Veterans' Day

Today is Veterans' Day. It is the day one of the most inhuman wars in human history finally ended. World War I was fought by people unprepared for the consequences of facing opponents armed with machine guns, then an innovation. The world reeled in horror and declared it the war to end all wars.

The truth is heartbreaking: of course it wasn't. History tells the bitter story of what happened in the following decades, and what is happening now.

Today I'm remembering the many veterans I've met in the past six months. They have told me stories of the brutality of war, experiences I can't ever begin to understand in the Pacific, Europe, Korea, Vietnam, Iraq, Afghanistan. They have also told me stories of friendship, kindness, and deep loyalty.

At VA hospice memorial services, we honor their memory with this beautiful litany.


Traditional Litany of Remembrance

In the rising of the sun
and in its going down,
I will remember you.

In the rustling of the leaves
and in the beauty of autumn,
I will remember you.

In the blowing of the wind
and in the chill of winter,
I will remember you.

In the opening of buds
and in the rebirth of spring,
I will remember you.

In the blueness of the sky
and in the warmth of summer,
I will remember you.

In the beginning of the year
and when it ends,
I will remember you.

When I am weary
and in need of strength,
I will remember you.

When I am lost
and sick at heart,
I will remember you.

When I have joys
I yearn to share,
I will remember you.

So long as I live, you too shall live,
for you are now a part of me
as I remember you.

The Collar

In preparation for my endorsement interview tomorrow, my advisor and I spent some time reviewing the materials I had been required to submit to my candidacy committee, including my CPE evaluations. We discussed my experiences with the clerical collar I chose to wear in the hospital. All at once he jumped up and began searching through his bookcases (a person after my own heart). He surfaced again, triumphant, with a battered volume of poetry by George Herbert in his hand. This is the poem he read to me -- it resonates clearly:

The Collar

I struck the board, and cried, "No more;
I will abroad!
What? shall I ever sigh and pine?
My lines and life are free, free as the road,
Loose as the wind, as large as store.
Shall I be still in suit?
Have I no harvest but a thorn
To let me blood, and not restore
What I have lost with cordial fruit?
Sure there was wine
Before my sighs did dry it; there was corn
Before my tears did drown it.
Is the year only lost to me?
Have I no bays to crown it,
No flowers, no garlands gay? All blasted?
All wasted?
Not so, my heart; but there is fruit,
And thou hast hands.
Recover all thy sigh-blown age
On double pleasures: leave thy cold dispute
Of what is fit and not. Forsake thy cage,
Thy rope of sands,
Which petty thoughts have made, and made to thee
Good cable, to enforce and draw,
And be thy law,
While thou didst wink and wouldst not see.
Away! take heed;
I will abroad.
Call in thy death's-head there; tie up thy fears;
He that forbears
To suit and serve his need
Deserves his load."
But as I raved and grew more fierce and wild
At every word,
Methought I heard one calling, Child!
And I replied, My Lord.

The words that were our names

Once a week, I enter the strange space of inpatient hospice as a chaplain.

Sometimes it feels a bit like entering another country. People relate to one another just as they do on the outside... except differently. Relationships move at the pace they always do -- except when they deepen rapidly in the face of death, beyond the point where words fail and where speech can go no farther.

I hear many stories there. I become part of many other stories. I see endings and heartbreak (and, inexplicably, life and hope). I wish I could tell all of these stories, but intimacy and death are powerful delineators of boundaries.

Instead, I read and re-read this poem. One line in particular surfaces over and over in my mind, week after week, as I feel the burden and the lightness of having borne witness to so many stories: "Make in your mouths the words that were our names."

Privacy laws prevent me from sharing "the words that were our names." But I trust that they, and their stories, are all held in this beautiful autumnal poem by Archibald Macleish.


Epistle to be Left in the Earth (1930)

...It is colder now                            there are many stars                                                          we are drifting North by the Great Bear                                   the leaves are falling The water is stone in the scooped rock                                                         to southward Red sun grey air                        the crows are Slow on their crooked wings                                          the jays have left us Long since we passed the flares of Orion Each man believes in his heart he will die Many have written last thoughts and last letters None know if our deaths are now or forever None know if this wandering earth will be found We lie down and the snow covers our garments I pray you                you (if any open this writing) Make in your mouths the words that were our names I will tell you all we have learned                                               I will tell you everything The earth is round                           there are springs under the orchards The loam cuts with a blunt knife                                                beware of Elms in thunder                        the lights in the sky are stars We think they do not see                                     we think also The trees do not know nor the leaves of the grasses hear us The birds too are ignorant                                       do not listen Do not stand at dark in the open windows We before you have heard this                                             they are voices They are not words at all but the wind rising Also none among us has seen God (... We have thought often the flaws of sun in the late and driving weather pointed to one tree but it was not so.) As for the nights I warn you the nights are dangerous The wind changes at night and the dreams come It is very cold                      there are strange stars near Arcturus Voices are crying an unknown name in the sky