Since beginning my academic endeavors at Seminary I have wrestled with two things; forgiveness and death. From a pastoral care perspective there is nothing I can do about forgiveness. Forgiveness is a process that never ends. Forgiveness is more of a discipline than an action. It's a discipline we must choose to pursue. Today is about forgiveness and I struggle with just how to share that with so many brothers who have suffered so much anger in light of what they have faced. Lifting that hate off my shoulders changed my way of thought on these days. If I couldn't mourn the death of those we lost than I would hate those who took their lives. If I couldn't hate that day, I would mourn. I would cry, drink, be angry, dwell on the memory.
Survivor's guilt isn't something the Marines and Corpsman of 3/25 suffer with because they had a one and done run in with death. They suffer because it was day in and day out. As one friend said to me before a patrol those many years ago "It's just a numbers game, you walk out of that gate your numbers go down. Every time you walk out into the city your chances of walking back through that gate go down. It's really all there is to it." That sense of fatalism permeated our actions both in our mission and with each other. Knowing you could be the next to go was a frightening but undeniable piece of the mission. I had accepted it 3 months into our tour during a traumatic firefight. I was at peace with death. I wasn't at peace with other's deaths.
That is when survivor's guilt came into play. Every friend that didn't walk back into the gate, every rushed mission to retrieve a body and defend a position, every newspaper clipping of someone's obituary write up or newspaper article. For many of us it was less complicated to know the person that was killed. Yes, it hurt. Yes, it tore you apart. The other piece of it was that if you didn't know the one that died you then felt guilty you never had the chance.
Now some would say it's an exaggeration that they gave our lives for us. "We shouldn't have been there in the first place." "You weren't even on that mission." These are often questions and concerns. The simple fact is that if Bryan, Joe, Ryan, Joey, and Crocker were not where they were when they were someone would have filled that void and yes, my number would have gone down. So regardless of how it happened, where I was, what they were doing, each of those 48 lives were snuffed out for me and every Marine and Corpsman that came home.
So each of us got a Golden Ticket; LIFE. Year after year we have mourned their sacrifices. We gather, we raise a glass, post a FB picture, etc. I don't fault it. In fact it serves a great purpose. In talking with a Gold Star Mother last year it touched her because she realized that we still thought about her son. She didn't want her son to be forgotten and she shouldn't. It is important to know he was, is, and always will be valued of the amazing man he was.
What I ask is how much longer should we mourn? Maybe it's time to celebrate. It is ironic when you think about the attendance at worship on a Good Friday versus the attendance on Easter. We don't like to mourn that loss but if it is the loss of someone we know we abusively mourn that loss. We draw attention to our suffering. The loss is no longer about the one we lost but the one left behind. In New Orleans there is a tradition of walking to the grave solemn and mourning but when then funeral procession leaves there are bright colors and loud joyous songs. This is symbolic of Baptism, dying and rising in Christ. If we believe that John gives a true account of Jesus in 15:13 we should be confident in that newness of life, especially for these 48. When my Uncle died it took a great toll on my mother. On her ride back to the St Louis airport family friends told my mother something simple but incredibly true. They asked "If we really believe in all this; Jesus Christ, death, resurrection, salvation, etc., than why are we crying? Shouldn't we all be anxious and excited?"
"I don't miss those guys", I told a friend that this morning during his early morning text telling me how much he was dreading this day. I don't miss them at all because they are with me everyday in everything I do. They brought me to seminary, they taught me how to read these books, they taught me how to forgive. They also taught me how to hold my children, read them stories, and yes, tell their stories to them. I miss my brothers because they aren't with me everyday. The ones living in Pittsburgh, Texas, Ohio, Florida, New York, Michigan, and where ever else. I don't miss those who have died because they are part of who and what I am.
Today I propose we cease our mourning and begin our celebration. Our mourning has only lead to pain, anger, and hate. Today I celebrate the life of Bryan Richardson. Today I laugh about his goofy grin and his good ol' boy way of saying anything (Hoo-rah was even particularly comical coming out of his mouth). I'll drink a beer for Bryan but I won't ruin his memory for my kids by making it something sad. I want my children to know the joy he brought into my life. They don't deserve to see any of them as men that brought pain into it.
Gentlemen, I love each and every one of you. The greatest two families that ever chose me were the Church at my baptism and the Marines and Corpsman I fought beside. If their lives bring darkness and pain we need to reevaluate what we have done to their lives. Their lives were anything but darkness and pain. Their lives were joy, determination, and sacrifice. They gave their lives for us but that is a humbling thing that honors us all. We also have a responsibility to live our lives in a way that they would want us to live those lives. They didn't give their lives for us to wallow around in anger and pity. They gave us a chance to step up to the plate and knock this life out of the park. I propose we start today and continue everyday. I remember everyday but I will mourn no more. Today and everyday I will celebrate the gift I am given.
سلام, שָׁלוֹם, and Peace
