“We have one thing in common besides motorcycles. We have an unwavering respect for those who risk their very lives for America’s freedom and security. If you share this respect, please join us. We don’t care what you ride, what your political views are, or whether you’re a hawk or a dove. It is not a requirement that you be a veteran. It doesn't matter where you’re from or what your income is. You don’t even have to ride. The only prerequisite is Respect. Our main mission is to attend the funeral services of fallen American heroes as invited guests of the family. Each mission we undertake has two basic objectives.
1. Show our sincere respect for our fallen heroes, their families, and their communities.
2. Shield the mourning family and friends from interruptions created by any protestor or group of protestors.
We accomplish the latter through strictly legal and non-violent means.
To those of you who are currently serving and fighting for the freedoms of others, at home and abroad, please know that we are backing you. We honor and support you with every mission we carry out, and we are praying for a safe return home for all.”
Personally, I find their work inspiring and indicative of the kind of civility that seems to be associated with days long since gone.
As a clergyman, I have for more than 30 years been involved in the work of helping the grieving. I have seen large gatherings and small ones. I have observed the almost child-like capacity of people to laugh at a funny memory of a loved one, even as tears remained in eyes and on cheeks. Seldom at a loss for words, I find myself tongue-tied and grasping for something helpful—when there really are no words to say.
I share scripture and readings and words of comfort, but always with a consciousness that those hearing are numb with personal pain. I hope something said—“a word fitly spoken”—might find a filing place in the heart, one that can be opened later when there aren’t so many people in the room.
The military funeral is something—dare I say—special? It is, in the sense of how it brings the rest of us into the grief (or at least, should). The one being remembered—though first and foremost a beloved family member and friend—is very much part of the nation, itself.
One of us.
Mourning the loss of a fallen hero—someone who proved his valor “through liberating strife and more than self his country loved, and mercy more than life”—reminds us about what is truly important. Wise King Solomon, centuries ago, said:
“A good name is better than fine perfume, and the day of death better than the day of birth.
It is better to go to a house of mourning than to go to a house of feasting,
for death is the destiny of every man; and the living should take this to heart.
Sorrow is better than laughter, because a sad face is good for the heart.
The heart of the wise is in the house of mourning, but the heart of fools is in the house of pleasure.” – Ecclesiastes 7:1-4 (NIV)
The final gesture at most military funerals (inexplicably, no one showed to play the horn last Friday) involves 24 musical notes arranged in familiar order. “Taps” was originally a simple “lights out” signal to those in the military. But it has long since transcended that.
It is now a melody of honor, remembrance, farewell—and gratitude.