Monday Morning Music Ministry

11-11-24

There is significance that can be gleaned from punctuation and spelling which, as a Word Person, I am happy to assert as often as I can. It is true of missed dates and common misunderstandings, which have led to bloody wars. This message will be a rambling collection of tangents, forgive me; but little things in life are often consequential. We have the aphorism repeated from ancient days by Poor Richard (Benjamin Franklin):

For want of a nail the horseshoe was lost.For want of a shoe the horse was lost.For want of a horse the rider was lost.For want of a rider the message was lost.For want of a message the battle was lost.For want of a battle the kingdom was lost.

November 11 is Veterans Day, and I began these thoughts with notes about grammatical precision because it is important, if we are going to commemorate events and observe holidays, that we remember why we do so.

Veterans Day began as “Armistice Day,” dedicated to those who died in World War I. Strictly speaking, President Woodrow Wilson wanted to hallow the moment when peace was declared, more than honoring the millions who died to secure that peace. It was typical of that self-righteous megalomaniac to build a psychological edifice while – in the opinion of many people at the time – soldiers died on the battlefield while the clock ticked toward Wilson’s “11^th day of the 11^th month, 11^th hour, 11^th minute” irrelevancy.

“Armistice Day” eventually became Veterans Day. Word distinctions: Memorial Day was declared to honor those who died, Veterans Day to honor all who served in wars. And it is not “Veteran’s Day” or “Veterans’ Day,” so we remember all vets. A national holiday pf commemoration – in effect, our day to honor them, not their vacation day.

Do I make too much of these distinctions? Possibly. But I urge us to regard Veterans Day as a day where we all (we who are not military veterans) meditate on what others have done; what our brothers and sisters have sacrificed; and the essence of becoming a veteran. Yes, you can be a veteran of, say, an average golf match… but as we routinely understand the word, Veterans usually have gone through some version of hell. And, often enough, for you and me.

So. I would have us appreciate, in others and in ourselves, what we go though in life ourselves, and should go through as our duty, the choice of work, service, and sacrifice. Such is Christ’s call on us – to reach the world with Gospel, which is not easy. To reach our family and friends too, which might be less easy. To be transformed by that Gospel ourselves; for some of us, that step was, or is, difficult.

God helps us… Jesus is like a buddy in life’s foxholes. And we see how He has helped others: To think, for instance, that He ordained a filthy-minded, adulterous, wealthy man with evil in his heart to preside over a nation… makes us think. Yet God did that… and that man, by God’s grace, eventually did much good, and wrote the Psalms.

Oh, did you think I was talking about Donald Trump or someone else? No, I mean King David. We are all flawed. But we are all veterans too, of some good fight.

The reason I like “Veterans Day” without the apostrophe is that I think we should appreciate, and encourage each other, in that thought: we are all veterans. We have been through a lot, every one of us. Challenges, crises, distress, disaster. Health, finances, relationships. Self-confidence, lack of faith sometimes?

My friend Becky Spencer, active in myriad ministries, is called by those who know her remarkable faith and work, the “Fight Lady.” Are you an “overcomer”? Are you “more than a conqueror”? You can be, and therefore you are a veteran; God sent the Holy Spirit to be your comrade-in-arms. I will repeat a fable I shared here just last week, and which ignited a lot of responses: A man arrives at Heaven’s Gate and is challenged by St Peter to display the scars he acquired during his life on earth. “I have no scars,” the man says. St Peter replies: “Really? There was nothing you ever thought was worth fighting for?”

Believe me, of course I am not urging that we stop honoring military veterans (in fact, we don’t do so enough). And it is a fool’s errand to suggest we establish a holiday to honor ourselves, even if we begin to dedicate ourselves to greater service. Banish that thought.

But if we can begin to ask ourselves what we are veterans of… what we have chosen as our mission(s) in life… what will lead to God telling you in Glory – in reality; not a fable – “Well done, thou good and faithful servant!”… that will be the greatest Veterans Day of all. We are all in this together, this thing called Life, and we need to follow God’s battle plan.

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Click: Will You Look At Me and Say “Well Done”?

11-6-17

George Santayana famously said that those who do not know history are doomed to repeat it. A cartoon-meme popping up on the web these days has an old guy reflecting that those who DO know history are doomed to watch other people repeat the mistakes.

That IS a danger. Rather, it is a reality. We see it around us, every day.

Without delving into whether this is unprecedented or one of history’s tragic cycles is open to question, but ultimately the question is silly – in the face of reality. In this world, today, it surely seems that a large portion of humankind has gone mad. We have rejected in many ways the concept of Absolute Truth, the possibility of its existence, and the benefits of seeking to know it. History’s masses, let us say in the West, often suffered as a lot in life. However they usually believed in improvement; in advancement; in better things and better days. They believed in themselves, in leaders they respected… in God.

