Memorial Day has a history in America born of equal parts patriotism, pride, and of course, memory. The latter portion of the triad now being the structure upon which the day is built . . . a day to remember sacrifice, devotion, and those departed. Some of this memory may hearken back to distant wars, even contemporary ones . . . but "Memorial Day" is first and foremost about remembering.
There is, of course, much to remember.
And the older we become, the greater the portion of our lives that is caught up in memory rather than projection. Or, in other words, as we move past the half-century mark for sure, we begin to glimpse most of our life as behind us, and thus our memories take on greater weight and import. Memory is foundation. The future is lived out of the security of the past. This is often why we find change difficult as we grow older. Our threads to the past are longer, stitched in tighter.
But Memorial Day is a time to remember. We may remember past heroes, yes . . . but we are more likely caught up in trying to dredge up memories that have grown overcast or pixilated by the passage of time. We may discover that memories of grandparents, parents, or even children have taken on a lustrous pallor. We have a tendency to remember only what is pleasing to us. We rarely speak unkindly of the dead.
This latter reality, of course, has ancient roots and is milled into our DNA. While some cultures actually venerate the ancestors, American culture has tended to erect shrines and memorials instead. We believe that our memories can be preserved in limestone or bronze. In other cultures, these memories are preserved in story, in legend, in tales told around the hearth. We have a tendency to chisel names in stone and forget about them. In other cultures, the ancestors live on in story.
Perhaps this is one way that we can understand the gospel of Jesus more powerfully. The gospels are ancient memories . . . the stories told around the hearth: Have I told you about the hero, Jesus? Let us recall what he said. What he did. How he died. How he lived.
So now, on this Memorial Day weekend, we remember. This is difficult business for most of us. Memories don't come easy.
But they are there if we sit and wait for them.
There is, of course, much to remember.
And the older we become, the greater the portion of our lives that is caught up in memory rather than projection. Or, in other words, as we move past the half-century mark for sure, we begin to glimpse most of our life as behind us, and thus our memories take on greater weight and import. Memory is foundation. The future is lived out of the security of the past. This is often why we find change difficult as we grow older. Our threads to the past are longer, stitched in tighter.
But Memorial Day is a time to remember. We may remember past heroes, yes . . . but we are more likely caught up in trying to dredge up memories that have grown overcast or pixilated by the passage of time. We may discover that memories of grandparents, parents, or even children have taken on a lustrous pallor. We have a tendency to remember only what is pleasing to us. We rarely speak unkindly of the dead.
This latter reality, of course, has ancient roots and is milled into our DNA. While some cultures actually venerate the ancestors, American culture has tended to erect shrines and memorials instead. We believe that our memories can be preserved in limestone or bronze. In other cultures, these memories are preserved in story, in legend, in tales told around the hearth. We have a tendency to chisel names in stone and forget about them. In other cultures, the ancestors live on in story.
Perhaps this is one way that we can understand the gospel of Jesus more powerfully. The gospels are ancient memories . . . the stories told around the hearth: Have I told you about the hero, Jesus? Let us recall what he said. What he did. How he died. How he lived.
So now, on this Memorial Day weekend, we remember. This is difficult business for most of us. Memories don't come easy.
But they are there if we sit and wait for them.
No comments:
Post a Comment