DO NOT STAND AT MY GRAVE AND WEEP Rev. Don Beaudreault Countryside Church UU May 27, 2008
OPENING WORDS: "We Give Thanks This Day" For the expanding grandeur of Creation, worlds known and unknown, galaxies beyond galaxies, filling us with awe and challenging our imaginations: We give thanks this day. For this fragile planet earth, its times and tides, its sunsets and seasons: We give thanks this day. For the joy of human life, its wonders and surprises, its hopes and achievements: We give thanks this day. For our human community, our common past and future hope, our oneness transcending all separations, our capacity to work for peace and justice in the midst of hostility and oppression: We give thanks this day. For high hopes and noble causes, for faith without fanaticism, for understanding of views not shared: We give thanks this day. For all who have labored and suffered for a fairer world, who have lived so that others might live in dignity and freedom: We give thanks this day. For human liberty and sacred rites; for opportunities to change and grow, to affirm and choose: We give thanks this day. We pray that we may live not by our fears but by our hopes, not by our words but by our deeds O. Eugene Pickett
READING: "Beyond Borders" When you go around the Earth in an hour and a half, you begin to recognize that your identity is with that whole thing. And that makes a change. You look down there and you can’t imagine how many borders and boundaries you cross, again and again and again, and you don’t even see them. There you are – hundreds of people in the Mid-east killing each other over some imaginary line that you’re not even aware of, that you can’t see. And from where you see it, the thing is a whole, and it’s so beautiful. You wish you could take one in each hand, one from each side in the various conflicts, and say, "Look. Look at it from this perspective. Look at that. What’s important?"
And a little later on, your friend, again one of those same neighbors, the person next to you, goes out to the moon. And now he looks back and he sees the Earth not as something big, where he can see the beautiful details, but now he sees the Earth as a small thing out there. And the contrast between that bright blue and white Christmas tree ornament and the black sky, that infinite universe, really comes through, and the size of it, the significance of it. It is so small and so fragile and such a precious little spot in that universe that you can block it out with your thumb, and you realize that on that small spot, that little blue and white thing, is everything that means anything to you – all of history and music and poetry and art and death and birth and love, tears, joy, games, all of it on that little spot out there that you can cover with your thumb. And you realize from that perspective that you’ve changed, that there’s something new there, that the relationship is no longer what it was. Russell Schweickart, Astronaut SERMON: “Do Not Stand at My Grave and Weep” Truly, we are one world, and size-wise, quite insignificant in the entire compass of universes and universes. So small we are, with such picayune concerns. And so territorial and materialistic. Fighting in the name of economic gain and religious freedom. Oppressors and victims. War. Peace. And then war again. The fate of humanity for as long as we have existed. If only there would always be peace - harmony beyond our differences. And yet, make no mistake: I am not touting absolute pacifism. I believe that there are times when war is unavoidable – even if the human struggle pales in comparison to the grand scheme of things. And I believe that those who have died in war and those who have been wounded and those who have been the loved ones of war’s casualties need to be remembered and respected. So, as we celebrate Memorial Day in the year 2007, let us not forget the reason for this time: to honor those who have died in the struggle to maintain our free republic. Whatever our feelings about wartime, may we gratefully acknowledge the lives sacrificed by brave men and women, and the suffering of the loved ones they left behind. Let us never forget that lives were given for us, but let us bid the dead their peace. As that Native American reading says: “Do not stand at my grave and weep, I am not there, I do not sleep; I am the diamond glint on snow…the sunlight on ripened grain…the gentle autumn rain…quiet birds in circling flight…soft starlight at night…” No, they are not there in the Fields of Flanders, the Cemetery at Arlington, the beaches of Corregidor, the waters of Pearl Harbor, the gentle hills of Gettysburg, the deserts of Iraq. They are now part of that all in all which is beyond our understanding. Still, they are with us in memory – and may it always be so, for to forget them is to dishonor them.
