Prophecy, Flags, and Demons By dan robling September 13, 2001
I was speaking to a group of high school seniors in Scottsdale on Friday September 7, 2001. I said, "I believe that my father's generation and generations before him paid a down payment and several installment payments for us to fly our emblem of freedom." I went on to say that many more payments will be required and their young generation may have to pay more than preceding generations.
On Tuesday, September 11, 2001 fanatics acting in the name of "Allah" awakened "sleeping demons" buried deep within the minds of Americans who have lived and experienced the horrors of war.
I was born a year before the United States entered World War II. Most of the men from our small coal mining community were already gone to the war before my dad was drafted. One afternoon while I was four, my dad received a letter from "his friends and neighbors." They had selected him to serve our country in the armed services. He read the letter to me and asked me not to mention it to anyone. He wanted to tell Mom in his own way in his own time.
A few days later, we piled into my grandfather's car and took Dad to the train for him to leave for the war. After returning home and getting out of the car, I laid on the front sidewalk of our home and kicked, hit, and screamed, "I want my Daddy" until there was no longer a voice with which to scream. That night and every night for months thereafter, I cried myself to sleep repeating "I want my Daddy." I was convinced that I would never see my father again.
We had already learned to fear the Western Union delivery man. We would pray that he was not going to stop at our house while he was walking through our neighborhood, We would watch to see where he stopped. We converged on the house where a message had been delivered to console the recipient family. Church bells rang and the people of our village gathered to pray and console each other.
I had already seen many of the boxes containing the remains of friends, neighbors, and relatives return to their homes. Each box was draped with an American flag. I did not know what the flag was all about, but I suspected that it had some special significance. Six soldiers or sailors accompanied each box. Each of the six men carried an M1 (30 caliber) rifle. One of them carried a bugle.
Townsmen, too old to go to war, would dig a large and deep hole at the cemetery. The flag-draped box was suspended on boards above the hole. Every citizen of our little town would gather at the cemetery. I would walk up to the hole and look in. Sometimes, I would kick some dirt into the hole and watch it hit the bottom of the hole. I did not know what it all meant, especially the flag. I understood that war was about men going "overseas" to fight, get killed, and come home in a box.
The six military men would fire several rounds from their rifles. It was called a "military salute." It was a way of honoring the person who had died for his country. One of them would slowly play the eerie sounds of "taps" as other men lowered the box into the hole. While our ears were still ringing from the rifle shots, the soldiers would ceremoniously fold the flag in a deliberate manner. One of them would slowly and carefully carry the folded flag to "the next of kin." The mother or widow receiving the flag would cry uncontrollably. Those were confusing and disturbing experiences for a four-year old child. It hurts to think of them again.
We moved from our hometown when I was seven. Eventually, we moved to Indianapolis where I attended the world's largest high school. The high school had been an arsenal during the Civil War. In keeping with its military history, military training was part of our curriculum. I received an Army uniform and my own M1 rifle from the "Magazine Building" from which weapons and uniforms had been issued during the Civil War.
The war had ended eight years before my high school freshman year. All of the materials captured from the Japanese and Nazis had been sorted through and analyzed. Our government had captured many films among the spoils of war. The Japanese and Nazis had delighted in filming the acts of atrocity committed against American military men. Our training was for infantry service, hand to hand combat. Although we were fourteen, we were shown the movies frequently to desensitize us to killing and to teach us to understand and hate our enemies.
We were not viewing video games or Tom Hanks movies. The heads and arms flying through the air were real and "they" were "us." I remember seeing a man running down a hill. His head fell off and his body continued down the hill with the momentum and pull of gravity.
Our enemies delighted in taking pictures of taking down our flag. It was a supreme honor for them and horribly dishonorable for us. The films helped me understand that there has been a price paid with blood and lives for our flag to continue flying.
As the experiences and studies of my adult life took me throughout the industrialized world, I learned the rest of the story of our flag. Most of the world is hungry and wants what we have. Much of the world is angry and wants to destroy us for fanatical reasons. Even our friends around the world are jealous of what we have and would be satisfied to see us have less. Many people and groups around the world are dedicating their resources and lives to taking down our flag forever.
After decades of living and learning, I have come to understand that the flag is a symbol of everything good in the world. It stands for faith, love, and charity. It stands as an emblem of freedom to pursue one's dreams. It stands proudly in honor of every person and every generation who paid the price for our flag to fly majestically above the earth. For senior citizens, the events of September 11 reopened all of the nightmares we thought we had put to sleep. All of the memories of pain, fears, sorrows, smells, sights, hunger, rationing, and loneliness of war were horribly awakened. For young people, the events of Tuesday do not compute. The world of "me" is not all there is. War is not a video game now. It is real. It is here. Our realities have been amplified and changed forever. What we have to do now is not acceptable, but we have to do it. The paradoxes between love, judgment, and discipline tears our faithful and loving hearts. We may need to harm but we cannot hate. We may cause suffering but we must feel compassion. We must protect the right of all to worship Jesus Christ in an environment of freedom.
At a prayer meeting the evening of our Great Tragedy, our parish priest, Fr. Jon Coffey said, "At the heart of our faith is forgiveness. But, justice is consistent with forgiveness. Forgiveness keeps us from becoming slaves to revenge." He was right.
Now, we must have the courage and confidence to do what we must do. We must be swift and just. Our faith and flag must rise above the dust of destruction. The demon memories must sleep again.
O God, make speed to save us. O Lord, make haste to help us.