Sermon:
May 30, 2004
Morning Services

Scripture:
Genesis 25:7-9  
Genesis 35:27-29
Genesis 50:15-18

Walls. Walls are oft-times built to divide…oft-times built to separate. We build walls to protect or enclose. Walls can fence us in and lock them out. We all have a tendency to try to build walls from time to time, don’t we? Human culture and history as a whole seems to be fascinated with walls. The Great Wall of China. Hadrian’s Wall in Great Britain. The Berlin Wall. The “Iron Curtain,” which was no less real for its invisibility. And all of these walls serve one primary purpose...to keep somebody out, and to keep somebody else in.    

But there was this one wall I came across that was different than other walls. It did not seem to separate. It could not seem to keep people divided. And this was kind of strange, really, because as I just said, walls are usually made for division, made to separate me from you. But this one wall….well, it was different. It seemed to actually bring folks together. It is a wall like this that I think is especially important for us to remember this Memorial Day weekend. It is a wall that seeks to unite rather than divide. It is a wall that seeks to open us up rather than seal things away. 

I’ll never forget my first visit to that wall. It was the summer of 1989. I was 17 and about to enter my senior year of high school. I was visiting Washington, D.C. along with 49 other soon-to-be high school seniors as a part of Boy’s Nation, a leadership program sponsored by the American Legion. As a part of that trip, we were given a day to tour the Mall of our nation’s capital. This was quite an experience for a small town kid from Rhinelander, Wisconsin, who, except for a family trip to South Dakota in junior high, had never been beyond the borders of Packer country. 

Suddenly there I was, standing in front of all the famous sights of our nation’s capital. All the places I had seen in books or on television seemed so much larger and mythic once I was actually standing right in front of them. We went from monument to monument, from museum to museum. As I stood at the feet of Abraham Lincoln, it was as if I could almost hear those famous words, “Four score and seven years ago…”, coming from the walls that surrounded me. At the top of the Washington Monument, it was as if you could glimpse a vision for a country where liberty and justice for all could actually be realized. It was incredibly moving to read the Declaration of Independence and the Constitution. In that moment, reading those documents in their original handwriting, I was struck that history was made by real people—real people like me and like you, people who rose to the challenges of their time and sought to answer the deepest and toughest questions of their day. 

But without a doubt, the most powerful, the most unforgettable moment of that day was my visit to the Vietnam Memorial. I’ll never forget it. I started out at the side where the Wall is built into the earth, below ground level. The area within the Wall’s angle has been contoured to form a gentle, sloped approach towards the center of the Wall. At the beginning of the Wall there is a stirring among those visiting, chatter and conversation. But with every step, as the descent to the center reveals more and more of the Wall, it gets quieter. Although I am sure there was much noise and commotion on the street or on the grounds near the Memorial, a peculiar kind of quiet seemed to prevail there, a reverential quiet. Even people who tend to be chatterboxes, people who like to prattle on endlessly about virtually nothing, even these people seemed to grow quiet as they walked along this wall. 

Each step I took along the path revealed amazing moments, touching moments, moments filled equally with both tragedy and grace. I passed a man in his fatigues scanning the wall as if he were looking for someone. There was a family there with their minister, and they were placing a wreath at the wall. Flowers and handwritten notes lined the bottom of the wall. Somebody had left a teddy bear and another left behind a senior picture of a young man who graduated some twenty years earlier. People were etching names of loved ones and persons from their hometown.  Every step brought a new awareness that every name inscribed there was the name of somebody’s brother, somebody’s son, somebody’s friend. These were the names of real people, who lived real lives, who had real dreams. 

It was an amazing few minutes while I traveled towards the center of wall where, there within the protection of the arms of the memorial and surrounded by the grassy slope, I came to a place that I had never really experienced before—a place of quiet, a place of calmness, a place of almost unspeakable serenity. In that moment, surrounded by the names of the 58,228 American men and women who lost their lives in that struggle, I found myself standing on holy ground. And in that moment, I was clear on the things in life that were really most important. I stood there, awestruck by the sacredness of life, the centrality of family, the importance of real friends, and the love and mercy of a God that offers life in the face of death. I stood in that moment with people from all walks of life, all different races and nationalities, in total silence. And even though no one who was standing there spoke a word, we were connected. We were drawn together in that moment, connected by something bigger than all of us.   

