Field of Honor, Day of Change

  This past Sunday I was afforded the opportunity to speak at the Northbrook, Illinois, "Field of Honor" event. Envisioned by Judy Hughes, president of the Northbrook Historical Society, the Field of Honor contained 1,901 American flags to commemorate the incorporation of Northbrook (then Shermerville) in the year 1901. There were also 43 other flags symbolizing the 43 men and women from Northbrook who gave their lives in service to their country. Each evening during the week of Memorial Day a sunset ceremony was held with members of the American Legion and clergy participating, as well as a cannon salute and the playing of "Taps."  This posting below is the speech that I gave. (For security purposes I have omitted references to certain locations.)

   Good evening, everyone! I want to begin by thanking Judy Hughes for orchestrating this Field of Honor event which has brought such purpose and meaning to this Memorial Day weekend.  And thank you for asking me to participate. I am honored and greatly humbled to be here. 

   What makes the honor even greater (and a bit ironic) for me is that, like Judy [Hughes], I was born and raised on the OTHER side of the Mason–Dixon line, outside of Columbia, South Carolina – a place where the Civil War is STILL being fought to this very day.  There it was incumbent upon every parent to take their children to visit our State House – though not to marvel at its 22 monolithic Corinthian columns (among the largest in the world) nor to see where the government of South Carolina does its work nor to stroll its beautiful grounds nor to visit the various monuments. The main objective of one’s trip to the State House was to see the 6 bronze stars marking the 6 places where the cannonballs of the Union Army struck the Winnsboro Blue Granite walls of our state’s capitol building. I was taught all about the wickedness and treachery of General William Tecumseh Sherman, the heartless enemy who burned my hometown and whose men had the nerve to throw bricks at the statue of George Washington on our State House grounds, breaking off the bottom of Washington’s cane. There was no way, therefore, that we would ever consider observing the official Memorial Day, being that it was initially established to honor the fallen Union soldiers.  On that day, we all went to school as usual. 
   It was not until I lived in New York as a cantorial student that I witnessed my first Memorial Day parade. I was 38 years old. You can see therefore, why having the honor to speak to you this evening is so special and transformative for me. When I moved here some nine years ago, my family was invited for Memorial Day “barbeques.”  (I had to get used to that word “barbeque,” too. In South Carolina, “barbeque” is a FOOD – a meat delicacy drenched in yellow, mustard-based sauce. You EAT barbeque at a cookout or a weinie roast.) At the barbeques I’ve attended here, some folks wore red, white, and blue, but there was no talk of memorializing the fallen members of the armed forces – only how awesome the gelatin mold in the shape of an American flag was and how it always rained on Memorial Day.  It was pretty nice to have a day off from work, though, even if it did rain every year.

   All of that changed Memorial Day of 2008. In late May of 2008, my son Nathan had been in Afghanistan for about 10 weeks – his first deployment. Nathan is a Special Operations Marine. He had been in the Marine Corps since graduating from high school in 2004. His intense training regimen to become a Recon Marine had kept him from going to Iraq, unlike many of his boot camp friends. But now the training was complete, and ten weeks earlier, my husband, my daughter, and I, joined by Nathan's girlfriend (who is now his wife), had sobbed uncontrollably as we watched Nathan board a bus... a bus that would take him and some 60 of his fellow Marines to an air field... to a huge C5 cargo plane... the plane that would carry Humvee’s and trucks and weapons... the plane that would take my little Nate- the-Great wearing his Weeboks and Osh-Kosh overalls to Afghanistan, straight into harm’s way, without passing GO and without collecting $200 dollars. I was SO proud of him.  But I wanted nothing more than to grab him up by the straps of those little Osh-Kosh overalls and carry him back home.

   So on that Memorial Day, May 26 of 2008, I learned what Memorial Day is really about. It’s not about barbeques, or rainy weather, or red, white, and blue gelatin molds. It’s about honor and valor and bravery. It’s about blood and tears and sand and oceans and meadows and fields. It’s about love and passion, dedication and sacrifice. And it’s about paying tribute to those brave men and women who embodied all of that and who gave up THEIR lives so that we can live our lives – our comfortable, entitled, carefree lives – in the Land of the Free.  
   I have not been to a Memorial Day barbeque since the one BEFORE my son was deployed, and I probably never will. My family has a new tradition for Memorial Day.  We drive or walk over to downtown Deerfield, where a banner hangs bearing the names of Deerfield residents who are currently serving in the Armed Forces. I beam with pride as I look up at that name on the banner: Nathan Harris, United States Marine Corps. And I pray with all my might that he will come back to us – in one piece and mentally sound. And then I take a picture of the banner. 

   Looking out upon this Field of Honor, I remember learning about the symbolism of the colors of the flag in school: Red for bravery and to symbolize the blood shed by those who protect our country. White for purity and innocence.  Blue for loyalty and justice.  I know it is these ideals that my son Nathan is fighting to maintain, just as you folks here who fought in World War II, Korea, Viet-Nam, Desert Storm, Iraq, Afghanistan, and all points in between. I am honored and proud that my son is willing to die for his country. It’s quite an elite group.

   It is my hope that those of us who have benefited from the loyalty, the shed blood, and the pure of heart of our fallen service men and women will do all we can to work along side those brave men and women who have stepped up to take their places. We may not have weapons like guns or missiles, but we do have a voice. We can speak out. We can vote, we can advocate, we can donate, we can defend the weak, we can write and e-mail, we can picket, we can protest. We can serve our communities. And in doing so, we can honor the memory of those who did so before us.

   To close I would like to offer a prayer written by the Reverend D.A. Graham while she was a chaplain in Okinawa.

In the quiet sanctuaries of our own hearts,
let each of us name and call on the One whose power over us
is great and gentle, firm and forgiving, holy and healing ...

You who created us,
who sustain us,
who call us to live in peace,
hear our prayer this day.

Hear our prayer for all who have died,
whose hearts and hopes are known to you alone ...

Hear our prayer for those who put the welfare of others
ahead of their own
and give us hearts as generous as theirs ...

Hear our prayer for those who gave their lives
in the service of others,
and accept the gift of their sacrifice ...

Help us to shape and make a world
where we will lay down the arms of war
and turn our swords into ploughshares
for a harvest of justice and peace ...

Comfort those who grieve the loss of their loved ones
and let your healing be the hope in our hearts...

Hear our prayer this day
and in your mercy answer us
in the name of all that is holy.
Amen.