Shaking the memory tree

"We lose 1,000 World War II veterans every single day."

The above message closes Ken Burns' impressive new PBS documentary, "The War." Those words crystallize the plain fact that the greatest generation, formed in the crucible of the Great Depression and shaped by the worldwide conflagration euphemistically known as "The Big One," is being erased all too rapidly.

Tomorrow is All Saints Sunday. In my congregation, as in many others, we will observe the Christian version of the old Jewish Yahrzeit. In other words, we will give attention to the ancient tradition, far older than Halloween, of naming the dead. Among Protestants, those who die in Christ during the previous year are departed saints. We assert that those saints have left the church militant (living) and have joined the church triumphant (deceased).

I have 23 names to read this year. Several were World War II veterans; still more were spouses of veterans. Nearly all carried vivid memories of wartime. They recalled war bonds, "Uncle Sam Wants You" posters, gas rationing coupons and extremely limited supplies of leather, rubber and sugar. They remembered V-mail and gold stars in the front windows of homes.

They despised debt, they tended to view life in terms of duty and obligation and their word was their bond. And we're losing them too quickly. Collectively, we're all the poorer for it.

It has been my honor to have had as parishioners men (and a smaller number of women) who were at Pearl Harbor, at Guadalcanal, at Anzio; who were POWs; who were in the Ardennes at Christmas 1944 for the Battle of the Bulge; who came ashore at Utah Beach and Omaha Beach, Normandy, France. To them -- and to those who served in so many more lesser-known locales -- I offer my thanks. I hope you do as well. In large and small ways, these men and women, some as young as 18 (a few even younger), saved the world. Too many of us baby boomers, who are just beginning to retire, think we've had it rough. No, we haven't. Not in comparison. Not by a long shot. We boomers fail to appreciate properly the debt we owe our elders.

When I turned 18, the Vietnam War was over. There was no draft. I went to college, met my future wife, went to graduate school. My life has never been in any real danger.

When my late father-in-law was my age, he entered the Merchant Marine, then the Navy, trained on a 20-millimeter gun, was sent to the South Pacific and served below deck in a boiler room -- losing most of his hearing in the process. He was shot at and survived. My surmise is that a man can never look at life the same way after dodging a bullet.

Another World War II vet, who today still serves as an usher in my church, lost his older brother in 1942, killed in wartime at the tender age of 20. All my usher has left of his brother is a photograph of him in uniform and a 9-foot U.S. flag with 48 stars. The government draped the casket with that flag as his body was sent home for burial. My conviction is my usher never looked at the Stars and Stripes the same way after losing his only sibling so young.

It will take some time to read those 23 names tomorrow along with the short bios that will accompany each. Well, too bad. We simply cannot forget.

Over and over again in the Old Testament, Yahweh reminded the people of what he had done for them. "I am the Lord your God, who brought you out of the land of Egypt, who rescued you out of the house of slavery." (Exodus 20:2) When Israel forgot, God shook the tree of memory.

On All Saints Sunday, we also shake the tree of memory to recall with gratitude those who have lived and died and whose remembered lives inspire us still.

One thousand a day. Too, too fast.

Jeff Long is pastor of Centenary United Methodist Church in Cape Girardeau. Married with two daughters, he is of Scots and Swedish descent, loves movies and is a lifelong fan of the Pittsburgh Steelers.