I have learned many lessons as a Marine’s daughter. Certain values have been drilled into my memory just as my father was drilled in Paris Island over 20 years ago—values including respect, faithfulness, honor, courage, and commitment. My father taught me from the time I could sit on his knee, “There is no such thing as an ex-Marine. We are former marines.” And “Semper Fi is not a Latin motto but a way of life.” Nearly 20 years later I assumed I had mastered these basic training lessons. My assumption only led me to yet another lesson: they are far from finished.

Every Memorial Day weekend my church hosts a conference—a three day period of teaching, fellowship, food, and if you dare to brave the fickle New England weather, camping.

The highlight of the weekend is the Memorial Day service itself. A sense of overwhelming patriotism swells as the choir belts out songs like Battle Hymn of the Republic. During the course of the program the congregation sings our national anthem. Men in freshly starched uniforms present the colors and lead us in the Pledge of Allegiance.

Our church was founded as a servicemen’s outreach center. Enlisted men and women were brought to the church for a good meal and spiritual nourishment. A few servicemen are still housed in the building today.

During our Memorial Day service all five military anthems are sung. Men and women serving in their respective branches of the service stand during their anthem. It is a simple tribute, and a nice addition to the closing ceremony.

It was Memorial Day and I was sitting in a church service while the pianist was playing the Marine Corps anthem. Inside I beamed. My dad would stand up during the Marine’s Hymn, shoulders straight, hands clasped behind his back at parade rest and sing, “From the halls of Montezuma, to the shores of Tripoli . . . .” Already impatient, I sensed the swelling pride in my chest while I shifted in my chair. Finally I heard the familiar tune as the introduction commenced. In a few seconds my dad would stand up.

To my surprise, he didn’t. Phrase after phrase came and went and it wasn’t until the second verse that I discreetly glanced over to observe my father sitting and singing along with everyone else. Next I scanned the sanctuary. Not one person stood. I knew there was at least one Marine in the room, but he was disguised as one of the crowd. Confused, I murmured the last remaining lines not thinking about the words, but wondering why my father hadn’t stood up.

The service ended and the attendees made their way to the meal line where smells of a turkey dinner wafted from the kitchen. It wasn’t until after dessert, as I climbed into the passenger’s seat, that I had a chance to satisfy my curiosity.

I asked my dad why he didn’t stand during the Marine Corps anthem. He smiled and replied, “I know I’m a Marine.” After he spoke his facial expression changed and I realized what he wasn’t telling me.

My father hadn’t remained seated out of arrogance or pride. It was a simple act of honor. Honor taken not for himself but given instead to the dead. This Marine could hold his family close because of the thousands of graves that were dug to keep America free.

By remaining silent, my father demonstrated self-denial and humility—two character traits branded into a Marine. Memorial Day was not a day for my dad to declare his impressive military record, but to reflect and remember those soldiers, those Marines, who died to secure America. Soldiers like his father’s comrades who fought in the Battle of the Bulge, or his close friend who died in Kuwait during the Gulf War. My dad would have fought beside him had he not given up his patriotic dream for his family duty.

While the pieces locked into place and we drove toward home, I realized Memorial Day isn’t about picnics or parades. It’s about remembrance. It’s about honoring soldiers silenced by the rage of war. All it took was a silent soldier of my own to teach me. |L

OUTLOOK is a forum for responsible Christian writers. The views expressed do not necessarily reflect those of Standard Publishing or The Lookout.

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