By DAVID EPPS
Pastor

I must have been about five years old when I saw him sitting on a float during the July 4th parade on a terribly hot day in Kingsport, Tennessee. He was the most ancient looking man I had ever seen; yet there was a presence and dignity about him.

His hair was white, as was his mustache, and he was thin, almost brittle looking. There was, however, a steely glint in his eye as he surveyed the crowd and a strength in his hand as he waved to the onlookers. He was trim and unbowed in his gray woolen suit which, even to a five-year-old, spoke of a military uniform.

My father bent down and said, "He's one of the last surviving Confederate veterans of the Civil War." That statement meant nothing to me at the time, of course. I didn't know what a Confederate was and I certainly had never heard of the Civil War. In those years, before political correctness and before racists co-opted symbols of heritage, the Stars and Stripes and the Stars and Bars, both ablaze with red, white, and blue, were displayed in abundance together in southern parades and festivals. I loved the flags, the horses, the marching bands, and the men in uniform parading down Broad Street.

I would learn about that terrible conflict in due time but, at the moment, I just stared at the very, very old man. Even if he had been a youth at the end of the War Between the States, he would have been in his nineties by the time I saw him on that 4th of July. But it was the look on his face that struck me. He had a look of satisfaction, of pride, as if he had accomplished some great thing.

Two years ago, I was asked to serve as the Master of Ceremonies for the Memorial Day Observation in Peachtree City, Georgia. As the crowd of several hundred gathered on that warm Monday morning, I was struck by the number of veterans of various wars, conflicts, and eras who turned out to honor and remember those who had fallen in battle on some distant patch of sod. The men and women present represented all of the military services: the Marines, the Army, the Navy, the Air Force, and the Coast Guard. Some wore caps signifying their membership in the American Legion, the Veterans of Foreign Wars, the Marine Corps League and so on.

Some of the veterans were older, not as old as the Confederate Soldier, but older like my father. Some of them had fought in Africa, Europe, and the Pacific against Nazism or Imperial Japan. They were all grandfathers now, some even great-grandfathers. Others, slightly younger but with plenty of thinning or gray hair, saw service in Korea. A large number, most of them around my age, represented the Vietnam War and stood proudly with the rest.

Scattered throughout those present were veterans from Panama, Granada, and the Gulf War. Others were present who were "cold war warriors," those who were never in a "hot" war but stood guard around the world keeping Communism at bay. There were those who had enlisted or had been commissioned during times of peace and pulled their weight to keep the nation strong. I suppose that this year, there will be young veterans, younger than my sons, who have served in Afghanistan fighting murderous terrorists.

But that Memorial Day two years ago, and again last year, I saw something I recognized from long ago as I look out over the crowd from the vantage point of the podium. I saw a look on the faces of those assembled a look of pride, as if those gathered had accomplished some great thing. Unlike the ancient Confederate soldier, few of those at the Memorial Service were wearing uniforms. Most, like me, could no longer fit into the uniforms worn during youth, a testimony to the prosperity of the nation. But the look of satisfaction, of pride, and of accomplishment was on every face.

Sometimes I talk to people who protested the war in Vietnam. Many may have a look of smugness but none that I have spoken to has ever worn a look of pride comparable to that on the face of a veteran. But how could they? Such a look has to be earned and only those of that unique brotherhood know what sacrifice and determination it takes to earn the title of "soldier," "sailor," "airman," or "marine."

I will see that look again in a few days. This year will mark the third year that I have been honored to serve as the Master of Ceremonies for the Memorial Day Observation. Early in the morning on Monday, several hundred will gather once again around the flags at the city hall and library buildings in Peachtree City.

Perhaps William Shakespeare, as found in Henry V, said it best: "We few, we happy few, we band of brothers,Ķ for he today who sheds his blood with me shall be my brother." In truth, that's what veterans are: brothers (and sisters, of course). Brothers born of a common purpose, sharing common struggles, prevailing against common enemies. All veterans have paid a price. On Monday, America will honor and remember those men and women whose price was their life.

The Reverend Canon David Epps is rector of Christ the King Charismatic Episcopal Church in the Coweta/Fayette County area of south metro Atlanta. He may be contacted at FatherDavidEpps@aol.com or at www.ctkcec.org.

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