A Sense Of Duty

A week since Veteran’s Day, and perhaps ‘m not the only American to find himself thinking more about the occasion after the fact than I did on the day itself.

Like happy children on Christmas morning, we tend to be more excited about playing with our gifts than about saying “thank you” to those who provided them.

But soldiers don’t serve to make us feel guilty. Many veterans themselves were probably more absorbed in barbecues and family time than they were in reflections on boot camp and barracks life.

Still, it’s worth noting that a nation that prides itself on the depth and breadth of its freedom owes so much to those who sign on to take orders and hikes and not a little gruff, for the privilege of placing their lives between the rest of us and whatever dangers might be lurking.

Memorial Day is about those who laid down their lives for us. Veterans Day is about those who surrendered their freedom.

A few weeks ago, I gave a eulogy at our local military cemetery, in remembrance of a man I went to church with some years ago. We were friends, but not close. In fact, driving home from the service, I realized that the last time I saw him, we were yelling at each other. I don’t yell at a lot of people, so it was an occasion. Maybe for him, too.

Funny, to think that the person saying final words over your coffin could wind up being someone you were once standing nose to nose and temper to temper with.

He died suddenly, unexpectedly, without time to mend fences with the extended family from whom he’d become mostly estranged. The estrangement made for an awkward gathering at the gravesite. Watching the uneasy greetings and small talk, it hit me, hard, that we don’t get to choose the moment of our leaving … or the impressions we leave with those left to remember.

It had been a long, long time since I stood at a military funeral, so I was unprepared for the rifles going off a few feet back of my left shoulder. If he had occasion to observe the proceedings, maybe the departed gent took some delight in seeing me lose a few years off my own life just before I tried to sum up his.

I was also unprepared for the soldiers who folded the flag on his coffin, with exquisite precision, and then came to place it in the hands of the dead man’s daughter. After the absolute silence of the folding, a sailor in dress whites stepped forward, and with palpable humility, said:

“On behalf of the President of the United States, the United States Navy, and a grateful Nation, please accept this flag as a symbol of our appreciation for your father's honorable and faithful service.”

And then, one last salute.

Mind you, this was not for a war hero. Or a man who died in battle. He just did his technical job, deep in the bowels of an all-but-anonymous ship, serving out his few-years commitment.

And yet – decades later – a tall stranger comes forward, in profound sincerity, to look this young woman deep in the eye and say, “We think what your dad did was worth remembering. We think he did it well. And your president, and your nation, want you to know we’re deeply grateful.”

That is a priceless commendation. Oh, that everyone who lives and dies in America was worthy and able to receive such a benediction. But not everyone is.

Not everyone is willing to give up their freedom, even for a little while, to make others free.

It’s said that Napoleon, in a great hurry to get to the battle that would seal his doom, was looking for a place to cross the river that was in his way. His scouts finally found a bridge. A good one, small but solid, and guarded by … a single soldier of the opposing army.

Napoleon’s men, laughing, reported back to their general that some of their fellow soldiers were holding the guard at gunpoint, but that he refused to surrender.

“Do you propose to take on the entire French army alone?” the jeering soldiers had asked.

“My commander told me to hold this bridge, no matter what,” the lone man replied. “I have my orders. I will do my duty.”

Napoleon heard this report, gazed off toward the bridge, and – perhaps – allowed himself a small, tight smile.

“We will have to find someplace else to cross,” he said.

His soldiers stopped laughing. “But he is only one man,” they protested.

“Ah,” Napoleon said, “but it is such a rare, rare thing to find a man who truly understands his duty. I do not think we can spare this one.”

And with that, the French army moved on to another crossing.

So: a belated salute, but a genuine thanks, to all those among us who have understood their duty. Who, somewhere along the way, held whatever bridge, great or small, was entrusted to them.

And, in our own beloved country – where this strange, sad new kind of war has begun, where the battle is joined, and great conflicts are coming – may God give each of us, too, the grace to know our duty … and the courage to stand where He tells us to stand.