Before it was called Memorial Day, it was known as Decoration Day. Like many traditions, no one knows who was the first to set aside time on a spring day to decorate the graves for their loved ones. Historians note that on May 30, 1868, Memorial Day was widely observed across the United States to commemorate the deaths of Civil War soldiers. Ohio Congressman James A. Garfield gave a speech at Arlington National Cemetery, where about 5,000 people gathered to decorate the graves of more than 20,000 Union and Confederate soldiers buried there. The words of that speech have been kept and quoted at observances.

After World War I, the day became an occasion for honoring those who died in all of America’s wars. Arlington National Cemetery continues to have ceremonies on this day. Small American flags are placed on each grave, and a wreath is ceremonially laid at the Tomb of the Unknown Soldier.

There is a powerful connection between grief and memory. The experience of loss is accompanied by the urge to remember. Remembering becomes a sacred duty at the core of many religious traditions. Scriptures admonish believers to remember the experiences of Israel in the time of enslavement under Pharaoh and how Moses led the people to freedom. They implore the faithful to remember the times when our people were strangers in a strange land and allow those memories to inform how we treat immigrants in our land.

We are bound together by our history and by our ability to remember. We are who we are because of the actions of those who have gone before us.

On this Memorial Day, as we look at the flags decorating cemeteries all across our land, it seems especially important that we remember that those markers represent individuals who have died, who had families who loved them, whose passing caused grief and whose memory can bring sorrow and sadness to mind for those who loved them. Just as our grief as individuals shapes us, our nation is shaped by the communal grief we have borne. 2025 marks 250 years since the founding of the United States. It is the 250th anniversary of the United States Army, Navy, and Marine Corps. As we remember, we are reminded that we belong to a people who have been shaped by 250 years of loss and grief. Ours is not the first generation to have known the sacrifice of brave families.

Memorial Day is a stark reminder that the differences that divide us are not as substantial as the grief that unites us. When we remember the ideological differences that caused states to secede from the nation and brought us to war with ourselves, we must also not forget that when that war ended, grieving families on both sides of the divide gathered to share their grief. Union and Confederate graves were both decorated. The memories of the deep losses of the war, the anger and killing of its intensity, were fresh and raw as the congressman who later would be inaugurated as the 20th President of the United States rose to speak. I do not doubt that his words were remembered when his presidency was cut short by assassination.

Our memories reveal layer upon layer of grief.

When I was a teenager, before I had much personal experience with loss and grief, I served as bugler for our town’s Memorial Day observance. I played taps in front of the Legion Club, again at the cemetery, and a third time at a bridge over the river as a wreath was tossed into the water. I recognized the power of that simple bugle call that caused tears to come to the eyes of seasoned and hardened veterans. Even though I could not know their grief, I tried to imagine what it might be like to have a friend and companion killed at my side.

Over the years, a lot of veterans have told me a lot of stories of grief. I have been honored to hear the words that follow, “Pastor, I’ve never told anyone this before, but...” There was something about their experiences that made them hold their grief closely. Perhaps the pain of remembering made them believe that speaking of that pain would make it worse. Maybe they did not want to impose their grief on others. Perhaps they had been taught to remain silent. “Loose lips sink ships.” Whatever the reasons, they kept their grief to themselves until one day they decided to share it.

I begin this Memorial Day with a few tears shed for those people who are now no longer living. I hope that the day gives permission to others to express their grief. Perhaps it will be the sight of the flags on graves or the sound of taps. Maybe it will be the report of a politician’s speech or a video of laying the wreath on the tomb of the unknown. We bear grief that has been building up, layer upon layer, for longer than we have been alive. Our nation has been bearing the cost of war for 250 years. That is a lot of loss. It is a lot of grief. A national holiday that permits us to shed a few tears is a blessing. We are united by our grief, stronger than the ideologies dividing us.

Those whose lives were cut short by bullets on a battlefield are not the only victims of war. Their families and friends, their fellow soldiers who survived, and their communities that had to go on without their participation and leadership all suffered loss. Whether or not we served in the military, we are all inheritors not only of the blessings of our history, but also of the loss and grief of our history. Memorial Day is a day to remember and to grieve. It is also an opportunity to recommit to the values and ideals of those we have lost.

Only when we learn to cry together can we begin to laugh together.