Honoring Our Dead

Memorial Day Sunday is a time for honoring sacrifice, especially the sacrifices that our men and women in the armed forces have made throughout our nation's history. How can we honor them adequately? My sermon considers this question.

Since just after the Civil War, Americans have set aside a day – now called Memorial Day – to honor those men and women who have given their lives in the service of our country. But even as we honor them, we seldom stop to think about just how many men and women have died. It began with the sacrifices of the American Revolution. During the 8 years and 5 months of that war that made us a free nation, almost 4500 people were killed. Losses continued through the War of 1812, the Mexican-American War, and the Civil War. Over 350,000 soldiers were killed during the Civil War on the Union side alone; and the number of Confederate casualties probably doubles that number. The Spanish-American War and two World Wars added to the total. Over 400,000 troops were killed during World War II alone. In the 70 years since the end of the last world war, we have experienced the Korean War, Vietnam, the Persian Gulf War, Iraq, and Afghanistan. Casualties in those conflicts have been fewer, but still total just over 100,000. If you total those numbers, you find that since our nation was established, the total number of men and women who have been killed in battle is more than one million.

That kind of number boggles the mind. Over one million casualties of war in the past 239 years! How can we honor a sacrifice that great? What can we possibly do in honor of all those brave men and women? Of course, on Memorial Day we do all kinds of things. We organize parades in our local communities. We hold religious services in our cemeteries, and place small American flags on the graves of military veterans. We even set the day aside as a day of rest, a secular Sabbath when we remember their honor and bravery. But on I often wonder… What if all these dead could speak to us? What would they say about the way we remember them? How would they want us to honor their sacrifices?

Back in 1915, in the middle of the First World War, a poem imagined that the dead did just that. In Flanders Fields speaks for the casualties of that war. It begins like this:

In Flanders fields the poppies blow

between the crosses, row on row

that mark our place; and in the sky

the larks, still bravely singing, fly

scarce heard amid the guns below.

We are the dead. Short days ago

we lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow,

loved and were loved; and now we lie

in Flanders fields.

After that introduction, the dead issue a challenge to those who remain in this life:

Take up our quarrel with the foe!
To you from failing hands we throw
 the torch; be yours to hold it high.
 If ye break faith with us who die
we shall not sleep, though poppies grow
in Flanders fields.

“Take up our quarrel with the foe.” If we can believe this poem, that’s what our men and women who have been killed in battle ask of us – to continue the fight on their behalf. No one wants to make a sacrifice in vain; and so, to continue the struggle towards the goals for which they fought is only appropriate! But it begs the question: what are those goals? What were our dead fighting for, anyway?

In its day, World War I had a nickname: “the war to end all wars.” When that war was fought, people sincerely believed that defeating the militarism of Germany would end wars once and for all. That’s why the dead in Flanders fields sacrificed their lives. They hoped that by giving their lives, their children and grandchildren and great-grandchildren wouldn’t have to give theirs. Today, it’s easy to scoff at that kind of innocence. We know all too well that ending war once and for all is a dream that will never be realized – at least, not in this world. But in the end, isn’t that always what our men and women in uniform are fighting for? In an ironic way, we wage war in the service of peace. When we take up arms, it’s often because someone, somewhere, is oppressed and abused; and we want those people to enjoy the freedoms that we believe God intended for every single human being. Now, we can disagree about how much diplomacy to use before we use military force; and that’s an appropriate conversation to have. But very few of us would say that war is never necessary. Sometimes it is.

The prophet Micah offers us a vision of the day when war will be no more. On that day, the nations may still disagree, but God, not opposing armies, will settle their disputes. We won’t need any more tanks or destroyers or bombs. In Micah’s vision, we’ll turn our swords into blades for a plough, and we’ll transform our spears into shears for the garden. Everyone will have enough – enough food, enough clothing, enough shelter – and no one will have to be afraid of anything! Of course, it’s not a reality yet. Our men and women in uniform are still stationed around the world so that they can respond at a moment’s notice to a threat to our own country or to one of its allies. But war isn’t our goal. The peace imagined in Micah’s vision is our goal. And the brave men and women that we honor today sacrificed their lives to make that vision a reality.

Listen to the close of the poem In Flanders Fields one more time.

If ye break faith with us who die
we shall not sleep, though poppies grow
in Flanders fields.

Sleep well, brave soldiers. We will honor you by continuing to pursue the goal of peace for which you sacrificed everything. We pray that one day, war will end, and Micah’s vision will be a reality. Sleep well, all of you who died in battle on our behalf. We will never forget.

Note: The poem "In Flanders Fields" was written by Lt. Col. John McCrae in 1915.