Tomorrow is Memorial day. That's got a double meaning. Tomorrow. Monday, is a national holiday set aside to remember veterans of wars in American history. Tomorrow. (as I type this Saturday afternoon), is also Memorial day.

They are a lot alike, when you think about it. Christ fought and died for us, and won us the victory over death. Soldiers fought and died for us to keep our freedoms intact. Both are deserving of praise, and both made the ultimate sacrifice for us. Both have a special day set aside in recognition.

I know that I have spent many Memorial day mornings not just marching with the scouts (as a boy and as a dad) but as a citizen, ending up in a cemetery that was a sea of little flags, one on each of the graves of someone who had served. And there were so many! Hundreds, no thousands of them, over rolling hills and across silent meadows. Hearing a eulogy spoken in reverent tones, expressing gratitude. Jumping a little in surprise when the rifles reported in salute. And shedding tears myself as the mournful bugle played its call across the scene. I don't always go, but when I do I am always moved. There are those who talk a lot about how they want to help our nation, and there are those who didn't talk with words but put their beliefs in action. Whenever I hear someone at work or in the media poke fun at them, I'm ashamed. We as a nation are not worthy of them.

I wanted a little brass star planted on my grave that someone would come along and put a flag into each memorial day. When I was very small, I wanted an oval one that said GAR but now that I'm grown up I know what GAR means and I know I never will. In fact I will never have any of them, having never served in the military. But I can still admire those who have them as I walk about the cemetery, and murmur their names aloud as I pass by. They are not completely forgotten.

I have also spent many Memorial days in church on Sunday mornings. I've focused my mind on my vision of a cross on a hilltop, where someone else suffered and died in my place. Imagining his eyes looking upon me, not accusing and not blurred with wishy love, but hard, alert eves that pierce to my soul and seem to say "I did this for you. You should be here, not me. Don't waste it." Not hundreds, just one. One very personal savior, who knows me better than anyone else. Not just a name on a grave. but alive and resurrected and expecting me to do something more than murmur his name in passing. As I consider the event. I am also moved. I am not worthy, in my own eyes.

There are those who talk about "ethics" and "doctrine." Christ did that. too, though he left much of that up to his apostles. What he did no one else could do, offer himself as the Son of God. Whenever I hear someone at work or anywhere else poke fun at him. I'm ashamed. We as a race are not worthy of him.

I heard many people talking about their plans for the long weekend. Travel, boating. and the like. None of them mentioned attending a town's Memorial day service. Few people at work *ever* talk about going to church, either. Any Memorial day, the holiday or the Lord's day, is just a day not to work. Yet I pray for them occasionally, by name. and to mention every one of them. Ironic that they are the ones who are not forgotten. In the end. Though, remembering Christ's death as he asked us to will make you not be forgotten by God. Think about it.

Randy