An Appreciation for Memorial Day

Formerly observed on May 30 regardless of the day of the week, Memorial Day has drifted to an observance on the last Monday of May concluding a three-day weekend. Perhaps this revision has dampened the harsh reality of what its observance means.

Officially recognized as having begun in Waterloo, NY on May 5, 1866, it was originally called Decoration Day. It came to be observed on May 30 because that was not the anniversary of any particular battle. Leaning a bit on ancient Greek practices of honoring the heroic dead with flowers and probably because springtime produced so many, the May 30 date stuck until the U.S. Congress passed the Uniform Holidays Bill, which included a three-day observance for President's Day, Veteran's Day and Memorial Day.

In my youth, Memorial Day, with its abundance of flowery cemetery adornments, punctuated my memories uniquely because May 30 is also my birthday. Further, my parents were in the greenhouse business, which seldom allowed any family celebration on the actual day.

I felt a bit of regret at not having the usual birthday fuss. When I grew older, I learned that any personal sacrifice paled in comparison to those of brave men and women who would never celebrate another earthly birthday-ever!

In my high school days, I played in the band, and we marched into various cemeteries to conclude Memorial Day parades, often hearing eloquent speeches exalting the somber sacrifices of the war dead. Many of those ceremonies concluded with my answering the lead trumpeter as an echo from behind a distant tombstone in the playing of "Taps". Mature appreciation for the blood shed for our nation was ample reward for the birthday inconvenience.

Somehow, the sacrifice of our armed forces and the ultimate sacrifice of Christ mingled in my understanding, especially when the old patriotic "Battle Hymn of the Republic" contained the phrase, "As He died to make men holy, let us die to make men free, His truth is marching on…"

During the Civil War conflict, substitutes could be bought or simply volunteered if a draftee had unusual obligations at home. A young man went to the front in place of a man with family and children and fell in battle. The grateful father traveled to the battlefield and found the young man's grave to decorate it. A passerby saw this and asked questions. "Father?" "No." "Brother?" "No.""Relative?" "No." Finally exhausting the possibilities, the grave decorator stood and told him the story. Later, the questioner passed by the fresh grave to find the decorator had placed a crude sign that simply read, "He died for me."

During World War II, blue and red stars were hung in windows indicating family members in the service. A gold star meant the family member had paid the ultimate price and would not be coming home. One Christmas, a father and son were walking in near the edge of a town, and the dad told his son the meaning of the stars. Where the buildings thinned and they came to into the open, the boy looked up and saw the evening star just appearing in the cold dark sky. "Oh, look Daddy. It looks like God gave His Son, too."

This Memorial Day, I hope every American will soberly note the human sacrifices that have made us free and kept us free, and, more importantly, be grateful for the sacrifice of Jesus Christ who "gave himself for our sins that He might deliver us from this present evil world" (Galatians 1:4).

As John 8:34-36 says, "Most assuredly, I say to you, whoever commits sin is a slave of sin. And a slave does not abide in the house forever, but a son abides forever. Therefore if the Son makes you free, you shall be free indeed."

Dave Virkler