When Love Comes to Town

When I was a boy, my parents raised us as fundamentalist Christians (sometimes I think Fundamentalist was capitalized too.) We were in Church every Sunday morning, Sunday evening and Wednesday evening with occasional other nights thrown in if some other acceptable Church was having service. We were a separate and peculiar people, seeking the face of God.

It wasn’t easy on us boys, being peculiar. We couldn’t be in sports that interfered with church, so if practice wasn’t over by 6:45 for us to make church by 7:00 on Wednesday, well forget about it. Sports on Sunday wasn’t even an option. We kept the Sabbath holy, and never mind you seventh-day people.

One episode stands out in memory as being particularly painful. Some “forbidden books” were being taught in English during my grade school days. Due to my parents’ belief and protest, I and a few other kids were separated from the class and sent to the library. Our precious ears couldn’t be offended by the heathen literature of Poe or Wordsworth.

As a parent now, I know it must have hurt mom and dad to cause us boys pain. I would rather cut off a finger than subject my daughters to ridicule unnecessarily, and I’m sure my parents felt the same. They did what they did on a principle that they believed in, and I learned something from that. I learned principle matters, especially when it makes you uncomfortable. I learned religion can make you do things you don’t want to do. I learned religion can divide. Mixed messages, to be sure, but that’s the way it is sometimes.

This Saturday, there is a funeral planned. A young man, a soldier, died in a foreign country doing something he probably didn’t want to do, but doing what his country asked of him. His family is proud of him. His family is grieving. This being a small town, we are all grieving. We either know him, or know his family and it hurts.

There are some people planning to attend his services who believe he died because his country, our country, is being punished by God for its sinful ways. They plan to jeer at his family and blame the community for its moral failure. There’s about a hundred of them. Most people believe they are complete nut cases, and that may be. There are counter protests planned and many people pray the hateful group stays home. I am thankful they are coming.

I am thankful because, without these people protesting, we would have grieved alone. The young man, the soldier, would have otherwise had a small private service and his family would have suffered at a distance. I am thankful because we, our little community in the fly-over states, gets to stand with them and wrap our collective arms around them and say with a unified voice, “We are proud of your boy. Proud, Thankful and above all else, Honored by his service.”

The same may be said for all our servicemen and women. But on this day, in this small community, we say it for the young man, the soldier, SPC David Hess, may he forever rest in peace with the thanks of a grateful nation, state and town. His stand on principle enables mine.



“No man has a greater love than this, that he lay down his life for his friends” John15:13