By Simon Ambit
The thundering of the cannons shattered the heavy silence and choked the air with a fog of powder plumage. The earth trembled under the commanding impacts of the cannon fire. The rain of gunfire was such an intense storm, that lead balls steaming through the air from opposing forces would collide with one another in mid-air. Accompanied by continual regiments of muzzle blasts, the tyrannous clang of sword and bayonet rang out across the valley, each ushering an onslaught of dismay and death to the scene.
Just over 150 years ago this weekend, Americans fought the battle of Gettysburg, a deadly battle amongst ourselves that claimed the lives of approximately 50,000 Americans.
Several years ago, I had the special opportunity to visit historic Gettysburg. I walked among the green fields which were once stained red with their blood. I sat upon the rocks behind which they hid and knelt and prayed. I toured the homes in which the locals lived, and I viewed the trusses and floor joists that have been splintered by cannon fire.
The desires of the deceased seemed to cry out to me from the dust. Their longing to have us learn from their past, to stop the hate and work together to find solutions seemed to echo upon the waves of solemnity and brought a sense of sacredness to the site of Gettysburg.
In his Gettysburg address, President Abraham Lincoln stated:
Four score and seven years ago our fathers brought forth on this continent, a new nation, conceived in Liberty, and dedicated to the proposition that all men are created equal.
Now we are engaged in a great civil war, testing whether that nation, or any nation so conceived and so dedicated, can long endure. We are met on a great battle-field of that war. We have come to dedicate a portion of that field, as a final resting place for those who here gave their lives that that nation might live. It is altogether fitting and proper that we should do this.
But, in a larger sense, we cannot dedicate, we cannot consecrate, we cannot hallow this ground. The brave men, living and dead, who struggled here, have consecrated it, far above our poor power to add or detract. The world will little note, nor long remember what we say here, but it can never forget what they did here.
May we all enjoy a great 4th of July weekend, and as fireworks are putting off the red glare, and bottle rockets are bursting in air, may we follow Lincoln’s closing line.