Something happened to me that day. Something changed within me. I left there that day committed to a life that would work for peace, a life that might in some way contribute to the day when no more walls of this sort would ever have to be built because all of the walls of misunderstanding, hatred and injustice that cause nations to war would be dismantled. I left there that day with a profound commitment to peace. But I also left there that day with both a profound appreciation for the sacrifice of these men and women and a new sensitivity to the families whose lives have been touched by the tragic loss of someone they love. A prophetic commitment to work for peace and a pastoral concern to help ease the pain of those left behind—that is what I left that wall with that day. 

In a world where walls too often separate and divide, on that day, this wall brought people together. It was a wall that no longer divided. What is it about that wall, the Vietnam Memorial wall, that has such a powerful impact on the people who visit it? What can we learn from it today, on Memorial Day weekend? In a time of war and conflict, when our nations seem divided, what can this wall do to help us find common ground and understanding? 

Our three readings this morning have something to tell us about how the very act of memorializing—the remembering of those who have gone before us, the living—can be an invitation to healing. It is my hope that these texts this morning will help us on our Memorial Day be a summons to transformation—a transformation of our lives, a transformation of our families, a transformation for our nation and our world. 

Our readings this morning all come from the book of Genesis. Each reading tells a story about brothers. These brothers—Ishmael and Isaac, Esau and Jacob, Joseph and his eleven other brothers—were like so many brothers. They didn’t always get along. In fact, these brothers took sibling rivalry to a whole new level. These brothers schemed against each other, set each other up for failure, and said some not-very-brotherly things to each other. One brother watched in silence as the other was sent away to die in the desert. Another tricked their father into giving him the entirety of his inheritance. And good old Joseph was sold right down the river by his brothers to be a slave in Egypt. These sibling rivalries were so deep and so full of hatred that they threatened to break apart the very covenant God had hoped to establish among his people. But each time this family seemed to be at the end of their rope, each time it seemed that the situation was utterly hopeless, the story suddenly changed. When does it change? On a day for each of these brothers that can be likened to our Memorial Day. 

Each story tells of this remarkable moment. When Abraham dies, Ishmael and Isaac together bury him. When Isaac dies, Esau and Jacob come together to bury their father. And when Jacob dies, there is a moving scene of reconciliation among the sons. In spite of the years of conflict, in spite of the years of division, the years of pain, the years anger and tears, in spite of all that had made the past so wounded, it is the moment of death, the moment of memorial, the moment of remembrance that brings these families together in ways that seem to be impossible. It is in this moment that each of these sets of brothers is able to put aside the past and get a glimpse into a shared future. In this moment, they are able to set aside their warring ways for a brief time of peaceable coexistence. In that moment, they forgive each other. They forgive themselves. 

There is no way around it. Genesis tells of a deeply troubled family, a deeply divided family.  However, there is another story that is going on, as well, a story of a God who, despite the struggles of this family, does not abandon them but is there with them all along the way—always offering healing, always giving hope, and always providing a future full of new possibilities. For each member of this family, it is in the cemetery, it is around the grave, it is in their own Memorial Day observances that they get connected to something larger than themselves, something that will bring healing to their souls and connection to their separateness.  

There is no way around it. Our story is also a story of troubled family. We too are often a deeply divided family. But we too can have another story that is going on, as well—a story of a God who, despite the struggles of our contemporary human family, does not abandon us. A story of a God that is there with us all along the way. And just like our brothers from Genesis, for us it may be at the cemetery, around the grave, in the midst of our own Memorial Day observances that we may be connected to something larger than ourselves, something that will bring healing to our souls and a sense of connection beyond our own walls of separateness. 

Isaac and Ishmael buried Abraham.
Jacob and Esau buried Isaac.
Joseph and his brothers buried Jacob. 

In the moment of death, God offered new life to the covenant people. May the act of memorial be for us, as a people, a similar invitation to new life. May this weekend’s observances remind us of the sacredness of life, the centrality of family, the importance of real friends, and the love and mercy of a God that offers life, mercy and forgiveness to a divided and warring people. May this Memorial Day be one where we remember all those who have passed on from this life, recently or long ago, here or far away, friend or family. May we too be drawn together, connected by something bigger than all of us.    

