It's been years, but the images of young, dead bodies rendered into all manner of burnt, punctured, partial, twisted and ripped versions of what they had been while living remain fresh in my mind's eye. My time as a military chaplain in that facility coincided with 9/11, Operation Enduring Freedom, and Operation Iraqi Freedom. The war dead were numbered in the hundreds then instead of the thousands as they are today. Each death got attention. Today they are largely ignored. Soldiers die in violence and sacrifice over there; their deaths meet with silence and disinterest over here. Perhaps it's bad taste for me to mention this. I mention it only to point to truth. We love villains and yawn for heroes. The kid who hurls his young body onto a grenade doesn't care that we don't care. No hero I know of ever did something heroic in order to become a hero. They did what they did because who they are (or were). Of course, Christ is the ultimate example of this. He didn't choose the Cross because the glory of it drew Him. He chose it because His Father wanted him to. He did what He did for another, first His Father and then you and me. There is no other heroism.
I remember one soldier who had been captured and brutally beheaded. As we prepared his remains, we honored a common request to place photos of his family in the pockets of the uniform he was to be buried in. I sometimes picture Christ, after being brutally crucified, being buried with pictures of His Father... and you... and me... in his pockets, at His Father's request. Romans 5:8 "... but God shows his love for us in that while we were still sinners, Christ died for us."
Thanks Pastor.
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