Peace Like A River


It was a wide river, mistakable for a lake or even an ocean unless you'd been wading and knew its current. Somehow I'd crossed it... Now I saw the stream regrouped below, flowing on through what might've been vineyards, pastures, orhards... It flowed between and alongside the rivers of people; from here it was no more than a silver wire winding toward the city. - Leif Enger, Peace Like A River

Monday, November 21, 2005

Undimmed by human tears

Crispus Attucks, Samuel Gray, Samuel Maverick, James Caldwell, Patrick Carr.

These were the five men killed on March 5, 1770, an event Samuel Adams called the "Boston Massacre".

Whatever the real story of this event, these five were among the first to die in the long struggle for freedom in this country.

The first among the 600,000 or so killed in all of America's struggles.

In Iraq, there have been nearly 2,100 killed.

Can we begin to imagine the staggering cost? For though the fallen have given their all, grieving families bear their own burdens.

The wrenching scenes continue, one after another. A woman sitting at a graveside, perhaps flanked by children.

The woman is overwhelmed by emotions. Pride that her fallen hero served his country so well. Fear, wondering how she will raise her family alone. Crushing sadness, that her hero is just there, so near, in front of her, yet forever on the other side of an uncrossable chasm. Anger at the killers who took her hero from her. Perhaps anger that he went off to war. Guilt that such feelings come unbidden.

The children struggle to make sense of it all. What does it mean that Daddy won't ever be home again? They show the strength and courage they believe their Mother needs, but quail from a child's worst fear, the fear of being alone in the world, without a parent, helpless and powerless to make their own way.

Such is the great cost of freedom. Such is the price that must be paid to keep our freedom out of the ravenous maw of the relentless evil that seeks to devour us.

America! America. Your alabaster cities still gleam, though too often they are reflected in the tears falling from the face of a spouse, a child, a parent.

Our heroes are taken from us, but if they are God's children, they muster for assembly in front of the Pearly Gates. Perhaps Gabriel, with a wink, marches them through the Gates with a welcoming cadence...

I don't know but I've been told
(I don't know but I've been told)

The streets of Heaven are paved with gold
(The streets of Heaven are paved with gold)


There was a time in all of these families' lives when they had to let go of their loved ones, and let them pass through gates no one else could enter. But after this basic training, the loved ones, now changed, returned, families were reunited.

These families must once again let go of loved ones, and allow them to pass through those heavenly gates, knowing now they won't return. At least in this lifetime. There is a better time to come, when families will be reunited, forever. A time when there will be no more pain, no more tears.

For all of us here, though, can we allow these families to bear this burden alone?

When that woman at the graveside receives her flag, will there be many hands to help her carry it? Will there be many hands to help her carry her burden?

Because we enjoy the precious freedom bought by so many others, we are in their debt. How can we begin to repay it?

-----
linked to Stop the ACLU open post

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