The days of Spring 2020 have been “slower than molasses in January” as my dad would say, but finally, it’s Memorial Day weekend. In my hometown, will the cannons still boom their sunrise greeting as they’ve done for decades? We know people won’t be lining parade routes on Main Street U.S.A. in 2020. Nor will the neighborhood welcome mat be out at our backyard barbeques, out of a grudging respect for the wiles of that nasty corona virus.
Memorial Day traditionally has been the unofficial start to summer, a day to honor those who lost their lives while serving in the military. The day has also expanded to remember those we love who are no longer with us, and we often place flowers or flags on gravesites to mark our connection.
The gift of remembering, of reminiscence, allows us to relive both joyful and painful times, and to consider the “long and winding road” our own lives have taken. For many of us, the Age of Corona has offered time and space for that journey of memory. Faith has been one of my remembering threads, and this past Sunday morning, I made a web-inspired circuit of familiar stained glass and steeples, comfortably clothed in my current Sunday finery, my favorite Minnie Mouse nightshirt.
My journey of faith began in a Presbyterian sanctuary, whose Corona-inspired on-line services are shared with two other local congregations, all pastored by women, quite the change from my childhood. Seeing the stained-glass of my childhood took me back to Paul Stookey’s “Hymn.” “Sunday morning very bright I read your book by colored light that came into the pretty window picture.”
I also dropped by the worship service streamed by The Salvation Army College for Officers’ Training, where I spent two years in preparation for a lifetime of service to others. “Holy, holy, holy,” the brass quartet intoned, equipped with headphones and recorded in four separate locations. I don’t understand how that works, but I’m grateful for technology none-the-less, even on a Sunday when Zoom was less-than-cooperative.
A stop at the Facebook page for the Salvation Army in Dover, NJ, our first ministry assignment showed photos of their on-going food distribution, as much a component of worship as is the singing and praying (see Matthew 25). Then, my virtual visit moved to our second appointment, as the grand piano at Philadelphia Roxborough flooded me with memories of little boys clamoring for my attention, an errant trombone slide, and the music that so filled our days in that location.
Skipping ahead to the Ashland Kroc Center, the inimitable Major Billy Francis and team were faithful in their Sunday morning worship with the glorious stained-glass as a backdrop, its “jewels” symbolically lifting our prayers to heaven. If the walls could only speak in that place. So many stories to tell.
Tiptoeing through memory in these challenging days offers touchstones as we connect with our history – or her-story. We re-visit our paths of faith, the classrooms of educational experience, our varied workplaces, and the homes we’ve inhabited. With some virtual help to stimulate our brain synapses, we can even return to our favorite vacation spots, opening our senses to the salt of the ocean and the crisp air of the ski slope. Memory graciously allows us to hit pause for a few moments with those whose love shaped our lives, to hold their faces in our hearts and whisper our thanks.
Novelist Pat Conroy, whose words are as much memoir as fiction, mused: “I began to get the thought that some of us are the designated rememberers. Why do we remember? I don’t know. But I think that’s why memoir interests me – because we’re the ones who pass the stories.”
As we pass the hot dogs and potato salad this weekend, don’t forget to pass the stories as well, of sacrifice and service, of remarkable places and cherished people. Sue Monk Kidd understands: “Stories have to be told or they die, and when they die, we can’t remember who we are or why we’re here.”
Welcome, Memorial Day. Thanks for reminding us of who we are and why we’re here. Glad you’ve finally made it to 2020!
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