SERMON

As you may have guessed, the inspiration for my sermon this morning is Memorial Day which we will celebrate tomorrow. Towards the end of Conversation Among Friends last Tuesday I asked if people had any thoughts about Memorial Day and my topic. I was surprised by several people's comments referring to it as Decoration Day and thought others like me may not know the origins of this holiday.

Memorial Day had its beginnings after the Civil War. I'll bet many of you do not know that Memorial Day first started in Waterloo, New York on May 5th with the custom of placing flowers on the graves of the Civil War dead. In 1868 General John A. Logan, president of the Grand Army of the Republic, designated May 30th as a day to "decorate with flowers the graves of comrades who died in defense of their country."

After World War One, the dead of all American wars were designated for celebration and Memorial Day was extended to relatives and friends both military and civilian. But I found out, this was not a holiday celebrated uniformly throughout the nation. It appears as if Memorial Day has a Unionist tinge. Since the Civil War some states in the South have had their own Confederate Memorial Day. Georgia celebrates it on April 26, Alabama and Mississippi celebrate it on the last Monday in April, it's May 10th in South Carolina and Virginia celebrates Confederate Memorial Day the last Monday in May. Alabama, Mississippi and South Carolina do not observe Memorial Day.

However the day is celebrated, it is important for us to remember those who have given their lives in the service of their country. Those who have given their lives, have done so in many ways. I suspect most soldiers would like to be remembered as dying honorably in the service of their country. When I reflect on the death of a soldier, I imagine an infantry man mustering his courage to charge the enemy hill feeling both fear of personal harm and determination to accomplish his mission. If death be his lot, I expect every soldier wants to die heroically with his boots on.

We often celebrate the stories of heroism that come back from the front lines. Many are inspired by the stories of officers braving fire to rescue a wounded soldier, a helicopter pilot diving through hostile fire to provide cover for pinned down troops, and the ones who give their lives by throwing themselves on a grenade to save their buddies.

Unfortunately, few soldiers actually die this way.

It is closer to the truth to say that many we memorialize today died in less than glorious ways. How many have died from mortar fire as they lay trembling with fear in their foxholes? How many have died, as in the Civil War, from infectious diseases, malnutrition, and accidents? Perhaps worst, how many have died as the result of friendly fire?

In preparation for my words this morning, I visited a large Vietnam veteran's web page collecting their recollections and memories of the war. I was impressed with each author's interest in vividly telling his story and recounting personal experiences. I found copies of letters sent home full of bravado for dad to read back home. There were naive letters annotated with contemporary comments explaining what really happened. One writer described his first helicopter combat mission. The new copilot noticed many interesting green bugs moving along the ground as they approached their landing zone. Once they had returned to their base, he asked the pilot about the strange green bugs. The pilot, laughed and told him those weren't green bugs, those were tracer bullets. Several pieces told of fighting in trenches which filled with rats when the North Vietnamese opened fire. Along with the stories of heroism, I read stories of incredible stupidity, loneliness, mischief making boredom, and the exploitation of teenage slant eyed women.

Two stories haunted me. The first was the cold blooded murder of an old man half out of suspicion of being a Viet Cong and half for sheer blood sport as he walked by a check point with a small boy and the officer who with a few calming words could have stopped the killing feeling both anger and guilt as the shattered boy searched his eyes silently pleading "Why? Why?" The second story was about a patrol into enemy territory to change batteries on electronic listening devices. A truck mechanic about to go on leave who had always wanted to go on a patrol too, got his chance. He worked his way almost up to the front of the line getting in front of the author and out of sight. Suddenly there is a deafening explosion. The mechanic had tripped a mine and almost had his legs blown off. Shrapnel perforated his body cutting several arteries which were spurting blood like little fountains. It turned out the mine was a trap set by a dozen South Vietnamese troops hiding in the forest. Tensions ran very high as each group waving guns menacingly accused the other of not following proper procedures. The result was a half dead man severely injured by his own side who the author watched disappear in a med-i-vac helicopter not knowing whether he would live or die--to this day.

War is hell. War has always been hell. If you think war is worse today than in the past, I encourage you to go see the movie Braveheart. Arrows, maces, swords and axes can do plenty of killing and maiming too. Death is rarely pretty, no matter where it is found in the natural order. Watching a shark attack a seal, a lion down a gazelle, and a praying mantis eat its mate's head on a nature television show can be just as shocking and disturbing. For the overwhelming majority of species on this planet, it is eat or be eaten. For them, every day of life is full of narrow escapes and death.

So when a country goes to war as we did in Vietnam and tens of thousands of young men lose their lives fighting a war of attrition where the good guys whose freedom from communism we were defending often couldn't be distinguished from the bad guys in black pajamas and we eventually lose, the question arises, "What did they die for?" Are we no better than the animals? Is our reality, kill or be killed too?

Both the war and the draft ended right at the same time I turned 18. I never had to decide whether I would go fight that war. Having to make that choice was frequently on my young mind during my high school years in the early `70's. At the time I was opposed to our participation in the war--but I don't think I ever extended my opposition to the rejection of participation in any war. This created angst for me because I didn't think I could then be a Conscientious Objector since I believed there were times and circumstances which required the use of deadly force. For me the question boiled down to, "Whether or not I feel I can kill an enemy of my country, am I willing to die for my country?"

