War Is Hell

Today was Veterans Day. Every Wednesday morning we have a Matins Service, and later a morning program for our seniors who gather. This morning, in honor of Veterans Day, we say a medley of patriotic songs and heard a few stories by veterans who are members of our congregation. I have to say, I was strangely moved by the cheerful Air Force Song, "Off we go/into the wild blue yonder/Climbing high into the sky", especially when one elderly gentleman, a World War II veteran, stood up and remained standing while we sang.

"He was in the Air Force," someone whispered to me.

"I know,"I whispered back. He is a member of my noon Bible story, and has alluded to his service in the Army Air Corp on occasion. He has particularly said, on more than one occasion, that he never thought he would make it to his 22nd birthday.

He told us more of the story today. In fact, I got the feeling that he has been waiting over fifty years to tell his story. He trained and flew B-17s over Germany in 1945. He told us that you had to get 35 missions in before you were done, but hardly anyone made it to 35. He told us about how it felt to know you were expendable, to know every day that there were people who didn't make it back. And he told us a little bit about his mission, too: to "break the will of the German people", as he was told.

"Our job was a dirty job," he told us, and he didn't have to say more.

The war ended after he had flown 17 missions. He didn't go to the South Pacific, because B-17s weren't useful there. After the war, he flew officers over to North Africa, where he would sometimes confess how he felt about the work he had had to do. These were men who had seen ground conflict all over Europe. They told him not to feel guilty. They hated the Germans.

He was in Germany as well, for the Nuremburg trials. He put on the headphones, and heard, over and over, men whose defense was "I was following orders."

"I was following orders, too," he said.

He wondered about the chaplains, and how they did their jobs. He said they never heard scripture readings or sermons about "Loving your enemies," or even "Loving your neighbors." "We were trying to destroy our neighbors," he said. The unspoken question: what happens to faith in times of war? What does it look like? How far does it extend?

Eli Wiesel tells a hasidic tale that asks the question, "When do we know that the night is over and the day has come?"

The answer: when we can see the face of our brother, and know that he is our brother.

I'll Be Seeing You...

I had a funeral today, an old woman, another widow of a World War II veteran, seamstress and wife and mother. To all outward appearances she was an ordinary person, except to her family, who cherished her kindness,tenacity, wicked sense of humor and perseverance in adversity.

Among the songs the family wanted to hear was an old standard, vintage, "I'll Be Seeing You." We usually don't have popular music in funeral services, but we try not to be too rigid about it, so we put it in, right after the remembrances and right before the Scripture readings and Sermon. It's a sentimental song, and I know it's a temptation to confuse sentiment with the gospel, but it did force me to think about some things a little more than usual. And even though it's not a religious song, I do, for some odd reason, love it.



So, after hearing the song, and during the sermon, I said this:

“And grace will lead me home.” That is true trust, trust in the sure foundation that each of us builds on in confidence. Because grace will lead us home, to the place where the evening light shines through the window, the place where God waits for us, where the place is prepared. Grace will lead us home, to the place where God will wipe away every tear from our eyes, where death and mourning and crying will be no more. This is our hope.

During World War II, people grew familiar with partings and with separation, and they liked to sing, “I’ll be seeing you in all the old familiar places/that this heart of mine embraces all day through.” They endured and they hoped for the day that they would be reunited, for the time when the war would be over, for the day when peace would return. They hoped for the day when their husbands, their sons, their fathers and mothers, their daughters --- would come home. “I’ll be seeing you… in all the old familiar places…" but our hope is even more: “I’ll be seeing you… where the home of God is among mortals, where he wipes away our tears, and makes all things new. I'll be seeing you when we beat our swords into plowshares, where the lion shall lie down with the lamb, when enemies will work together to rebuild cities. I'll be seeing you... where the blind will see, the hungry will eat, where we will dine together forever. I'll be seeing you where death and crying will be no more. "

And grace will lead us home.

Memorial Day

It's Memorial Day. I can't think of anything new to say, but I'd like to direct you here.

Last year, I posted on this annual event at church. At around this time of year, we have honored one of our World War II veterans at a reception at church. We have heard a story of the heroism of an ordinary man.

More than flowers or memorial services or parades, I think the best way to honor this day is to listen: to listen, honoring the sacrifice and recognizing the horror that is war. Listen closely to the stories, for they will speak softly, these humble and haunted men and women. And they will speak the truth.

I think the second best thing is to realize that all ordinary people can be heroes, both in times of peace and in times of war.