Memorial Day is not to be celebrated. It is to be observed, scrutinized, and witnessed on behalf of the true witnesses of our human failure to love our neighbor as ourselves.

Holy One, on this day of remembrance we say aloud their names again: the names of those who died this year. Died — the word is jarring. So jarring that we hardly use the word, substituting euphemisms that are a bit more vague. Sometimes people say “lost” when what they mean is dead: “We lost...

I saw the parade pass by with the last soldier marching. I saw politicians stand by not in pride, but in shame as they recited the names of the dead and admitted their failure. I saw the marching band step in time to silence, no more hymns of glory could they play. I saw mothers and fathers say,...

For all who die in war We lift up our hearts For all who live in suffering in the aftermath of violence We lift up our hearts For all who give their lives in smoke and flame We lift up our hearts For all who go on in honor of the dead We lift up our hearts For all who have served We lift up our...

The first stop on U.S. soil after a deployment is the airport. From there, it’s all downhill until you get to see your family and loved ones again. But the airport is its own scene when you’re a soldier in uniform. On my trip home, I’m reminded of the last time I was in the airport—returning...

I lean back in the chair and exhale a long breath of thick white cigar smoke into the night sky. It rises upward, swirls in a light breeze, and disappears. I think to myself, “Damn this is a good cigar, a good night, and a good place to be for these few moments.” Earlier today, I walked through...

My son has sent me a “Build-A-Bear.” Dressed in the latest digital camouflage ACUs.* (Build-A-Bear hasn’t yet caught up with multicam.) It came with a note in my eight-year-old’s handwriting: “Press left paw for I love you and I miss you.” Sure enough, when I press the left paw, my...

“You sargin or commandant?” a young Afghan lieutenant asks as he points to the cross on my chest. I try to explain what a chaplain is. In the end, he suggests Army mullah, and I agree. Not the most accurate description, but the most meaningful for him. Chaplain has little meaning for him.

The first time I ever played “Taps” was at summer camp when I was ten years old. That was the year I started playing trumpet, so I can only imagine how it sounded. I know there was no way that I could have hit the high note near the end. The first time I played Taps in honor of those who died...

When my youngest daughter was about two years old she came across a tattered paperback on our bookshelves, Ten Thousand Baby Names, and for a little while this was her favorite book. Drawn by the shining face of the baby on the cover, she brought it to me over and over and demanded that I read...