The world, in turning inward instead of outward, living for today without regard to an afterlife, abandoning standards that nurtured their ancestors, of course will reflect disharmony and chaos. Art imitates life, after all (what Plato called “Mimesis”). This should worry us very, very much about the state of things ‘round about us. This world is not one politician or one new fad or one hangover away from righting ourselves. We fool ourselves when we think so. And meanwhile we are diverted by bread-and-circus movies and sports and TV shows and celebrity orgies…

Never since the Flood has humankind, over the face of the earth and not in isolated pockets, rejected Truth and Purity in such determined ways.

So, we fight. We fight as individuals, we fight as nations – or, we give in as individuals and as nations. This truth reflects a crisis of the age, and the great challenge of our time. It has always been our portion to fight – “Life is real; life is earnest,” Longfellow wrote:

Not enjoyment, and not sorrow, Is our destined end or way; But to act, that each tomorrow Find us farther than today.

Lives of great men all remind us We can make our lives sublime, And, departing, leave behind us Footprints on the sands of time.

About these fights as individuals and as nations, Theodore Roosevelt reminded us that it is beyond our choosing to participate in our fate. Our only choice is whether we play our parts “well or ill.”

For more than a generation America has had a volunteer military. I cannot imagine American society, our country’s youth, ever returning to a military draft. To have to interrupt (or fulfill) your life’s path by having to serve in one of the military branches? Frankly, I wonder even if America were attacked whether the spirit of service and sacrifice, across the population, would exist again as in the past. I wonder, further, that even if there were universal social-work service for one, two, or four years whether American youth would comply.

We have compartmentalized military service. In an intellectual manner we have come to treat the military as slaves. We “thank them for their service,” yet keep our hands clean of their work; the sacrifices; the threats; the separation, injuries, deaths; the stress and trauma. At the same time, sadly, we also separate ourselves from the glory of service, the thrill of victories and fights well fought, and the pride of wearing those uniforms.

That is a tragedy. Unfair to the servicemen and women; robbing the rest of the population of necessary components of healthy souls.

In these days of “advanced warfare techniques” (a sanitized term for more efficient means of maiming and killing) it is almost beyond comprehension how men and women enlist – and often re-enlist, and volunteer for repeated tours – knowingly assuming the collateral “oncoming” of separated families, variable support from the System, oftentime insufficient medical and psychological care as veterans.

We cannot admire these servants enough. Even if we dissent from foreign policies, overseas involvements, controversial missions and nation-building… we must stand in awe and gratitude to the people who serve.

And. For those of us “at home,” we cannot forget that we serve too. Soldiers, sailors, airmen, marines do our bidding in faraway places. Which makes it easier to be seduced by the feeling that all our battles are being waged by others. But we, all of us, have battles too, every day.

We must fight for our souls, against evil. We fight for our families, against all manners of threats. We fight for our culture, against corruption. We fight for our civilization, against enemies seen and unseen. We fight for our God, against the devil and all his ways, and for the Kingdom that is to come.

Or… we should.

If we don’t fight these battles, we surely will be subsumed.

On Veterans’ Day let us honor those who have served… and let us re-enlist, the rest of us, for the battles of life. Sooner or later, we too will be counted as veterans of those good fights.

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Click: Gone Home

11-14-16

The thing I like most about holidays is that they remind us, at least one short day a year each, of things worth remembering or commemorating or honoring.

The thing I like the least about holidays is the human tendency to compartmentalize, especially in these busy days.

Check the box… put away the decorations… the events are over for another year… back to work.

Except for Halloween, I guess I can’t think of a holiday where that is not a crying shame. We should anticipate, meaningfully celebrate, meditate, share, teach our children, and linger over the heritage and purpose of holidays (and holy days, their first ID).

Surely is the case with Veteran’s Day. It is almost an awkward holiday, with its curious history, shrouding legends, and hybrid purpose. Several countries observe it – mostly the remnants of the victorious nations in the Great War. Originally called Armistice Day, it was designed to observe the day, or, ironically, the minute, when World War I ended. In America, arguably a post-patriotic place in some corners, its goals are somewhat lost in the wash of July Fourth, Memorial Day, and other holidays festooned with flags and fireworks.

The 11-11-11:11 legend, if true, has a monstrous presence in the PR Hall of Fame. For even one soldier to be gassed or to die during the stopwatch-interregnum for the sake of a convenient publicity ploy, was appropriate only as an aspect of what already was the stupidest of history’s stupid wars. The “Armistice” associated with the 1914-18 war, as it receded in relevance and the awful shuffle of subsequent bloodlettings, was changed to “Veteran’s.” Its purpose is parsed this way: on Memorial Day we honor those who died; on Veteran’s Day we honor those who served.

