My Memorial Day did not unfold exactly the way I had envisioned it a week or so ago, but in the end it was the most poignant, and memorable, I have ever experienced …

I had taken the past week off, as this winter and spring we had seen the marriages of two of our kids, and a whole slate of ministry assignments, and I had not yet taken a vacation this year.  In addition, May 28^th would be the 29^th anniversary of Cheryl’s and my marriage, so it was a good week to take off.  We had enjoyed the first part of the week, playing golf, doing some things around the house, a few road trips, some things with the kids.  The week was about as good a vacation as one could have – until Friday, when I received a call: Carl Whitley was about to pass away. 

Carl Whitley was a senior adult at our church, First Baptist, Moss Bluff.  And he was not “just” a member; he was one of those “bedrock” members that churches are built upon.  I will always remember how he visited with me when he was on the pastor search committee, how he built a swing glider for our yard – and so many other things.  In a way he was like a second father to us.  To me he was just the picture of a dad: his big frame, his deep voice, his working hands, and his loving way.  When I went to see him and say my good-byes, it was very much like saying good-bye to my own dad.  A short time later that evening, Carl passed away. 

When I came home, Cheryl & I talked about when the service would be.  I speculated: this is Friday night; I would think the service might be on Monday – Memorial Day!  I expressed the hope that the service might indeed be on Memorial Day; what a fitting tribute that would be to Mr. Carl!  Carl had served in the U.S. Navy during the Second World War, on a destroyer in the Mediterranean Sea.  I remembered talking with him about that, and asking him questions about his experiences.  When I went back to visit the family later that night, I discovered that they had the exact same thought: Memorial Day would be the perfect day for Mr. Carl’s service.  They reminded me of how he would always go home to Leetohatchee, Alabama (some of our church members would tease him about the name of his home town!) on Memorial Day, to fellowship with his family.  To celebrate his home-going on Memorial Day would be so fitting!  With confirmation from the funeral home, the date and time were set: Memorial Day Monday at 2:00, at First Baptist Church — and I would have the honor of bringing the message!

Two days later, my Memorial Day began the way I might have envisioned it a week previous: I slept in!  Cheryl made me a good late breakfast – with an abundance of Cholula on my scrambled eggs! – and I went out to wash and wax both of our cars.  That could have been the start of any typical Memorial Day.  But then the course of my day changed from the routine.  I went inside to get cleaned up and get ready for Mr. Carl’s service at the church.  I put a couple of finishing touches on the message I had prepared the night before, put my grey suit on – with a red tie and white shirt in honor of the day — and went to the church to print out the sermon and touch base with the family and the other funeral participants before the service.

I don’t recall ever preaching another funeral on Memorial Day.  But I must say, this service was special, and so fitting for the day.  The church was filled with one of the larger crowds we’ve had for a funeral service – as was appropriate for someone like Carl Whitley.  There was a red, white, and blue American flag draped over the end of the coffin.  Tributes becoming such a man were offered, and throngs of people passed by his coffin as they paid their respects.  At Ritchie Cemetery in Moss Bluff, a U.S. Navy color guard was stationed to greet us when we arrived.  When all was in place, they asked us all to rise, and the bugler played taps.  Then the color guard meticulously folded the American flag and presented it to Mrs. Peggy, Carl’s wife, “on behalf of a grateful nation ….” 

When the graveside services were finished, I got in my car, and with a sober and pensive spirit, I drove home.  I told Cheryl I wanted to go to Wal-Mart and get us a little charcoal grill and buy some meat.  I wanted to cook some steaks.  I wanted to have a “typical American Memorial Day” dinner — with steaks on the grill, and baked potatoes, and enjoy the evening.  I am not very skilled at cooking steaks, but I wanted to give it a shot that night.  We got the needed supplies, and all turned out well.  Cheryl and Michael and I sat and ate our steaks and baked potatoes, and watched Shakespeare’s “Twelfth Night” (OK, that was a little departure from typical Americana, but it sounded good to me!)  It was undoubtedly the most special Memorial Day I have ever experienced.  The fact that I had the freedom to meet in a church building with hundreds of other citizens, without fear of reprisal; that I could get in my car and go anywhere I wished, without asking anyone’s permission, and that I could spend my money to buy whatever I wanted for dinner, and go to my home and eat that dinner which I had cooked on my own new grill, and watch whatever I chose to watch on my television, on this work holiday – was only possible because God blessed us with men like Mr. Carl Whitley, who were willing to sacrifice their lives in the armed services that we might enjoy all of the freedoms and blessings of this day.  I just want to go on record as saying that Carl Whitley’s service today was not an “interruption” in my Memorial Day; no indeed; rather it made it exactly what it was intended to be: the celebration of God’s goodness to us through men like him.  Perhaps some year hence I may celebrate a more apt and fitting and grateful Memorial Day … but somehow I doubt it.