Sometime this weekend, I hope we each will find a place of reverential quiet where we might become aware that we are no longer listening for the usual sounds of the world—traffic or construction noise, children playing or babies crying. Instead, we are listening for what these silenced ones we remember might be saying to us. 

Over the years, people have left a lot of things at the Wall in Washington. D.C.—something to remember those who gave their lives in that struggle. One of the things at the Wall was a picture.  It was a picture of a young Vietnamese soldier in his mid-twenties, standing there with a young girl no more than the age of seven or eight. The note that was attached to it read: 

Dear Sir, 

For twenty-two years I have carried your picture in my wallet. I was only eighteen years old that day we faced one another on that trail in Chu Lai, Vietnam. Why you didn’t take my life, I’ll never know. You stared at me for so long, armed with your AK-47, and yet you did not fire. Forgive me for taking your life, I was reacting just the way I was trained… So many times over the years I have stared at your picture and your daughter, I suspect. I perceive you as a brave solider defending his homeland. Above all else, I can now respect the importance that life held for you. I suppose that is why I am here today… It is time for me to continue the life process and release my pain and guilt. Forgive me, sir.

That note, from one man to another, from one brother to another, seems to sum up all the power of this Wall in D.C., all the potential for our observances of Memorial Day, and all the truth of the scriptures we have considered here this morning. This note reminds us that our mourning and remembrance of all who have died, whether on the battlefield or in the context of our everyday lives, can lead us all to the common ground of forgiveness, reconciliation and new beginnings. It is that awareness that we are surrounded by all of those who have gone before us, listening for what they might be saying to us, and finally seeing our lives in their midst and their lives in our midst. We come to realize on days like this that our most important lessons in life will come through being painfully aware of our own brokenness, while at the same time being miraculously receptive to God’s amazing grace. Memorial Day can help us realize what really matters in life and what doesn’t. It can help us live more freely and fully in the love and forgiveness of God’s presence here and now. That is my prayer for us this Memorial Day. I hope it can yours as well. 

But before we close, can you do something for me? Do you have a piece of paper? Well, use your worship bulletin. Would you write in the margin somewhere or at the bottom these words:  “I thank my God for my remembrance of you.” I thank my God for my remembrance of you. And write a name. You choose the name. You remember the name of someone, anyone, family or friend—someone who has gone on ahead of you. Now write another name, and another name, and another name.  

Have you written any names? Do you have a name or two? Now you’ll want to keep this list. Keep the list, because to you it’s not a list. Let this list become for you your own memorial wall.  Let it help you celebrate their lives tomorrow on Memorial Day. 

You’ll want to keep this list after tomorrow, though. In fact, the next time you move, keep it. Even if you have to leave your car and your library and your furniture and your computer and everything else, keep the list with you.  

In fact, when your journey has ended and you prepare to leave the earth, take it with you. I know.  I know. When you get to the gate, St. Peter’s going to say, “Now look, you went into the world with nothing, you’ve got to come out of it with nothing. Now what’ve you got?” 

“Well, it’s just some names.” 

“Well, let me see it.” 

“Well, now, it’s just some names of folks I worked with and folks who helped me.” 

“Well, let me see it,” Peter will ask again. 

“This is just a group of people that, if it weren’t for them, I’d never had made it.” 

He’ll say, “I want to see it.” And you’ll give it to him, and he’ll smile and say, “I know all of them. In fact, on my way here to the gate, I passed a group. I think most of them were the people on this list. They were painting a great big sign on the wall.” 

“What did it say?” 

“Welcome Home.” 

Note: I am grateful to Walter Brueggemann and his book, Biblical Perspectives on Evangelism: Living in a Three-Storied Universe, for insight into the three reconciliation stories in Genesis.  Brueggemann is, without a doubt, my favorite biblical scholar. He blends amazing scholarship with deep spirituality that always makes the biblical texts live and breathe in new and exciting ways. I recommend his writing to all. 

The letter to the Vietnamese solider came from Thomas Allen’s book, Offering at the Wall. This is a book full of artifacts that have been left at the Vietnam Memorial. It is an amazing book that offerings powerful insight into the heroics and heartbreak of that struggle. 

Finally, I am grateful to Fred Craddock for the last illustration, the listing of personal names and the story of St. Peter. It came from his book Craddock Stories, a great resource for the young preacher.