The White Crosses Recently I conducted the interment service for Walt Gibson at the Veteran's National Cemetery in Sarasota. Walt was a marine; his squadron commander from Korea came to the service. He shared with me afterwards that he had responsibility for three platoons, each with thirteen men, and his constant prayer was "Lord, please help me to bring these boys home alive." Now he was there at the end, after all these years, that "Gib" could finally go home. If you have been to a national military cemetery, you know how powerful of a visual effect it is to see hundreds and hundreds of white crosses, row after row, as far as the eye can see. Each of the crosses represents one of God's children, and each cross has a story to tell. The crosses - simple, plain, and white - do not distinguish the millionaire from the mill-hand, or the professor from the unlettered. There is no 'bling'; there is no large monument shouting for attention. No cross is larger or higher than the next. Death is the great leveler. In an age before us, before people lived by the clock, in an age when time still served people, it was common to visit the cemetery. Even now, if we listen, the cemeteries have many a sermon to preach to us. The sermon I heard that day was of these veterans who served their nation in battle and then returned home to serve in other ways - often without recognition or fanfare. In death, as in life, it was not about their egos... it was about service. In faith,
Pastor Tim
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