Greater Love Has No One Than This...

Lance Corporal Harry J. Simmons, Jr., USMC

Echo Company, Second Battalion, 1st Marine Division, III MAF

died, 8 April 1967, Quang Nam Province, Republic of Vietnam

 

To begin with, allow me clear up what Memorial Day is NOT:

 

1.  It is not a 3-day weekend.  It is 1 day, held once a year on the last Monday of May.

 

2.  It is not the 27th of May.  Since 1968, Memorial Day has been observed on the last Monday of May in accordance with the Uniform Monday Holiday Act of 1968, by which Congress moved it, along with Washington's Birthday, Columbus Day and Veterans' Day (which has since been restored to its traditional date) to be always celebrated on a Monday, in order to provide more 3-day weekends for federal employees (not kidding).

 

Memorial Day - originally called Decoration Day - had traditionally been observed on the 30th of May.  (And Washington's Birthday - not surprisingly - had been observed on his actual birthday - January 22nd.  A dozen states have actually rolled up the observance of ALL Presidents' birthdays into this one day, calling it "President's Day" instead of Washington's birthday.  By doing so, this basically puts Washington on the same level as Richard Nixon.  But I digress...)  Decoration Day had its origins following the Civil War, and the purpose was to honor the fallen of that war.

 

3.  It is not celebrated in honor of the Indy 500.

 

4.  It is not Veteran's Day.  Veterans' Day (formerly called Armistice Day in observance of the end of World War I, which officially took place at the 11th hour of the 11th day of the 11th month of 1918).  Veterans' Day honors all those who have served in the defense of our nation.  Memorial Day honors those who have died in defense of our nation and its Constitution.

 

As we observe this day, many of us have faces to put with the host of Americans who have made the ultimate sacrifice in our stead.  For me, one of those faces belongs to a 20-year-old Marine named Harry Simmons.  Harry was my best buddy's big brother - a guy we looked up to for a number of qualities, not the least of which were his patriotism and courage.  When he joined the Marines, he literally became a hero to us.  After all, there was a war - though undeclared - going on.

 

In April, 1967, we got the news no one wants, that Harry had been killed by small arms fire while on patrol.  Not knowing what else to do, I went frequently to my buddy's house to try and provide some kind of comfort through my presence.  Little did I realize how those visits were going to provide comfort to me.

 

While hanging out at my buddy's house, I was amazed at the outpouring of affection, sympathy and support from the people of Harry's family's church.  It really made me pay attention.  I remember sitting there, listening to those present talk about how they were certain Harry was in heaven.  Now I knew Harry enough to know that their confidence must have been in something other than his perfect behavior.  Harry was a good guy, and a hero, but he was far from perfect.  As I listened, I discerned that their assurance was in the fact that Harry had done something they referred to as "accepted Christ" as a young man.  This was a new thought, but the more I listened, the more I desired the same assurance of eternal life.

 

However, I thought this must be something a person did, in their ecclesiastical formula, at a particular age.  (This made sense to me since, in my background, we went through "confirmation" at age 12.)  Since Harry had evidently made this commitment at age 16, and since I was about a month from being 16, I began to wonder what the qualifications were for accepting Christ, and whether I might be able to go through the rite.

 

One day I caught Harry's mom alone in their kitchen, and like Nicodemus coming to Jesus by night, I surreptitiously inquired:  "You know that thing about accepting Jesus?  When do you do that?" fully expecting her to say, "When you're 16."  But I'll never forget his mom's beaming face, nor her somewhat cryptic answer: "You'll know."

 

Huh?  I will?  How?  I had already begun going to my buddy's church; now I was on the edge of my seat each Sunday, waiting for the pastor's invitation at the end of each service, and waiting for the Lord to show me a sign that He was ready for me to make this decision.  Looking back it's kind of humorous now, but I think Harry's mom's answer was really great: it made me look to God for His leading, His drawing, His confirmation that He wanted me.

 

One Sunday, I KNEW this was it, and when the pastor gave his invitation, I was down the aisle - and meant it, as best I understood things.  And the rest, as they say, is history.

 

I owe a great deal to that young Marine, and to his family.  How I thank God for Harry, and for God using his life as a sacrifice to bring me - and others through me - to Himself. 

 

And I thank God for Harry's family, especially His mom, who was such a great example of sensitivity and availability to the Lord during those days, even in the midst of her broken-heartedness over the loss of her eldest son.  I have always hoped that my own salvation, and the work God has done through my life, have been of some encouragement to her.  She's getting pretty old now - close to 90, I think - and will soon be reunited with her son.  What a great comfort that must be for her as well.

 

It seems a little weird to say, "Happy Memorial Day."  Instead, let me encourage you to reflect today on someone you may know who gave his or her life that you and I might live in freedom.  Truly, "greater love has no one than this: to lay down one's life for his friends."