Last preached on May 27th, 2012
I was seven years old
the only time I ever saw my father cry.
I did not understand it, and though it scared me,
I knew somehow that his tears were sacred.
The tears that fell from his eyes were silent tears,
and I never spoke about them
till Memorial Day a few years ago.
I stood, not at his side, but behind him,
as his hands traced their way
across names on the Vietnam war memorial.
I was a child, what did I know of war?
The view of war of a seven year old boy
is romantic and full of dirt forts and toy guns.
But my father was a soldier,
the grandson of a medal of honor winning soldier…
and my father knew war and its aftermath.
The names that my father traced
across the memorial that day
were names of fallen friends and comrades.
They were names of those who had seen war at his side,
and had not lived to tell about it.
He did not have to tell me to hush.
He did not have to tell me to be respectful.
Somehow, I knew from the moment we arrived
that this place was holy, that this place was sacred.
Though I did not have the words to describe it at the time,
I knew that for my father,
visiting the Memorial was a religious journey,
and touching that wall was an act of faith.
It was the faith of a soldier.
When I speak of a soldier’s faith,
I do not mean their religious denomination,
whether they are Catholic or Jewish,
Muslim or Protestant, Buddhist or Wiccan.
Soldiers, sailors, guardians, Airmen, and Marines
come in all of these and many more.
No, what I mean by the faith of a solider
is that faith which binds all of these together.
It is the faith that my father showed me,
on that day when we stood
before a long, black wall filled with names.
Two years later, I saw that same faith
in my Grandfather, my mother’s father,
as we stood in an extinct volcano in Hawaii,
now a cemetery and memorial
for all those soldiers, sailors, airmen, and marines
who died in the Pacific campaigns of WWII.
He did not cry then, he just stood silently.
The tears came the following day,
when after several hours of driving,
my father, my mother, my grandfather and I
found a concrete bunker on a lonely stretch of beach
not far from the highway.
As we stopped the car,
my grandfather slowly stepped out,
walked across the beach,
placed his hand on the remains of the bunker and wept.
We all stood behind him, not knowing what to do,
until my father walked up to him
and placed his arm around my grandfather.
My mother leaned down to me,
and told me that this bunker
was were my grandfather had lived during the war,
where he had fought, and where he had lost friends.
For my grandfather, this bunker was a holy, sacred place.
A lock and a chain had been placed on the metal door,
to keep kids out of it,
and the concrete was covered with graffiti.
The place smelled of abandonment and neglect…
but for my grandfather,
there was no more sacred site in the whole world.
My grandfather was a Navy man and a Sailor,
and spent the years after Pearl Harbor
as a part of the defense of the Hawaiian Islands.
In the images, of my grandfather,
with his hand outstretched to touch a crumbling concrete bunker,
and of my father with his hand outstretched
to trace a name across a long, black wall,
I witnessed faith.
Much of our society has come to misuse that word, faith.
Many have come to use that word as if it means “belief”.
But faith is not something you can adopt,
it is not something that you can choose to believe in.
Faith is not a nickname for your particular set of religious beliefs,
nor is it a mantle you can put on at particular times,
say, on Sunday morning.
Faith is an elemental part of our nature,
a part that wells up unbidden
from the deepest aspects of what makes us human.
We hold faith in things and in people…
faith in family, faith in humanity, faith in ourselves,
and faith in that which is divine in this universe.
But the faith that my father, and my grandfather
were expressing on the days that I saw them cry
was not a faith in any of these things.
It was a faith in each other.
A faith in every other soldier, sailor, airman or marine
who went through the hell of war with them.
A Soldier does not fight in war
because they believe in the cause
of the politicians who ordered it.
Whether or not a soldier believes in the “cause” is irrelevant.
No cause, no ideal will be enough to hold you
through the hell of war.
A Soldier does not fight in war because of the pay…
the pay is not enough for that.
In our nation, with the best equipped, most funded,
and most dangerous military this world has ever seen,
many of our enlisted soldiers with families
depend upon foodstamps to feed those families each month.
Notice we have to pay our contractors/mercenaries
a lot more than we pay our soldiers.
A Soldier does not fight for glory…
at least not for long.
There is little that is glorious in war,
except perhaps the faith that it brings out in the soldier.
All of the medals, all of the ribbons and all of the honors…
they are symbols not of glory, but of faith.
Medals are nice and pretty,
until you realize that the cost of each one is way, way too high.
A cost in lives, in blood, in sweat, and in tears.
Ask a veteran why they wear their medals on their suit jacket,
and the answer will more often than not be
so that they will always remember those
who were never able to wear the medals they had earned.
A Soldier’s faith is not in yourself,
but rather in those with whom you serve.
It is a faith that, no matter what happens,
the brothers, and now sisters on either side of you
will not leave you behind,
they will not betray you,
and they will fight to defend and protect you,
as you do the same for them.
Ideals might cause one to enlist,
or bring an officer to accepting a commission,
but they will not be what holds that person
in the face of enemy fire.
The money a soldier receives is a pittance
compared to the price they,
and their families, are so often called to pay.
