Gettysburg*

1. We grew up taking America for granted, America, land of plenty of toys and TV and all- you-can-eat fried chicken, where every day at school we pledged allegiance to the flag on the wall, 'and to the Republic, for which it stands, ' which was not on the wall and not so easy to see. America, too, the family that fed me well and loved me as well as it knew how. 2. Many years and follies later, and hopefully wiser, we were taking another look at where we'd come from, and we started learning about Gettysburg, which all of us knew was important, though not all of us knew why. Some of us saw the battle now magically enacted through cinema, God's favorite way these days of showing us the vital past, and some, in the cinema of the mind's eye, prompted by books or documents. We found something many had not reckoned on — that war can sometimes be more than the wrong-headed choices made by old men, not as smart or aware as we. A battlefield can be a crucible of ideas in collision, on which God's judgments are written forth in blood. 3. 'Those who dive into the fire find cool water.' —Rumi And so we came to Gettysburg, got off the bus and walked the roads in Remembrance. We stood on Little Round Top where Colonel Chamberlain, his men all out of ammunition, ordered them to charge down the hill with bayonets fixed and a battle cry, directly into enemy fire, and carried the day on sheer courage. We passed the fields where General Pickett led his brigade on its brave, doomed mission, marching straight toward the Yankee hellfire raining down from the hill. We walked the pleasant woods where on such a walk that day, the slightest rustle of a branch could precede a stab of cold, sharp steel or a blast of deadly fire. One of our party closed his eyes, and the sounds he heard were like a unit marching, with many feet in step. And everywhere, the hills and thickets that had seen heroic deeds threw out a question: 'could you do that? ' inducing meditation on sacrifice and ideals. The ridges became the walls of the crucible, and our lives were thrown into the mix, and out of the mix came two visions. One was a front line of battle, the other a so-called time of peace. The brave in both scenes were dying, dying to limitation, dying to self-centered living. Only one scene was painted with blood, but the dying in both was the same. 4. After the battle, two voices of prophets stood out from the rest, ringing exceptionally clear: the voice of Abraham — the second Abraham — his grief for every fallen footsoldier etched into his weary face bespoke the sacred seal of union, a seal of fire and blood. And another, mighty voice proclaimed in words of Holy Fire the nature of such a battle when witnessed by a higher Eye