As someone born near the end of World War II and a world traveler, I have spent a lifetime remembering war. Although I have never served my country in the Armed Forces and speak only as an observer not a participant, I have been affected by war in my own way. Perhaps some of these stories will evoke memories for you – and it is good on this day to recall war, lest we are condemned to repeat it. And to those of you who are the veterans of wartime, and to you the family members of those who served, I salute you on behalf of the rest of us. War began for me with graphic images when I was a child in Washington, D.C. My father was given many original photographs taken by a photographer friend of his who worked at the Washington Star Newspaper. My brother and I would sneak these photos out of their hiding place (our parents did not want us to see them). And he and I would look in horror and fascination at war scenes: from nude bodies in huge piles at Auschwitz, to images of bombers and destroyers; from photographs of men marching in formation down Pennsylvania Avenue to President and Mrs. Roosevelt smiling and waving from their presidential limousine. Later, we were to learn that my Uncle Arthur’s long-time female friend (we called her “Aunt Lottie”) had been married to a man who had been killed at Auschwitz. The photographs became even more graphic then. Growing up in Washington, I took patriotic sights for granted. There are many photos of me in front of the then Tomb of the Unknown Soldier at Arlington National Cemetery. Every time a relative came to town, we would take “the tour” and snap a picture in front of a statue commemorating war – there we are at the Iwo Jima Memorial; there again at the larger-than-life statues of Revolutionary or Civil War Generals on Horses. And now, when I return “home” I visit the Viet Nam and Korean Memorials. And there are names of at least three of my friends on that Viet Nam Memorial: Bill Campbell, Allen Nichols and Walt Luby. Growing up at the beginning of the television era, my brother and I spent hours watching war depicted in shows like “Victory at Sea” and all those newsreels. Every once in a while now, I turn to the History Channel and relive those scenes. Then there were the World War II stories from two other uncles. Uncle Donald would tell of how he got what he called his “cauliflower ears”: “They were frozen in Alaska during the War,” he’d say, smiling. “It was damn cold on Rat Island – that’s in the Aleutians, boy.” Uncle Jack would not exactly tell his stories, but when he was out of the room his wife, Aunt Charlotte, would elude to his nightmares about his South Pacific war experiences: “He and a few of his buddies were returning to their ship on a rowboat filled with supplies, when they saw their ship torpedoed and everyone die. But you better not mention any of this to your uncle. It still upsets him.” I never learned what ship it was that Uncle Jack served on.
Viet Nam came. I was one of those in Washington who demonstrated against it. Sadly, it caused a rift between some of those who served in that conflict and those of us who did not. Years later, I, a former Peace Corps Volunteer, stood shoulder to shoulder with the men and women who had been in Viet Nam, as we in solidarity attended a ceremony dedicating the Viet Nam Memorial on the capitol grounds in Sacramento. It was one of the most emotional experiences of my life. Traveling around the world, I witnessed other remembrances of war, both conflicts in which our country was involved or not. I never shall forget the day I met one of General McArthur’s interpreters in the Philippines. “A mighty nice guy, that soldier,” this nonagenarian Muslim chief told me. And there were stories from the Filipino family I lived with for a year, about the sister who was killed by the Japanese near the end of the war. Her ghost was forever present at our table. “If only God had waited a few more days,” her family would tell me. I recall as well, the many times I visited the ancient ruin in Iran called Persepolis. Once a magnificent city, it is where Alexander (called the “Great” by some historians) came and waged destruction. The scenes for me are reminiscent of the poet Shelley’s poem about that great ancient ruler Ozymandias whose bust is the only thing left of his once splendid realm: “Look all around you, and despair!” the line goes. It tells us to understand how pointless it is - this building up of kingdoms and the waging of war to protect them. Years later, my trip to Israel and a visit to the Children’s Holocaust Museum spoke to me in ways terribly disturbing and deep. There were exhibits of artwork and the essays of those children who were lost in the war. Most overwhelming, however, was a “sculpture” made from the shoes of those dead little boys and guys. It is a sight too deep for tears. I remember, too, visiting a Muslim elementary school in Tel Aviv, which had been under attack during the Gulf Crisis. I saw where the children and teachers would hide whenever the scud missiles threatened. I recalled how, when I was in elementary school starting in 1950, my class and I would have air raid drills and duck under our desks. Well into adulthood, I would still have nightmares of attacking enemy bombers. In Israel, I spent time at the ancient ruin of Megiddo, the town from whence John, the supposed writer of the biblical book of “Revelations,” got the name “Armageddon.” In my mind’s eye now, I observe myself standing in a strategic spot amidst the site. The roads surrounding Megiddo converge where I am. I see those dusty byways coming at me from all sides. Our tour guide Schmuel tells us that according to legend, this is where the End of Time will occur; the great war will happen on this very spot as the “armies of the night” clash; here is where the Apocalypse will occur - that war to end all war, and all existence. I still have a rock I pilfered from the place. The guide told me that given its shape it might be an ancient coin. I guess I will have to wait for the Apocalypse to find out.
