The Lord is near to the brokenhearted and saves the crushed in spirit. [Psalm 34:18 (ESV)]
When I was a girl, regardless of the day of the week, Memorial Day was always May 30. It was when we took off the storm windows, put on the screens, could start wearing white shoes, and got out the grill. Nowadays, we no longer have the twice a year storm window/screen exchange or the silly “no white before Memorial Day or after Labor Day” fashion rule, we grill all year long, and Memorial Day means a three-day weekend. As the “official” start of summer, it’s when city pools open, families and friends gather for picnics, the kids get out the bubbles and sidewalk chalk, bicycle tires get pumped up, flowers are planted, and we relax in the yard with a cool lemonade while the ribs cook on the grill.
Memorial Day, however, is a day of remembrance—of remembering the more than 1.3 million American military men and women who, over the last 242 years, paid the ultimate price for our freedom to enjoy this pleasant holiday. That number, however, only reflects those who lost their lives in combat. Many more, like the nine who died in Georgia earlier this month, lost their lives in training.
People have paid for this three-day holiday weekend with their lives. Yet, with less than one percent of our population on active duty or in the reserves, most of us are distanced from the true cost of war. When we don’t know any military personnel, it’s easy to become unappreciative or complacent about their sacrifice. Let’s never forget that we continue to have American men and women in harm’s way. Since 2001, nearly 7,000 American troops have lost their lives in Operation Enduring Freedom/Afghanistan and Operation Iraqi Freedom alone and there seems to be no end in sight. Each one of those fallen soldiers left behind loved ones who still mourn their loss. For some people, today means placing flowers on a grave rather than a cook-out with hot dogs and s’mores. For them, every day is Memorial Day.
As we celebrate the start of summer, let’s pause to remember those who died in the service of their country, thank God for their sacrifice, pray for their families, and, most of all, pray for peace. Father in Heaven, we thank you for this nation in which we are blessed to live. Thank you for those who went before us, making our freedom possible and those who continue to battle for our country’s safety and survival. Just as we must remember that our salvation was because of your sacrifice, let us never forget that the freedom we enjoy as a nation came at a great sacrifice, as well.
Heavenly Father, on this Memorial Day, we pray for those who courageously laid down their lives for the cause of freedom. May the example of their sacrifice inspire in us the selfless love of your Son, our Lord Jesus Christ. Bless the families of our fallen troops, and fill their homes and their lives with your strength and peace. In union with people of goodwill of every nation, embolden us to answer the call to work for peace and justice, and thus, seek an end to violence and conflict around the globe. We pray through Christ our Lord. Amen. [Archdiocese of Detroit]
At my age, I’ve attended a fair share of funerals and they’ve run the gamut from full-blown productions complete with video presentations and choirs to a few mourners on a windy ski slope with a bag of ashes. Some ministers knew the deceased well and others couldn’t even pronounce the name correctly. There have been inspiring prayers and eulogies and some with no prayer at all. They’ve taken place in jam-packed churches and nearly empty mortuary chapels. Solomon was correct; there is a lot we can learn at funerals.
While talking with a friend, I mentioned how many people of our generation seem unprepared for the challenges of widowhood. Having relinquished certain responsibilities to their spouses during the decades of marriage, they’re ill-equipped when they lose that spouse. There are men who have no idea how to do laundry, grocery shop, clean the bathroom or use the microwave. On the other hand, many of my women friends have never done minor repairs, paid bills, made an investment or purchased a car. “That was me!” replied my friend whose husband died of cancer. His death, while unwelcome, was not unexpected so I asked why they hadn’t prepared her for widowhood. “He tried to,” she said, “but I wouldn’t listen.” As long as they didn’t talk about his imminent passing and her future life without him, she still could deny its reality.
Imagine the anguish of the woman with the blood disorder. Because Levitical law declared that anyone who touched her would be considered unclean, she’d been cut off from friends and family for twelve years. Sexual union would defile her husband so she couldn’t marry and, if she’d been married, her husband would have divorced her. Because her defilement would spread to anything she touched (be it food, cups or cushions), she was isolated in her own home. While the anemia, pain, stress, and public humiliation she endured because of her disorder must have been awful, perhaps the agony of being a pariah and unable to physically connect with people was even worse. It was her responsibility to make sure she didn’t defile others by touching them so she shouldn’t have been anywhere near a crowd. She certainly shouldn’t have touched a man (or his clothing) and could have been severely punished for her previously action. No wonder she tried to sneak unnoticed through the crowd to touch Jesus’ robe.
Upon retirement, many people consider their productive years over. Having been a CEO in a major corporation, a friend’s father felt worthless without his corporate identity. Prior to retirement, he could call any number of powerful people and get a meeting simply because of his position but, without his title, he felt like a nonentity. His previous business triumphs couldn’t sustain him and he saw no victories in the future. Unfortunately, many seniors who found their identity in their career, corporate title or paycheck are at loose ends when retirement comes along. Some of my friends who were homemakers aren’t much different from those in the business world. It’s just that they found their identity in motherhood and their self-esteem in their children’s achievements. Now, with an empty nest and adult children living their own lives far away, they feel unnecessary. Like my friend’s father, they are looking back at who and what they’ve been rather than forward to who and what they can be.
“It wasn’t worth it!” I grumbled while applying cortisone over four painful red bumps on my foot. When walking around the lake at the botanic gardens, I’d spotted an osprey in a nearby tree. To get a good shot, I had to step off the paved trail into what I knew to be fire ant territory. Having had previous encounters with these stinging insects, I knew better than to stand there in sandals, but I did it anyway; the picture wasn’t worth the price I was paying for my poor decision.
