Those Who Died for Me

I had a brief conversation with a Canadian friend recently about how unusual Memorial Day is. Barbecue? Holiday? Fireworks? Picnics? Why do we do all this happy stuff because there are hundreds of thousands of dead soldiers in our national history? Shouldn't this be a day of mourning instead?

Those thoughts rumbled around in my head for a few days until they congealed into this question:

Is it normal that we celebrate because somebody died to give us freedom?

Immediately I realized I'd been doing that every day for most of my life. I've been celebrating a man who died to give me, not just freedom as an American, but freedom as a human forever. I've been celebrating the death of Jesus.

What if all the dead American soldiers of our past should rise up out of their scattered graves as one man, new and indestructible, and go marching throughout the world to defeat any evil person that endangers us. What a zombie army! What if their single goal of existence were to make us feel safe? How would you feel with such an army as your defender?

If you think Christians are crazy (and we often seem to be), just remember this -- we have a friend who died to secure us freedom and safety, and then He came back to life so we knew He could conquer anything -- absolutely anything -- for us. That kind of belief makes you a little crazy.

Thank you, dead soldiers. You have a mighty example.