Before His arrest, Jesus told His disciples to prepare for the road ahead—even if it meant arming themselves. Not for conquest. Not for aggression, but for survival and the fulfillment of a mission that would cost Him His life. That same readiness—physical, moral, and spiritual—defines the American warrior, especially those we remember on Memorial Day. “But now let the one who has a moneybag take it, and likewise a knapsack. And let the one who has no sword sell his cloak and buy one.” — Luke 22:36
The last Monday in May is a day of solemnity. It is arguably the most important day of national remembrance in the patriot’s calendar—a sacred pause to honor the men and women who gave their lives in service to our country. Memorial Day calls us back to the bedrock of American identity: the Christian ethic of courage, sacrifice, and the belief that liberty is worth dying for.
More than barbecue grills or beach trips, Memorial Day should bring us to our knees—in thanks to our Creator for having made such men and women, and in resolve. As General George S. Patton once said, “It is foolish and wrong to mourn the men who died. Rather, we should thank God that such men lived.”
Our honored dead did more than live. They stepped forward when others shrank back. They embarked on the grand adventure where life and limb are hazarded, that ethereal height where only the brave dare mount. And compelled by love of brothers in arms, for the men on their right and left, and also for the country of their nativity, they gave the last full measure of devotion on the beaches of Normandy, in the frozen forests of the Ardennes, on the slopes of Pork Chop Hill, in the jungles of Vietnam, amid the dust of Fallujah, and the mountains of Afghanistan.
We live and luxuriate in liberty under the banner of that sacrifice.
President Ronald Reagan, in his 1986 Memorial Day remarks at Arlington, said: "The future doesn't belong to the fainthearted; it belongs to the brave. The brave are remembered here.” That future—our present—was purchased by the dead, as Lt. Col. John McCrae wrote, in part, during WWI: “We are the Dead. Short days ago, we lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow, loved and were loved—and now we lie in Flanders Fields. Take up our quarrel with the foe. To you from failing hands we throw the torch—be yours to hold it high. If you break faith with us who die, we shall not sleep, though poppies grow in Flanders Fields.”
That debt of honor is what Medal of Honor recipients understand better than most. When they speak, they speak for those who lie silent beneath poppy fields and ranks of gleaming marble crosses.
Staff Sergeant Salvatore Giunta, the first living recipient of the Medal since Vietnam, said: "I'm not a hero. I'm just a soldier who was doing his job. The real heroes are the ones who gave their lives for their country."
Colonel Jack Jacobs, awarded for valor in Vietnam, echoed the same: “The real heroes are the ones who never came back. The guys buried at Arlington are the ones who deserve the credit.”
That humility runs through every recipient. Hershel “Woody” Williams, the last living WWII Medal of Honor recipient, put it this way: “The Medal of Honor is not mine. I wear it for all those who can’t.”
Even Roy Benavidez, who fought through six hours of hell to save fellow Green Berets in Vietnam, reminded us: "I'd rather die on my feet than live on my knees.” His defiance was not ego—it was the moral clarity of a man who knew some things are worth dying for.
And die they did. Lieutenant Michael Murphy, the SEAL team leader who walked into enemy fire in Afghanistan to save his men, said before his final act: "I would have rather died than let one of my men get hurt.” Perhaps no one captured that raw finality better than Audie Murphy, one of the most decorated soldiers in American history: "The true meaning of America, you ask? It's in a Texas cemetery, rows upon rows of simple white crosses."
We often forget that Memorial Day is not about the living. It’s about the ones who didn’t come home.
Sergeant First Class Paul R. Smith, who died holding off over 100 enemy fighters in Iraq to protect his men, reportedly told a fellow soldier: “If it comes down to it, I'm going to die standing up.” And he did. He received the Medal posthumously.
Too often in our modern era, patriotism is either mocked or forgotten. But there’s nothing outdated about valor. There’s nothing passé about standing between your country and its enemies. We are, as President John F. Kennedy reminded us, “the heirs of that first revolution. Let every nation know… that we shall pay any price, bear any burden… to assure the survival and the success of liberty.”
The Apostle Paul wrote, “Greater love hath no man than this, that a man lay down his life for his friends.” That verse, etched on tombstones across American military cemeteries, speaks to the sacredness of the sacrifice. It’s a love that transcends politics, party, and time. It is the beating heart of America.
So this year, when the flag flutters at half-staff, when taps echo across a quiet field, when you see a carefully folded flag handed to a widow, remember this: liberty lives because they died. And we honor them best not only by remembering, but by living boldly and courageously in defense of the ideals they gave their lives for.
May God bless the fallen. May He comfort the brokenhearted. And may He give us the strength to be worthy of their sacrifice.