Having meaningful memory aids is potentially a very good thing. I never try to tie a string around my finger. Since it is used as a generic stimulus, I am sure to forget why the string is there this time. Memory aids are only as good for me as they are singular in purpose. Painted Rock is a place that carries a specific memory of our family because we only hiked to the top of the mountain once and held that spectacular view at one time in our children’s lives. That memory is frozen solid in my mind connected with that memory post. Some songs are that way, certain songs mark certain places or occasions.
In the Old Testament, many times people would choose rocks at the command of the Lord to serve as a memorial of God’s miraculous work among the people (Genesis 31:48; Joshua 4:5-9). It was important for the writer to tell us that those stones “are here to this day.” Of course, the day the writer wrote those words has long since passed. But, the point is that the memory rocks apparently did the trick and were treated as stones that were not to be moved or the memory would diminish.
After the New Testament, people harkened back and the cross became the identity symbol, our memory piece, marking from whence our eternal life came. Signs of the cross were made in the sand as a way for Christians to identify one another during days of persecution. With the strong words spoken about the cross in the Bible, Christians have always used the cross to symbolize the centerpiece of their lives (1 Corinthians 1:18; Galatians 6:14; Colossians 1:20). Without the cross, we acknowledge that we would be still in our sins with no hope. We have them in our churches, around our necks and on the walls of our homes. I have several. We celebrate the empty tomb, but the cross is the only way to get there.
Calendars are the more common ways to remember these days. We have days fixed more than the common folks did two or three thousand years ago. I doubt that the average shepherd had a clue what day it was when his favorite sheep was born. I’m sure they had the seasons solidly down. Dates were not likely that firm. But, today we have picture calendars, calendars on our cell phones and computers, little date reminders on our watches (mine is unreadable with these eyes) and date reminders in the bank so we can accurately fill out our checks. And so, our big memory stick in these days is the calendar. It helps us remember seasonal celebrations, annually significant dates and how old we really are if we are willing to admit it or can do the math (some cultures don’t really pay much attention to age, but so you know, I’m 53).
The rocks serve as reminders of place or activity. The crosses serve as reminders of purpose and person. The calendar dates serve as reminders of event. These all can be good or bad. When the marker serves us best, it reminds us to look to the person or event and remember, appreciate, give thanks, solemnly remind us of our need or motivate us. When the marker serves us worst, it becomes a substitute for those things of importance. Carrying the cross, for instance, does not remind us of Christ, but it becomes Christ. The rocks do not remind us that our inheritance is established by God, but they become legal markers of what is mine divided from what is yours. Calendars take on a foreboding power to tear down, something the little number on the wall was never intended to have the power to do. In these instances, the markers become more than what they were intended to be- potentially idolatrous or destructive emblems that overtake the matters they are simply there to represent. Instead of serving as arrows pointing our memory in a direction, they overtake the memory and become the substance themselves. But, for the person of hope, the rocks, crosses and dates should not be depressing things, but arrows pointing to the reason for hope.
Yesterday was a calendar reminder for the Thomas family. It was one month since our son, Mitch, went to glory. On September 23, 2008, Mitch ran into the presence of God in an ever-unfolding eternity. So, on October 23, I couldn’t help but wake up to the day with that reminder clearly on my mind. It could have been foreboding. It could have been the first of many 23rds that were empowered to have a depressing quality about them. In fact, one person told me that the 23rd of any month, especially September, will always be a hard day. I guess that might be true. But, not yesterday! The day did not overtake the sweet memory of the person that I had the privilege to parent and befriend for 28 years. The 23rd is not death day. It is “death is swallowed up in life” day. It is eternity day. Most of 2007 and 2008 were days of struggle and hardship for our son. Many of those days were more like death days- reminders that this flesh gives way in weakness. September 23 marks the end of the struggle, pain, and agonizing sickness. It marked a graduation day to something better. It would be sad to begrudge an innocent day because it happened to be the one where we lost physical contact with our son. Once that kind of power is given to a day, it is not easily altered, reversed or taken back. So, it is not going to take on an ominous life of its own. It will forever be a beginning marker, not an end marker. It will forever be the day I remember the reward, just as the cross I wear reminds me, not of death, but access to life, peace, freedom and eternity. I look at the cross around my neck and I smile a thankful smile. I don’t frown a grimace of death. Similarly, I pray that the 23rd is a day of deep gratitude to the life giver and a sweet memory of a great life.