With Veterans Day upon us, I've been reflecting on the remarkable, humble warrior class that has shaped my family. In many ways, that legacy is symbolized by a rifle issued to my great-great-grandfather, Jeniah Franklin St. John, early in the Civil War.
It is a remarkable thing to consider the generations of men in my family who have answered the call to serve, often in extraordinary circumstances and at significant personal cost.
A Civil War Hero
Jeniah was a young man called to duty with the Army of the Ohio. He served faithfully under the command of General William T. Sherman as his forces made their way through Georgia, burning Atlanta, and then continued toward the coast before turning north toward the Tidewater region. Their shared mission was to put down a rebellion determined to preserve the evil institution of slavery.
I have his handwritten letters describing that journey. They are a treasure, offering a small but remarkable window into the experiences of a young man who found himself in the middle of one of the defining conflicts in our nation's history.
An Awkward Moment with Patton
His grandson, Clement F. St. John, took up the cause of freedom following his graduation from medical school at Ohio State University. He joined the United States Army as a medical doctor and served during World War II under General George S. Patton.
He even had a rather memorable encounter with the general one day in North Africa.
While trying to locate his hotel room, my great-uncle apparently found himself on the wrong floor. Frustrated that his key wouldn't work in what he believed to be his room, he began banging on the door, convinced he could hear people inside. Moments later, an irate General Patton threw open the door and proceeded to unleash a string of colorful language, demanding an explanation for the interruption.
"Wrong floor, Sir," was the reply.
And off he went as quickly as possible!
Clement would ultimately become the commanding general of Walter Reed Army Medical Center, a significant honor that placed him in a position of overseeing the care of countless service men and women from around the world. He also served as one of President Dwight Eisenhower's physicians during the president's two terms.
The Greatest Man Alive
And then there is my dad, the greatest man alive, Robert Walter St. John.
He served with distinction in the United States Army as a military police officer. Stationed at Fort Hood, Texas, for a time, his unit was responsible for providing security for President Lyndon Johnson when the president returned to his Texas ranch.
Following his military service, and several years as a police officer in places like Berkeley, California, my dad eventually joined the Treasury Department as a special agent. His work took him from investigating moonshiners in the Appalachian Mountains to serving as an air marshal and working undercover to combat terrorism, long before terrorism became the household concern it is today.
I was reminded once again of the significance of my dad's service to our country during a conversation with Karl Rove at a book-signing event for his book Courage and Consequence. I had asked him to sign a copy for my dad, which I later gave him as a Father's Day gift. When Rove asked what my dad had done, I explained a little of his career. The pride in his eyes and the genuine gratitude he expressed were palpable.
It was a small moment, but one that reminded me that the quiet service of men like my father is neither forgotten nor insignificant.
And Still Others
I haven't even mentioned my great-grandfather on my mother's side, whose photograph, taken during World War I in his infantry uniform, hung proudly in my childhood home. Nor have I mentioned my mother's father, who served in the armored division of the United States Army during World War II.
And then, of course, there is my beautiful bride's father, Thurl Bruce Roberson. He was a Marine Corps sergeant in the South Pacific during World War II, serving as a tail gunner aboard a B-25 Mitchell and participating in bombing runs over Japanese naval convoys.
His service took him throughout the Pacific, including duties at Iwo Jima, before ultimately serving in the occupation of Japan. He returned home, raised a family in the hills of Virginia (my dad probably chased his extended family away from the moonshine stills!), and lived to see both of his sons serve honorably in the Marine Corps. One of them, Bruce Kent Roberson, made a career of military service and retired just a few short years ago.
It is quite a family tree.
God Respects Veterans
It strikes me that God has a special place in His heart for those who have served and sacrificed.
To be sure, God desires that all people live peacefully with one another. Jesus is, indeed, the Prince of Peace. And yet God is also a realist who understands the trauma of life within time and space. He is not ignorant of the realities of nations and peoples and conflict. He understands the terrible cost of evil, the necessity of confronting injustice, and the sacrifices sometimes required to protect the vulnerable and preserve human dignity.
In 1 Chronicles 12, we find God taking note of a remarkable variety of warriors who gathered around David. Their strength, courage, and abilities are specifically acknowledged. Among the descriptions is this affirmation: they were men who came "to help" (1 Chronicles 12:33).
I find that phrase particularly compelling.
To help. To stand in the breach. To put oneself in harm's way for the sake of others. There is something profoundly honorable about a life willing to do that.
Of course, military service does not make a person perfect, nor does every war or every military action deserve our unqualified endorsement. But the willingness to sacrifice for others, to defend the vulnerable, and to serve something larger than oneself is worthy of our deepest respect.
I am so thankful that I get to stand in the shadow of patriots. So grateful for those who have gone before me and served with such honor and distinction during seasons when men and women needed to rise up and defend the dignity of this land called America.
I am thankful for their courage. Humbled by their sacrifice. Grateful for the legacy they have left behind.
And, frankly, a little speechless.
For words simply aren't good enough to describe . . . well . . . greatness.