Most men and today women who go off to war I don't think usually settle this question in their minds. Many believe God will protect them. Some are encouraged by statistics and think the odds will fall in their favor. "Yes, this is a dangerous situation, people are shooting at me, but I'll be saved any harm - this time." The vast majority push the idea out of their minds, do their jobs and pretend it just wont happen to them. In fact, from the combat pilots I've spoken to or read about, the last time to think about your morality is while you're being shot at. One is much more likely to become frozen with fear, make a risky move or foolish error if one is thinking about anything but accomplishing the mission.

"What am I willing to die for?" is a big question for young minds to grasp. It takes a great deal of courage and wisdom to answer this question--and faith in something greater and more valuable than one's own life. It may require a faith beyond even our conscious understanding.

Think of the mother who rushes into her burning house to rescue her child. The urge to save that child comes from a sense of oneness and connection far beyond words, theories or philosophies. She literally does not think of her self or her own safety, only the danger of the child. I suspect a great deal of heroism falls into this category. This felt oneness and connection animates the hero rushing to the aid of a comrade under fire, motivating his actions even before his rational mind can fully analyze the situation.

The answer I've come to, to the question, "What am I willing to die for?" is I'm willing to die for love. If I die in the service of that which is greater than me, I will not have died in vain. No matter what the circumstances of a soldier's death, for the vast majority he or she has said in some way or other by donning the uniform and taking up their arms, that their love of their country means more to them than their own lives.

Whether we live in a time of war or not, whether or not we choose to fight, whether or not we work for peace in the world, we cannot escape this question because what is most precious to most of us is our own life. And our liberal UU religion makes no easy promises of a blessed life after death. We have no word for Jihad. We must come to our faith in what is beyond us by ourselves rather than believing uncritically another's doctrine of salvation and grace. And even if we have worked out our answers in our heads, abstract solutions may not help when the real world situation arises.

A pacifist or a non-violent protester must also make this same choice even if they do not take up arms. In the early 80's, there were a string of protests at Lawrence Livermore Lab and Concord Naval Weapons Station in Northern California in which I became involved. There was a class in non-violent demonstration techniques in an Episcopal church near the UC Berkeley campus. I attended not realizing it was a preparation course for trying to blockade and shut down the Lab. The Lab has long been the target of peace activists since much of the research into nuclear bombs is and has been done there. At the time, the Reagan Administration had cranked up weapons development and testing was being done in the Nevada desert. The protesters were angry at this move away from nuclear disarmament and wanted to see the Lab converted to peaceful uses. I found myself in this class being gathered into an affinity group and getting ready to link arms with other protesters to block traffic fully expecting to be arrested. After the class was over, I had to think long and hard if I wanted to sit down in front of cars which might try to run me over, get arrested and be taken to jail. Was I persuaded this political action was important enough to put myself at risk? That was one difficult night for me as I wrestled with my values and my fear. I decided not to engage in civil disobedience although I attended the demonstration and supported their efforts. I did want to send the message that I was concerned about the nuclear saber rattling that was going on at the time but I wasn't willing as others clearly were, risk harm or possibly die for this cause--this time. At a later action at the Concord Naval Weapons Station, a man I knew protesting our support of the Contras in Nicaragua lost his legs sitting in front of a weapons supply train--which didn't stop.

These protesters were expressing their love of their country too. They had the courage to confront what they believed was wrong and immoral, and take action. Many others I knew felt the way they did but were unwilling to do anything about it.

So when I celebrate Memorial Day, I'm remembering not just the war dead but all people who have put themselves in harm's way with a commitment, no matter how uncertain or tenuous, to something larger than themselves. Some of those we honor died in glorious ways and others did not. I don't think the actual circumstances of their death are as important as the commitment which put them on the battlefield or the protest line in the first place.

At the same time I celebrate the soldiers, I celebrate every person who has put themselves on the line for another whether on the battlefield or working to bring war to an end. We are as much in need of those who believe war can be eliminated as those who are willing to fight. We need people who believe in developing alternate methods of settling international disputes whether or not one believes war should or will ever be eliminated. Both militarism and pacifism are needed to keep the peace.

The willingness to give one's life for another is all the more laudable when it is an individual's un-coerced choice. When individuals can decide for themselves to sacrifice for the larger good, their sacrifice becomes even more honorable. Thus whether the war is just, or the protest is worthy, the act of self sacrifice is meaningful because it affirms that there is meaning greater than our individual lives.

A life without meaning beyond our personal lives would not be worth living.

So I encourage you to pause tomorrow and remember the people who have died desiring you would have a better life and your liberty be protected. It is a debt of gratitude we can never repay as we can't even count high enough in a lifetime to remember every person who has died for us.

And if we be called by the spirit of love to serve the good of others and put our lives at risk, may we have the courage to answer yes.

Copyright (c) 1997 by Rev. Samuel A. Trumbore. All rights reserved.