That Which Lives On

May 24, 2009 [Memorial Sunday]

This came from an e-mail I received from a member, and thought it was appropriate to share with you this morning.

It’s a quiz, attributed to the cartoonist Charles Schultz, creator of Peanuts. I think you’ll find it interesting.

I’ll read each sentence, and see if you think about the answers:

1. Name the five wealthiest people in the world.

2. Name the last five Heisman trophy winners.

3. Name the last five winners of the Miss America pageant.

4. Name 10 people who have won the Nobel or Pulitzer Prize.

5. Name the last half-dozen Academy Award winners for best actor and actress.

How’d you do? Good thing a scholarship isn’t riding on your answers.

Now see how you do on the second part of the quiz:

1. List a few teachers who aided your journey through school.

2. Name three friends who have helped you through a difficult time.

3. Name five people who have taught you something worthwhile.

4. Think of a few people who have made you feel appreciated and special.

5. Think of five people you enjoy spending time with.

Did you do better on the second part?

Of course. The point is, famous people—the ones on the cover of Time and Sports Illustrated—will come and go and be forgotten as new, younger celebrities make the scene.

But the people you’ll remember are the ones who’ve taken the time to make a difference in your life, in some small or great way. These are the ones whose stories will grow only greater as you grow older. And no matter how old you grow, you will remember their names and faces as if they were just across the room, sitting in a chair.

The Bible has an interesting symbol for these people. The Bible calls these people the “trees” we see in life.

Hear what the Psalmist says.

Ps 92:12-15

12 The righteous flourish like the palm tree, and grow like a cedar in Lebanon.

13 They are planted in the house of the LORD; they flourish in the courts of our God.

14 In old age they still produce fruit; they are always green and full of sap,

15 showing that the LORD is upright; he is my rock, and there is no unrighteousness in him.

And now, from the prophet Jeremiah:

Jer 17:5-8

5 Thus says the LORD: Cursed are those who trust in mere mortals and make mere flesh their strength, whose hearts turn away from the LORD.

6 They shall be like a shrub in the desert, and shall not see when relief comes. They shall live in the parched places of the wilderness,

in an uninhabited salt land.

7 Blessed are those who trust in the LORD, whose trust is the LORD.

8 They shall be like a tree planted by water, sending out its roots by the stream. It shall not fear when heat comes, and its leaves shall stay green; in the year of drought it is not anxious, and it does not cease to bear fruit.

I love that image. A “tree planted by water, sending out its roots by the stream.”

Thus are the ones we know, we admire. We remember those who withstood the elements—the storms, the brushfires—and after the wind and fire, they still stood tall. We remember those, because they give us the courage to believe that we, by God’s grace, may stand tall and strong as well.

I ran across an interesting fact the other day.

One of the most majestic of all trees is the redwood.

Redwoods can live hundreds of years, and can grow over 300 feet tall. If you watched Star Wars’ Return of the Jedi movie, you saw many redwoods—they just look so big, they appear to be from an alien world.

The way they reproduce is sort of alien as well.

Redwood seeds are contained in pods called “burls,” which are tough, brown clumps that grow where the tree’s trunk and root system meet. These seeds remain dormant until something traumatic happens to the tree. Here’s one person’s description:

When the mother tree is logged, blown over, or destroyed by fire, the trauma stimulates the burls’ growth hormones. The seeds release, and trees sprout around her, creating the circle of daughters. The daughter trees grow by absorbing the sunlight their mother cedes to them when she dies. And they get the moisture and nutrients they need from their mother’s root system, which remains intact even after her leaves die. Although the daughters exist independently of their mother above ground, they continue to draw sustenance from her underneath.

— Hope Edelman, Motherless Daughters: The Legacy of Loss (Addison Wesley, 1994).

Who are the ones who are the redwoods to you? Who are the ones who sacrificed for you, that you might live and grow? Who are the ones who did something so striking, that their example lives on in you? I guarantee you this: their acts of courage inspire you to be courageous; their acts of compassion inspire you to be compassionate.

In the next few minutes, get someone in your mind’s eye who would be such a redwood. Remember that person, then come with your flower and place it in the cross. As you do so, say a prayer of thankfulness for her or him, and ask God to give you a portion of that person’s spirit—so that truly a part of her or him will live on in you.

This true story might help you come up with someone.

In the gangster era in Chicago, one of Al Capone’s most important men was his lawyer, nicknamed “Easy Eddie.” Eddie was very good at what he did—keeping Capone out of jail. Eddie was rewarded, accordingly. He had a sprawling mansion in an affluent Chicago suburb.

Then something happened that changed everything. In the midst of this affluence and wealth, Eddie turned on Capone. He testified against him. There’s some debate as to why he did this. Some say that he saw the writing on the wall, that he knew Capone would eventually be caught, so he beat the authorities to the punch. Others say that Fast Eddie had a twinge of conscience. He had a son whom he loved dearly, and was concerned about the example and legacy he was leaving his boy. He wanted to right the wrongs he’d committed.

We don’t know Eddie’s motives. There’s no debate, though, that what he did was extremely dangerous. You don’t turn on the mob and expect there to be no consequences. Sure enough, on November 8, 1939, Easy Eddie died in a storm of bullets on a Chicago sidestreet.

World War II broke out shortly after this. In 1942, in the South Pacific, fighter pilot Butch O’Hare became one of our country’s most famous aces.

Flying off the carrier Lexington, he found himself alone in a dogfight with the Japanese. He intercepted nine Japanese bombers that were on their way to destroy the carrier. He shot down five of the bombers, and damaged a sixth, before other U.S. planes arrived. The carrier was saved.

Butch received the Medal of Honor for his bravery. In the awarding of the medal, his defense of the carrier was called “One of the most daring, if not the most daring, single action in the history of combat aviation.” He returned to the states for a tour promoting war bonds—he even received a ticker-tape parade down Market street—before returning to combat. Tragically, in 1943, he died when his plane was shot down during the battle for the Gilbert Islands.

But Butch’s bravery was remembered. In 1947 Chicago changed the name of its airport from “Orchard Depot” to “O’Hare Field,” in his memory. That’s because Butch had a Chicago connection—he was the son of Easy Eddie O’Hare.

It makes you wonder, doesn’t it? It makes you wonder if Butch didn’t remember the bravery of his father as his machine guns blazed over the South Pacific. He knew his father wasn’t perfect, but he also knew his father had done one good thing, at great cost to himself. And as father sacrificed, so did the son.

The person you remember now wasn’t perfect. Indeed, perhaps because of her/his imperfection, the good you remember in that person stands out in even more vivid, dramatic color.

Come, give thanks for that person. Then, live in such a way that someday, some person will remember you—and remember you as a tree planted by the water, sending out its roots by the stream.

Come.