Memorial Day

Remembering to remember and the God who doesn't forget

Memorial Day remembers those who have fallen in serving our nation. We rightly honor their sacrifice by remembering. Memory is funny for us. It seems haphazard. Why do I remember walking down the hallway at church with my dad as my earliest memory and not some other mundane moment? Earlier today, I told our daughter to grab something for her evening before she forgot. “You are,” I told her, “A lot like me. I’m absent-minded.” As a sorta pseudo-intellectual type, I can conform to the mold of the “absent-minded professor” at times. I forget small things throughout the days and the weeks, and I remember random things through the years. Often, literally bits of trivia stick to my brain like those little weeds can cling to your socks.

We all forgot lots of things, so we intend to remember the important ones. We give ourselves a day off from work (usually), we grill burgers, eat watermelon, put little star-spangled banners on masts the size of chop-sticks into our lawn, and we—gloriously— watch baseball. And we pause, silently, remembering those who died to serve our nation and our freedom. We have to remember to remember. It’s a Memorial Day, a day for remembering.

The theme of remembering reminded me of a mediocre poem I stuck into page 27 of my little book of poetry, Songs of the Narrow Road. I wrote this one in seminary, as you can tell from the title and the labored verse. “Isaiah 44:21b: An Advent Song.” The “b” indicates the second half of the verse:

I formed you, you are my servant;
Israel, you will never be forgotten by me.

I called it “An Advent Song,” because the arrival of Christ reminds us to remember that God always remembers. An elephant never forgets, they say. If that’s true, let me tell you about the Trinity. Anyway, here’s the poem:

The dusty tomes of fourteen generations, thrice,
blew open to their fullness,
as the divine Spirit shadowed
over a young semitic girl.

A memory or, better, remembrance,
from something like almighty synapses
firing into connections,
not because of absentmindedness,
but ripeness:
timelines were never promised.

So, the memory came, born into a
broken place,
unto forgetful people.
He cried, the wailings rising and proclaiming
with infant-eternal breath to all creation:
“I do not forget!”

Oof. I cringe a little reading that poem, but there are some bright spots. I especially like the image of the cries of Jesus the God-Baby singing the song and preaching the gospel of God that God always remembers. After all, the Trinity never forgets.

That, too, is worth remembering.

Happy Memorial Day.