Rev. Douglas J. House, M.Div.
His name was Origen Blanchard, and he was from Williamstown, Vermont. He was a farmer by profession and had a brother named George. The two of them were born in the 19th century, Origen in 1838 and George a few years later. When the call came from the government in 1861, Origen enlisted in Company D of the Second Vermont Infantry Regiment, serving his nation in the time of conflict for three years. Like so many who served on both sides of the War Between the States, Origen Blanchard rose to the occasion, attaining the rank of Sergeant upon his leave. And like so many on both sides of that conflict, time has erased their personal stories. We remember the heroes like the Grants, the Shermans, the Lees, and the Jacksons, but what of the lives of those whose stories are not told among the pages of history? Origen is one of those whose story could easily have been forgotten. Yet, he is one I will not forget, even as little as I know about him, for Origen Blanchard was my great grandfather. He is buried in the town cemetery in Williamstown, Vermont among others who answered their nation’s call when the time arrived.
I mention this story as Memorial Day invites us to remember. In 1868, General John Logan, who served as the National Commander of the Grand Army of the Republic, decreed that the 30th of May each year would be set aside as a day to decorate the graves of those heroes who had given their lives in defense of the cause. The south began the tradition of decorating graves soon after the end of the Civil War. By the end of World War I, the nation as a whole gathered on May 30th to decorate graves with American flags, but also to take time to remember. My fear is that we live in a culture today which fails to take time to remember its history.
Each Memorial Day weekend, we pause to recall the stories of many Origen Blanchards, but more than this, we remember all who paid the ultimate price in every war of our nation’s history. From the Battle of Yorktown to today’s war on terror, all those who have lost their lives are to be remembered.
A few years back, I was on the train that travels from London to Paris. It was a steamy July morning when the train entered the darkness of the Channel Tunnel, and after 23 minutes had passed, we exited into the beautiful morning’s light of northern France. I remember looking out on the green farmland and picturesque villages that we passed. For a few minutes, I remember thinking to myself, “these fields have seen the struggles of war so many times across the years.” From the ancient Roman conquests of centuries ago, to the gas attacks of World War I (the war that was to end all wars), to the columns of German tanks occupying those farms and villages during the middle of the last century. Just think for a minute how many personal stories have been lost about those who fought in the green fields of France.
Earlier I mentioned that my fear is that we live in a culture which, in time, shall have forgotten its past. I want to amend that thought. I have a memory which offers a sense of hope for us today. A number of years ago I arrived at a cemetery where I was to officiate at a graveside service. I happened to be early as neither the family nor the funeral home had yet arrived. Soon, however, cars appeared which I assumed were those of the family arriving for the service. As I watched, a young man in a Boy Scout uniform got out from one of the cars, then another scout, and another. Respectfully and somberly, the Scout Master gave his instructions to the troop, and the boys began placing American flags at the graves of all who had served in any of our nation’s wars. Hardly a peep was heard among the boys who scattered forth to accomplish their task. They soon returned to their cars and presumably went on to the next cemetery in order to honor others in the same way. I remember thinking at the time, “Isn’t it good that these boys are being taught something about respect, something about honor, something about our nation’s history, and hopefully something about the need to remember.” Perhaps, like those of my great grandfather, the stories of many who served a grateful nation will not be forgotten. And the next generation will continue to tell the stories they too have been challenged to remember. May you find comfort in the memories you hold of those who have passed on. May the richness of their life stories forever bring you a sense of peace, for that truly is the power of memory.