And the glory of medals and honors is overwhelmed
by the spiritual cost that many combat soldiers face
for the remainder of their days.
A spiritual cost that my father and grandfather showed me
with their tears, as they visited those sacred places.
Before I go any further, let me say that I am not glorifying war.
I am a Universalist who believes in Hell,
and that Hell is war.
It is a hell of our own making,
that exists in this life,
and it is one of the deepest and most destructive aspects
of who we are as the human race.
Our maturity as a species,
hopefully to come soon,
will require that we find ways
to deal with this aspect of our nature,
and find ways to truly grow beyond
this human need for war.
It has been to my blessing that,
during my own military service,
it was the aftermath of war to which I was most exposed,
not combat itself.
I trace the path that brought me
to my Unitarian Universalist Faith
back to the devastation I witnessed in Bosnia y Herzegovina,
where I served as a Peacekeeper
after the Dayton Peace Accords were signed.
I trace my Unitarian Universalist faith
back to the poverty I saw
in the war-torn aftermath of El Salvador.
Had I not served as a soldier and a peacekeeper,
I might never have found my Unitarian Universalist Faith…
But I also hold the faith of a soldier,
and that faith is different.
My Unitarian Universalist faith is a sacred trust and promise
that I make with the world.
It is a faith that I will be a positive,
productive force for a more just and sustainable way of life.
It is my promise to that which is divine within this universe.
My faith of a soldier, however,
is a sacred promise to never forget
the memory of those who have served,
to not leave them behind,
to stand with them as they walk through
this hell of our own creation,
to keep their memory when they fall to that hell,
and to take care of their families
whether they come home or not.
Some might think these two faiths contradictory…
but I could not hold one without the other.
Our society has come to treat Memorial Day
as a “secular” holiday, implying that it is not a day of faith.
It has become a time for many to go to the beach,
have an outdoor barbecue,
or to find extra special pricing
on items at your local department store.
Memorial day has come to be defined
by many as “The Unofficial start of Summer”,
or as a chance to catch up on some yardwork.
And yet, for myself, for my father, for my grandfather,
and for countless fellow veterans,
serving members of our military,
families of those who serve or have served,
and for those who have lost close friends,
this is not a secular holiday.
Tomorrow is Sacred.
The true meaning of Memorial Day is to remember.
It is to remember that the cost of war
is almost always way too high.
The true meaning of Memorial Day is not to honor our dead,
but to remember the price they paid.
To remember the price their families pay.
To remember the physical and psychic wounds
that the survivors of war, on all sides,
carry with them till the end of their days.
To remember the lives never lived.
To remember the horrors unleashed
upon civilian populations by the tools of modern warfare.
To remember…
No matter our views on war,
no matter our views on any particular war,
tomorrow is a sacred day
A National Day of Mourning.
Whether you yourself have ever served in the military
is not important.
For some of us, tomorrow is a day for silent tears,
for touching a wall, and for remembering those
who served with you in a concrete bunker.
It is a day to remember those who walked
through hell with you,
and those who walked through hell for you.
It is a day to remember our sacred promise
not only to the memories of those who have fallen,
but also our sacred responsibility
to the lives of those who have lived,
wounded in body and spirit…
and to remember all of the casualties of war,
even those of the ones we label “enemy”
and of those so callously called “collateral damage”.
The wars in our time have produced a higher percentage
of injured and maimed soldiers than any war in history,
and in the coming years we all share the responsibility
to help heal their wounded hearts, spirits, and bodies.
The wars in our time have produced what all wars produce,
broken families, broken hearts, and broken lives,
both here in America as well as in Afghanistan and Iraq.
We share a sacred responsibility to all of those lives,
both here and afar.
Our movement of religious liberalism
has not always been known for its acceptance
of this kind of faith… of the faith of a soldier,
and I think that lack has caused us
to lose some credibility in our work
to keep the sacred promise we make
with the world as Unitarian Universalists.
If we are ever to make progress
in removing the evil of warfare
from what it means to be human,
we can only do so if we keep the faith
with those who have served.
If we do that, I think we could become
a rallying point for those former soldiers,
like myself, who through the horrors of war
and its aftermath have found themselves dedicated to peace.
War is best opposed by those who have seen it,
but those who have experienced war
will not keep faith with us as Unitarian Universalists
if we do not learn to keep faith with them
as Soldiers, Sailors, Guardians, Airmen, and Marines.
Of all of the holidays officially recognized
in the United States, there is none more sacred
than that of Memorial Day.
Not because of the wars,
but because of the men and women
who walked through hell during them.
Not because of any glory,
but because of the humanity
that can still shine through
this destructive and evil aspect
of our very human nature.
Not because of ceremony,
but because of the sacred promise and trust
that such ceremony represents.
If you do not feel the burning
of a soldier’s faith in your own heart,
then I ask that you join in supporting
those of us in your midst that do.
Because for those who do feel the faith of a soldier,
tomorrow is sacred beyond measure.
Place your arms around our shoulders,
as we weep silent tears.