of humankind.  The world has never been free of war, conflict, skirmishes, and battles; it will never be free of war, any more than the world will be free of sin.  

Rather we ask why men and women voluntarily risk and lose their lives to defend that which they and we hold sacred?  There are more reasons than there are men and women in the military.  No matter the reason, the only response we can offer to those who lost their lives defending our country--be it at D-Day in World War II or during Desert Storm--is honor, gratitude, and prayer for their repose and prayers for the consolation of their families.

The changes in the way wars are fought and the reasons underlying wars emerge from changes in society and technology. The WW I trenches, hand-to-hand combat, and bayonets were replaced by planes and bombs with extraordinary destructive potential in WW II.  Today, missiles can be deployed via computer. Weapons of mass destruction and land mines can be triggered by cell phones.  The impact of drones has yet to be fully assessed.  Those who serve now face the risk of sophisticated chemical and biological warfare.  All of these developments have changed the experience of those called to fight wars. 

The philosophical and theological understandings of conflict and war have changed dramatically since the Civil War.  The almost complete disappearance of "The Battle Hymn of the Republic" from public consciousness is inexplicable.  It is unlikely that either "Over There," George M. Cohan's rousing WW I song or Frank Loesser's "Praise the Lord and Pass the Ammunition" of WW II vintage would be hits today. 

A war defines the generation that fought it.  A war also defines the generation, of sons and daughters and even grandchildren of those who served and of those who died.  Before entering the Society of Jesus in 1997, I spent four years as a psychiatrist and occasional internist at the Veteran's Hospital in White River Junction, Vermont. The years were eye-opening and heart-rending. It was not, is not, and never will be, easy to serve.  It will never be easy to recall those friends who died while one lived.  More than a few men broke down in my office as they spoke of fallen comrades and dealt with what has come to be known as survivor's guilt.  I kept a box of Kleenex Mansize Tissue on my desk and a spare box in the drawer.  They went quickly.

When asked to celebrate Mass for Memorial  or Veterans' Day, I invariably take the first reading from Sirach 44:1, 9-13.

"Now will I praise those godly men, our ancestors, each in his own time."  

Another translation reads: 

"Let us now praise famous men, and our fathers in their generations."

The ultimate sacrifice that many of those who served in the military made--and will continue to make--can never be ignored or forgotten.  Future plans, family life, education, jobs . . . all  of these are put on hold when one is called or volunteers to serve in the armed forces, and particularly when one is deployed.  Injuries may short circuit futures in ways that can never be surmounted. The risk of death needs no elaboration. 

Again from Sirach: 

"There are some of them who have left a name,
    so that men declare their praise.
And there are some who have no memorial,
    who have perished as though they had not lived;
they have become as though they had not been born,"

That is the plight of those who died in battle.  Anonymity.  Hiddenness.   One of the most important monuments in the United States is the Tomb of the  Unknown Soldier.  Perhaps the fame of the veteran is in the hiddenness of the his or her service.  The honor of a veteran is doing a job day-by-day knowing that there will be little to no recognition or appreciation.  The sacrifice of those who died must be acknowledged and their memories kept alive. We learn from those memories.  Thus, It is important to occasionally go to the local war memorial and look at the names.  The one in my hometown of Plymouth, PA remains impressive even though the brick high school that served as a solid background is long gone (and replaced by one of the ugliest buildings imaginable) the well-maintained monument still stands.  If in Washington, D.C. visit the various memorials to the war dead: the massive and almost overwhelming WW II memorial or the stark and emotionally draining memorial to those who died in Vietnam.  

What went through the minds of those men and women who were deployed?  What was it like packing before shipping out?  What was it like saying goodbye with the threat of not returning hanging silently over those words?   What was it like, what is it like, when there is a knock on the door:  "We regret to inform you that . . . ?

"Blessed are the peacemakers, for they will be called children of God."  

The Beatitudes are the most familiar portion of the Sermon on the Mount.  The reality is that sometimes peace can only be accomplished or maintained through war.  Sometimes the peacemakers are those who must fight.  Peace may only be possible  when threats from the outside are crushed.  Ideally swords will be pounded into plowshares and spears will be turned into pruning hooks. But at times plowshares must be reworked into swords and pruning hooks back into spears.  

The fundamental human condition is that we are sinners.  At times those sins manifest in actions that threaten the lives and safety of others.  At times those sins ignite the fuse that leads to war.  This has been true since the beginning of time; it will be true until the end of time.  Thus, our gratitude to those who died because of their service and to their families who mourn.  As we remember them we pray:

Requiem aeternam                                  

dona eis, Domine, 

et lux perpetua luceat eis. 

Requiescant in pace. 

"Eternal rest 

grant unto them O Lord, 

and let perpetual light shine upon them. 

May they rest in peace."

Amen

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I would have posted this yesterday on Memorial Day itself.  But, a having the dishwasher and disposal both back up and then waiting for a plumber (who came today).  And, I am not always certain what day it is.  It is not incipient dementia, rather the sameness of the days without my usual schedule of travel and Masses is taking quite a toll.  

The photos below are of the crucifix overlooking the Jesuit cemetery at Campion Center in Weston, MA and the flag that has sat on my desk for over twenty years.  It is small.  Was trying out a new lens.  Pleased with the result and kept the lens.  

+Fr. Jack, SJ, MD