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The cross, fashioned from stocky boards, wore a flack jacket. In place of the head, a camouflage-covered helmet rested on the butt of the M-16 that stood upright between the combat boots at the base of the bayonet. This startling image played tricks on my eyes. It was as if the cross was empty and alive at the same time. "Someone" was there, but then again, it was only the appearance of skeletal remains of someone who had been there.**
The first time I witnessed this type of military memorial was during my year as Army nurse in Vietnam. One of our med evac choppers had been blown out of the sky. On the outdoor stage, the four helmets and sets of combat boots stood in the sunshine, bearing silent witness to lives lost. The sight tore my heart out. One of those four, Gary Johnson, worked with me and others at chapel, a couple months earlier, to prepare something special for our hospital patients and personnel for Christmas. In my spare time, I was chapel organist, delighted to play hymns on a little folding camp organ. Gary had a master's degree in music. He intended to be a minister of music, like his dad back at his home church in Texas, when he finished his tour of duty. And, at the time of his death, he was "short." He had only eighteen days left to cross off on his short-timer calender.
I tape-recorded this memorial service on the reverse side of my recording of our Christmas program, a program we performed first at chapel and then caroling through all the hospital wards on Christmas Eve. And, I couldn't help wondering how God could have let this happen to someone like Gary.
Except for our work together at chapel, I didn't really know Gary. But, he seemed to have a remarkably sweet angelic radiance about him. I thought he resembled a young John Davidson (in his early television career) and I appreciated God's obvious call on the life of this young medic. This precious life, destined to accomplish great things for the Kingdom, was snuffed out en route to rescue wounded Vietnamese soldiers.
I've heard sermons about "the foolishness" of the cross. Some things in life we just can't manage to get our brains to comprehend. In God's wisdom, certainly not ours, He sent the sinless One to die for the sinful ones. I thought about that over the days following the memorial service. I marveled overhearing one of our patients, a profane jerk (most were not, so this was a rare occurrence), mouthing off about what he planned to do when he got back to the states. When he got back.... Why, Lord, was this worthless human being spared to go home, and Gary was not? Gary had so much to offer humanity, and he was no more? Absolutely senseless.
And yet, isn't that what the cross is all about? Gary knew the Savior. He was ready to meet Him, and carry on with the work God had prepared for him to do in eternity. My profane "jerk" of a patient needed more time and Gary did not. In a sense, Gary died in his place, so this other soldier could be counted among the survivors of the spiritual battle for souls.
When I visited The Wall in Washington DC, Gary's was the only name I could recall. Since we were in Vietnam in 1968-69, his name is registered on the peak panel of the memorial, the year the most lives were lost in that war. Just like other signposts across the land, those crosses on church steeples, The Wall stands in tribute. Although these who gave their lives for others were not sinless, they represent examples we can understand. Because of a sacrifice like theirs, we come a little closer to comprehending the foolishness of the cross.
Philippians 2:8 KJV - And being found in fashion as a man, he humbled himself, and became obedient unto death, even the death of the cross.
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** To see photos of similar memorials, go to http://www.pcsuccess.us/yrg/farewell.html
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