Worthy. That is, if we observe it “worthily” (as in partaking of the Host worthily) – which puts the onus on the rest of us. Something to pause and contemplate.

It is well and good that we honor veterans and thank a service member. Vets don’t feel the love enough. But, honestly, the value of this holiday is for us, the living, rather, that we not merely shake a vet’s hand, but join arms and continue the work we recognize them for having undertaken. That would be a meaningful celebration of Veteran’s Day.

At the risk of denigrating the holiday or any single military veteran, I want to share my thoughts this weekend, as I contemplated those who have served… and what kind of people are veterans of what kinds of service.

My father was a conscientious objector before the United States joined World War II. He relented, enlisted, and went on the serve as an Army gunnery instructor in Kentucky and Albuquerque; and then in the newly formed Air Force as a meteorologist who overflew the Normandy invasion. No less cynical about war after his discharge as Captain than before enlisting, he was proud of his service.

I thought of him this weekend when I watched a terrific movie, Hacksaw Ridge, about WW II c.o. who served as a medic in the bloody battle of Okinawa. Desmond Doss, a Christian opposed to taking up weapons, performed miraculous and numerous acts of heroism, dragging wounded soldiers from active battlefields. He modestly estimated 50 soldiers; his Medal of Honor citation said 75 soldiers; his platoon mates claimed more than a hundred. The movie, directed by Mel Gibson, is a must-see.

Pfc (later Cpl) Doss was a hero – a super-hero? can we imagine? – but he was also a veteran, and not “merely” a veteran. Service members who were not deployed overseas are also veterans. Wives and daughters who worked in defense factories also were vets. Those who “kept the home fires burning” – teachers, farmers, firemen, weathermen – also were veterans of the war effort, serving where they could, the best they could.

But I don’t want to cast this in the past tense. Those who wear the uniform around the world will be vets when they return. And I think, with a wonderment that frankly I cannot describe or, I fear, emulate, of those who redeploy and return, again and again, to theaters of war. Those vets deserve special thanks. And so do their wives and children and parents, many of them worrying and praying, but also prideful and cheering; sometimes, curse this government, on food stamps or public assistance.

We admire these service-men and women. They serve. Serve what? The flag? Of course, but they serve us. They will never meet most of us, but they serve us. They do not love war; that is not why they serve. They love peace… especially the peace, and security, of the neighborhoods that produced them. And the flag that, earlier, inspired them.

Thinking larger, true patriotism is not only about flags and uniforms. That is when we think of patriotism as love of country in the larger sense. Love of nation. We don’t really have equivalents of the German words “heimat’ (roughly, home town, homeland) or “volk” (roughly “folk,” of course; but the people we love, our heritage, shared memories and loyalties). Veterans there are who serve the same flag and country that the military does.

Teachers who work 60-hour weeks and lay out their own funds for classroom supplies… factory workers who still take pride in their work, their place in the line… charity workers who do work for the poor… parents who adopt… and so many more. My wife was in hospital for many ailments, including heart and kidney transplants, and I was astounded at the service and sacrifice of nurses. Doctors have skills; nurses have hearts.

When people serve people and the community, they serve the country too. When they rest their weary selves, they are veterans, and should be honored too.

A step further, to appreciate the nature of heroes and veterans. At the risk, again, of being misunderstood. It should be recognized that, say, the 9-11 responders were brave… but, honestly, they were doing their jobs. That is not to denigrate their service: it is to recognize and encourage each other, all of us, that our jobs are honorable. And unique. And worthy of recognition on days like Veteran’s Day… veterans of our individual challenges and triumphs.

Veterans of war ought to be honored (and cared for back home). Veterans of life’s toils in this one nation, under God, indivisible, if we can maintain that, should honor laborers and creators, teachers and preachers, even political volunteers, too; and every loyal citizen who loves country.

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A song that has become associated with veterans actually began life as a song, by Bill Carlisle, written after his grandfather’s death. It has been recorded by groups as varied as Flatt and Scruggs and the Grateful Dead. He tells the story and song in this video, recorded shortly after I met the country music legend.

Click: Gone Home

11-11-13

I am glad that, through the years, the name “Armistice Day” was transformed to “Veterans’ Day.” There are legends that assert the choice to order the end of hostilities in World War I – 11:11 on 11-11 – was a public-relations conceit. Maybe so, but surely there were scattered soldiers – maybe hundreds or thousands? – who died as the artificially set clock ticked down. This, in conclusion of the “War to End All Wars,” the “Great War,” the war to “Make the World Safe for Democracy.”