A few years ago I went to Europe and spent five days in Berlin. The Berlin Gate, now such an historic place is entrance to a reviving East Berlin. You can almost hear President Kennedy give his stirring speech. Images of the Wall coming down abound within me. I visit the place where Checkpoint Charlie was – it is now a museum. Scenes of people attempting to get over the Wall show humanity’s struggle for freedom. I see the Reichstag building – which is being restored. I see photographs at a display in front of the giant square where Hitler gave so many of his speeches; I see the place where he had books burned. I attempt to find the place where Hitler supposedly died – but the guidebooks are not exactly sure where it is anymore. It is important to me to remember these events of world history, so that I might do my part in preventing further atrocities. On the same trip I visited Anne Frank’s house in Amsterdam. Here is where she and her family hid from the “enemy.” It is like a place most holy. A haunted house, really. One can almost hear the hushed breathing of the Franks as they wait in terror to find out if they will be discovered. The day I visit there are many Dutch school children on a tour. Despite their natural exuberance, they, too, are quietly respectful. In my various travels in life, I have been at Pearl Harbor where I saw the hull of the USS Arizona – the ship that contains the remains of so many of our brave soldiers who died on December 7, 1941. During my sabbatical time in Australia and New Zealand, I paid homage to the war dead by visiting the numerous war memorials in those countries. And when I served in the United States Peace Corps in the Philippines merely 24 years after World War II devastated the people of that proud nation – I heard stories of the people who lived through the war, including those from the Filipino family I lived with who had lost their daughter. Another place I deem “holy” is the marble courtyard on that very hot and humid day in Delhi. The place is where Mohandas Ghandi’s assassinated remains became a funeral pyre decades ago. We were asked to remove our shoes and be silent in tribute to the man who preached and lived non-violence. I remember a small flame commemorating this hero of peace. But even more telling than these historic sites, are the stories of people who have survived the brutalities of war. When our 100 member UU congregation in Charleston, WV helped to finance the escape and the livelihood of 26 Bosnian refugees, we all learned first-hand of war in that part of the world. Our adopted Bosnian families had seen loved ones slaughtered before their eyes. Many of them, too, had been brutally injured. Many needed counseling to help them begin the process of healing their wounded psyches. There is one other scene of war that I recall. Perhaps you have seen it, too? Remember those now classic photographs of the American troops coming ashore on the beaches of Normandy that appeared in the “Time-Life” series? The photographer shot
hundreds of photos at that triumphant and terrible time, but through the poor processing of his film only a handful of pictures were developed. I remember seeing these pictures in history books when I was a kid. Then I discovered that one of the guys in those depictions of men wading ashore to claim our freedom and the freedom of the French people was a Beaudreault – my father’s first cousin! He had served as a medic during the war and later became a well-respected physician. An ironic fact I thought since our mutual Beaudreault ancestor, a Huguenot (a French Protestant), had supposedly left France from that very area 350 years before in order to escape religious persecution! These are just some of the experiences of war in my life. I am a fortunate fellow, really. I do not know of any family member of mine who has died in conflict. I, myself, have never seen war. I have only see movies like “Saving Private Ryan” and am very upset. I have nightmares even about actors portraying dying soldiers. It must have been so very difficult for my Uncle Jack to have actually seen his buddies die before his very eyes! Sometimes I feel less than noble for not having served my country. I feel guilty. But then I realize that those who did fight for patriotic reasons - even those who did not know me and even those who lived before I was alive – did so for the ideals of freedom, justice and equity. They did it for me. They did it for you. And we should never forget them. Do not stand at their graves and weep, because they are beyond any one place of “being” I believe. They are one with nature. But do remember them – always remember them. And in that spirit of remembrance, let us salute them this day called “Memorial.” Let me close my thoughts with these meditative words by the Rev. William Sloane Coffin: “Oh world beautiful beyond any singing of it, gratefully we acknowledge the fullness we have received, grace upon grace. Grant now that we may be responsible in the measure that we have received. “Keep us eager to pursue truth beyond the outermost limits of human thought, scornful of the cowardice that dares not face new truth, the laziness content with halftruth, and the arrogance that thinks it knows all truth. “Strengthen our resolve to see fulfilled, the world around and in our time, all hopes for justice so long deferred, and keep us on the stony, long, and lonely road that leads to peace. May we think for peace, struggle for peace, suffer for peace. Fill our hearts with courage that we not give in to bitterness and self-pity, but learn rather to count pain and disappointment, humiliation and setback, as but straws on the tide of life.
“So may we run and not grow weary, walk and not faint, until that day when by grace, faith and hope will be outdistanced by sight and possession, and love will be all in this wonderful, terrible, beautiful world.” And so be it. CLOSING WORDS: "Deep Peace" Deep peace of the running wave to you. Deep peace of the flowing air to you. Deep peace of the quiet earth to you. Deep peace of the shining stars to you. Deep peace of the infinite peace to you. Gaelic Runes (adapted)