It is the Saturday between Good Friday and Easter, and I am finding it hard to put pen to paper. I know that Jesus Christ died that awfully painful death so that I would be forgiven my sins. I know His disciples and Mary took His body to the cave and prepared it for burial. To prevent people from robbing the grave, they placed a massive stone over the opening, but when Mary Magdalene went to the burial sire on Sunday morning, the stone was rolled away and He was gone. All that was left was the cloth He was buried in and several angels were guarding the site. The promise He made to His disciples had come true; He was risen from the dead.
A hollow feeling hovered over me as I sang, “O Sacred Head, Now Wounded,” on Good Friday, but my mind began wandering towards the millions of men and women who have served in our military services and who sacrificed their lives for our freedoms here and around the world. Yes, I said, “Here,” because our service people have not always been appreciated for their courage and valor. Like Christ’s wounded head and the grief and shame He felt on the cross, those returning from Vietnam were scornfully surrounded by people’s stares, taunts of the words, “Baby killers,” and thorns of spit. They, too, left with the sounds of trumpets and drums just like Christ rode into Jerusalem with crowds cheering and shouting. Yet when they returned with limbs gone and their minds cluttered with unhealthy thoughts, I may have been the only one who ran to embrace my returning hero.
Remembering the “far-off look” in my uncle’s eyes when he returned from the Battle of the Bulge in 1945, his anguish over sights he should never have seen and a mouth’s dryness that was quenched only by alcohol was not the happy face I saw when he left. His grief and bitterness should have reminded us of what he fought for, but we simply could not fathom or did not want to see his pain. When he passed in the early 1980’s, I was too busy or too afraid to leave college to attend his open-casket funeral.
After 9/11, I was so proud to hear of many of my former students enlisting in the services to fight terrorists who had nothing but hatred in their hearts and violent, maiming mines on mountain trails and dusty deserts. What words of gratitude could possibly say enough of “Thank you, my students, for all of your courageous acts?” The sorrow I felt and the pity that I meant for you but was more for me never having to left a finger to protect my brothers and sisters. Christ made me and my students His by dying on a cross on a barren hill in the Middle East. I hope and pray that God will never forsake my students or me and that my love for Him will continue to guide us all.
My life has come full circle because I have a courageous grandson who is serving in the army, now eleven years, with a bronze star with leaf for valor and five tours of duty in the dusty place called Afghanistan. I pray that God will be his shield if and when he is called to protect and defend our country once again. As Christ reminds me to forgive all who have hurt me, I pray that my grandson will not be afraid to lay down his life. Looking into Christ’s eyes, I see my grandson’s eyes, and I know he will never lose his newborn faith. I truly believe if we die believing in God, Christ’s arms will comfort our walk home and the doors of the Heavenly Kingdom of God will be our true reward.
For all who have given their last breaths so that we may enjoy the American way of life, I raise my grateful praise for your sacrifices. Tomorrow, Easter Sunday, will be the beautiful Resurrection of Jesus Christ once again, but it is not the only thing I will be singing praises for. I will be singing for all who have had their own Calvary, for we will all have this time once or many times in our lives. I pray that we may be reminded that as Christ gave up His earthly life for us, we, too, must be willing to go the extra mile for humanity. We all must be “willing to give some; some will give all.” Christ has felt every single nail, every bullet, every bomb that man has fired at each other as if billions of nails were being hit into himself. Every time we assaulted another in wars, He felt every wound. On Easter morning, He rose again so that we might have forgiveness of our sins and Eternal life.Writing from her second presidential tour in the Korean War in 1952, Anna M. Rosenberg said, “I had the feeling as I flew home that if all the water I passed over was ink, and every blade of a grass a pen, I still could not write enough to tell of the magnificence of our fighting men.” (The Confidante) I pray that like Christ’s wounded head and body on the cross, our flag, torn and battered, divided and tarnished, will remain free as the beacon of light, hope, and forgiveness on the hill. When it is my last hour, I look for joyful reunions with all who have gone before me. I know that God’s light, Jesus Christ, will shine on me, and I will bathe in His Eternal love.
Gorham, C.C., The Confidante. New York, New York:Citadel Press, 2023, Page 264.
Anna Hartt
