Recently I read a story about the Holocaust, and the main point was to encourage the reader not to forget what happened when 6 million people had died at the hands of a deranged dictator during the last great war. "Lest We Forget" was a theme mentioned several times, but I began wondering, why do we need to remember? Why not just forget the whole thing and let it rest? And then came that forty-article series on the 22 railroad deaths in Greeley 40 years ago. Must we remember them all? Can't we just forget them, let the dead lie and move on with life?

         When people are moved to remember something tragic of long ago, there must be a purpose. Some memories do need to be laid to rest. They only bring back old hurts and more sufferings. Those are better tossed into the dust bin of time, the trash heap of trouble. There they can stay there until they lie forgotten.

          But, some things we dare not forget. These things have made us what we are. If we should happen to forget them, we may become more prideful and vain, thinking we are responsible for becoming the successful or righteous people we are. That's when we must be reminded we are not creatures of our own making. God has brought us to this point, and we'd better not think it has been all up to us. Remembering past troubles can prompt us to humility and perhaps even a giving of thanks.

         It was gratitude that prompted an old man to visit an old broken pier on the eastern seacoast of Florida. Every Friday night, until his death in 1973, he would return with a bucket of shrimp, and he would feed the seagulls. The man was Captain Eddie Rickenbacker, and it all began in 1942 when he was on a mission in the south seas to deliver an important message to General Douglas MacArthur. But somewhere over the South Pacific his plane became lost beyond the reach of radio, and then the fuel ran out, so the men were forced to ditch their plane in the ocean. For nearly a month Captain Eddie and his companions fought the water, the weather, and the scorching sun. Storms nearly swamped them, and sharks rammed their rafts, but of all their enemies at sea, starvation was the worst. After just eight days, all their rations were used up or destroyed by the salt water. It would take a miracle to sustain them. And a miracle occurred. One afternoon an officer led their daily prayer service and they finished with a prayer for deliverance and a hymn of praise. Then they pulled their hats down low and tried to doze in the blazing sun.

         Just then something landed on Captain Eddie's head. He knew that it was a sea gull. No one said a word, but the men stared at that gull. The gull meant food, if he could catch it. And Captain Eddie did catch the gull. Its flesh was eaten. Its intestines were used for bait to catch fish, and every one of those men lived because a lone sea gull, hundreds of miles from land, offered itself as a sacrifice. Captain Eddie and his men all made it back. And years after the war, nearly every Friday evening, about sunset, people near a south Florida seacoast saw an old man walking, white-haired, slightly bent. His bucket was filled with shrimp to feed the gulls, done each week in remembrance of that one seagull which, on a day long past, gave itself without a struggle, and saved human life. And each week Eddie fed them to remember being delivered.

         Every time we come to church we are reminded of the things God has done for us, especially that Big One that Jesus did - redemption. The liturgy and hymns, the sermon and the lessons hit again and again on the theme, "Remember Jesus!" Remember what He did for you. Remember that He forgave your sins. Remember that He loves you, and remember to love one another.

         The list of things we are urged to remember might wear thin with us, but that should not be surprising. "Yes, I do remember," we think. "But could you tell me something new today, preacher. Would you give me something else to remember, rather than the same old story? Is there not something new?"

         Such an attitude might have some truth behind it, but it belies the fact that we are new creatures each week as we walk through these doors. When we come to church, we are not the same as we were before. No, perhaps we haven't changed our appearance or done something to make us great But still we are different. We have changed a little, become a bit more self-centeredness, or self-accomplished.

         That's why "Lest We Forget" now applies to us. We are always people in need of God and His mercy. We always must remember what God has done for us, or we will wander off, content with our level of self-righteousness, assured that we don't need Him. Fellowship in church, hearing the Gospel, receiving the sacrament - all these help remind us of who we are - people in constant need of God, people who need each other. Due to sin, we dare not forget our true nature and our needs. The needs of humanity begin, not with food, clothing and shelter, or even human love. Rather, our basic needs begin with the One who created us, remembering God and what He did for us. Recalling why we are here in the first place.

         When Jesus gave His disciples - and all believers - the first Lord's Supper, He twice said words that we should not forget Him, that we should remember His mercy: "Do this to remember me," (Luke 22:19), and again, "For whenever you eat this bread and drink this cup, you proclaim the Lord's death until He comes." (1 Corinthians 11:26) If we forget His death, if we forget His forgiveness, then we are forgetting who we are and who gave us life. And when we forget that, we are no longer grateful.

         During the potato famine in Ireland in 1946-49, hundreds of thousands of people died, and thousands more left Ireland to escape starvation. One of these was a penniless boy who was a stowaway on a ship bound for America. In mid-Atlantic the ship hit an iceberg and began to sink, but there was time to get everybody into life-boats. Wondering why the ship had stopped, the boy emerged from his hiding place, and came up on deck just as the captain was about to step into the last seat of the last life-boat. In the highest tradition of the sea, the captain stepped back and put the boy in his place, and as the life-boat was pushed off, he said to the lad, "Never forget what has been done for you." As the life-boat pulled away, the lad could see the captain standing on the deck, and that vision of sacrifice never left him. He became a successful businessman, and when people asked him about the secret of his achievement, he always told the story of the captain who gave his life for him. "Whenever I am discouraged," he said, "I recall the captain who gave his life for me, and it gives me new courage."

         To lay down one's life for another is the supreme sacrifice, and when it happens people wonder, "How can I ever repay such a sacrifice?" Repayment is impossible, but not remembrance. Likewise, we must never forgot what Jesus did to rescue us. He took our place on the cross and we were saved. He died for us that we might live. In Holy Communion, we have regular opportunities to remember this. Let us ever trust Him and walk in His footsteps and always be ready to tell others of the supreme sacrifice He made for us.

         Last week a member told me she recorded our Midweek Lent service with its beautiful Holden Evening Prayer liturgy. She wanted to remember what it sounded like, since it was probably the last time I would sing it. There are literally thousands of things you and I will remember, people and places and events that God has given us through the years. Some things we will be very sad not to experience again, things we want to hold close. And there are also some things we will gladly let go.

         The things that unite us, however, will ever remain, and these are the lasting things of God: our worship, the music, the laughter, the children up front, the friendships, the joy of accomplishment, and especially the grace of God that brings us together in Holy Communion. Maundy Thursday and all of this Holy Week bring back to me a flood of memories over nearly 40 years of Lents and Christmases and confirmations, of funerals and baptisms, and members and buildings and sermons and programs.

         But it's not coming to an end, not really. True, we are moving on and will not see each other again so often, but we are not really being separated. When Jesus told His disciples, "I will not partake of this meal with you again," He continued, "Until I receive it anew in the Kingdom of God." That night was not the end of it all, only the end as they knew it. More was to come, more and better, more and greater, more and finer! May God give us all good memories of each other, but also and especially of His mercy. "Lest We Forget." Amen

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  Epiphany logo designed and provided by Dale Bargmann at daleb@ecentral.com