World War I was none of these things, except “great” in terms of its numbers of participants, scope, and abject – not to say useless – horrors. And, as any examples would be superfluous to assert, neither the war nor its armistice, ended all wars. Indeed, its “peace treaty” rather sewed seeds of the next world war, as many commentators of the day cynically predicted. For neither the first nor last time in history, war’s victory was illusory; peace’s triumph was elusive.

As I write this, I am listening to Handel’s “Dettingen Te Deum” in the background. A church piece dedicated to a British battlefield victory on the banks of the Rhein, in Germany. It is, like much of Handel’s, wonderfully stirring music. Stick with me on the background of this battle so celebrated: it was part of the War of Austrian Succession, although Austrian troops were not in the battle. The British were commanded by King George II, the last time a British monarch led troops in battle. The Brits were allied with Hessians and Hanoverians, but not (looking farther northeast on a map of German states) Prussia, which was an enemy. The Brits arrived on the continent in the Netherlands, which was then ruled by Austria. The enemy was France. And all this was memorialized in a mass by the German composer living in England, Georg Friederich Handel.

Confusing enough, but not unique in history. Similarly convoluted was the array of grievances behind World War I – Czar Nicholas was cousin of the Kaiser, whose aunt was Queen Victoria. Under slightly altered circumstances, that war could have been conducted as a parking-lot fistfight of drunks after a wedding reception. And 22-million lives would have been spared.

Listening to the Te Deum also had me thinking about all the music and poetry and anniversaries dedicated to wars and battles; and how few dedicated to peace. Yes: there are some – the consecration of Armistice Day, and several poems and masses. Thanks to God (“Te Deum”) for victory presumes that peace will follow.

But I return to the new, and better, name, Veteran’s Day. Like precious few other holidays, the justification for this holiday should be universal, observed every day on the calendar. Wars come and wars go, but veterans we always have with us. I realize that is a facile aphorism whose elements can be switched, but I mean for us to remember that views about Rights and Justice, as in the War of Austrian Succession or the Great War, shift with the years, and are temporary passions.

But veterans – that is, the soldiers, seamen, and fliers who survive – are with us all. Whether they don uniforms willingly, or are conscripted, through history they have been the people who risk odds and defy death, performing amazing tasks. They wear those uniforms to love, more than hate: love their nations, their homelands, their families’ security, their children’s future.

For motivations as complex as the charts explaining the logic of some wartime leaders, veterans serve and sacrifice. They seldom complained or revolted. Traditionally they return to societies that try to forget they exist (that a splendid organization like Wounded Warriors had to be established, doing what the government should be doing for veterans, is a repugnant shame on America). Their selfless service to fellow-citizens is astounding, light-years beyond questions of “following orders.” Sacrifice does not demand attention or rewards, but the recipients of their service – that’s the rest of us – ought to honor veterans in any and all ways possible.

The seemingly discordant juncture of mercy and war is in fact not uncommon. One example is found with President Abraham Lincoln. I have been researching the life of his secretary John Hay for a possible novel, and learned this story: A Union soldier was recommended for severe punishment, perhaps death, for falling asleep on duty in a dangerous theater of war. His case reached Lincoln’s desk amidst a pile of other cases of other soldiers. All the others, however, carried appeals by important officials or “connected” figures, arguing for clemency in each case. A weary Lincoln asked Major Hay about the order at the bottom of the pile. “Has this man no ‘friends’?” His secretary said No. Lincoln said, “then I shall be his friend,” and issued a pardon.

Yes, there is military justice. But there is also heavenly pardon. In the 21st century, for good or ill, American soldiers fight fiercely, and they build communities too. They do war, but they do peace. They are remarkable creatures, doing remarkable things. May we, as a nation, be remarkable enough to deserve such servants.

In 2013, as on many Veterans’ Days of the past, I take flowers and a little flag, drive to a random cemetery, find a gravestone marked with a military legend or symbol, and honor that man or woman. Random representation. It seems more appropriate than seeking out a statue of a general on a horse. So many risked all… some gave all… we should honor all.

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I had the pleasure, when interviewing country music legends for a book on American roots music, to meet Bill Carlisle. Once part of a “brother act” with Cliff, Bill largely was known for novelty songs, and for jumping high on stage while singing and playing his guitar. But his best song, perhaps, is a solemn gospel favorite called “Gone Home.” Here it respectfully is sung by Ricky Skaggs and Kentucky Thunder. Images of my father’s generation of servicemen, by that amazing video producer Beanscot.

Click: Gone Home