Dark and Bloody Ground
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19 November, 1863 Old Mill Crossing, Gettysburg
I went walking late this afternoon in Gettysburg's newly dedicated cemetery, mourning our dead soldiers and weeping for our lost nation. The sight of so many gravestones reminded me of John Brown's prophetic words: "the crimes of this guilty land will never be purged away but with blood."
This afternoon, a crowd of about fifteen thousand gathered as one, proceeded to Cemetery Hill to dedicate the new cemetery, and settled in for the oration by Edward Everett. His speech was classic in style and about two hours long. All four of us were there, Thomas Peter and Angelina taking turns on the shoulders of a friendly, likable behemoth named Clyde, a brawny blacksmith from town. At last Lincoln stepped onto the platform and approached the podium. To my great surprise, his message was short and concise. The brevity of his speech caught everyone off-guard. His words had no time to sink in as he stepped down. As the stunned crowd disbanded, a smartly dressed Union officer grabbed me at the elbow and introduced himself as Colonel Grigsby. He led me through the crowd toward the platform. A lanky gentleman in a stovepipe hat came into view. He had aged considerably and grown a beard that followed his square jaw line. Had my letters really reached him? I put the thought so firmly out of my mind, I hardly remembered corresponding! "Sam," President Lincoln exclaimed, his handshake firm, "how good to see you. I got your note yesterday. What are you doing here? Your last letter placed you south of the Mason Dixon line." "I was, fifteen months ago." I said, stumbling over my words. He still carried himself in a familiar manner. To me, he was still Abe of Illinois, the man I first met at the Young Men's Lyceum in 1838, the lawyer my father hired to resolve his land disputes. A younger Abe was the first man who had aroused the passion of patriotism in me. I told him of my unfortunate confrontation with Jefferson Davis's nefarious secret service agent, Seth Beaumont, my miraculous escape, and my recovery here in Gettysburg at the home of my late brother. His eyes brimmed with tears and he expressed his condolences at the loss of John Ezra. "I have heard and read too many tragic accounts of lost loved ones, husbands, sons, and brothers," he explained, his face revealing the remarkable weight he has borne these three years, laboring to hold the Union together. "And surely I will hear or read too many more before this war is over." I gathered my thoughts and responded. "Mr. President, do you remember your words at the Young Men's Lyceum, when we first met twenty-five years ago? You said that `danger would spring up from amongst us, not come from abroad,' and that we `as freemen must live through all time or die by suicide.'" "`If destruction be our lot, we ourselves must be its author and finisher.'" Lincoln replied artfully, his eyes twinkling. "I guess you do remember," I said. His words summed up the conundrum unde malum. How I wanted to say so! But, I restrained my anxious tongue. Our brief conversation turned to the problem of reconstruction. He said he appreciated my views of reconciliation and expressed his desire for me to serve in his administration after the war ended, as a speech writer and aide. It was a cordial conversation holding much promise for the future. I wandered up the hill and along the edge of the new cemetery. Most of the celebrants had departed, although some strolled slowly among the graves, heads hung low, eyes red with tears. I paused and stood silently among the freshly dug graves and white headstones set flush to the ground. There, the Lord brought to mind Lincoln's address and opened my heart to the Truth concerning the blood. Lincoln's address assures us that history will not forget Gettysburg and those three tragic days in July. And yet, as I consider his words, I must ask: what will future generations learn from them? ...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...Lincoln, like John Brown and Webster before him, called our attention to the sacrificial offering of the "honored" dead's blood. But will their sacrifice, offered in behalf of the Union, bring reconciliation and deliverance for our national sins against the black race? I say no! This land cannot be purged with the blood of men! It is true, we cannot "dedicate," "consecrate," or "hallow" the ground. But neither can the "honored" dead! Only the blood of Christ can purge men of their sin and its evil fruits; only the blood of Christ can purge this land, this ground, of its bloodguiltiness. We have accepted the Devil's lie, rejecting God's marvelous provision in the blood of Christ. Do the rows of white headstones mark a savior's grave? Or do they mark only the graves of mortals who will not rise again until their final judgment at the last trumpet? ...that we here highly resolve that these dead shall not have died in vain--that this nation, under God, shall have a new birth of freedom...If the deaths of these men mean anything, it is that a race of people has been freed from over two hundred years of bondage. And we should not take this benefit lightly. But we as a people are not free. We can have no "new birth of freedom" in this bloodied Nation until we corporately and individually yield ourselves to the living Christ. Instead we have yielded to our lower natures and contracted with the Devil. We have slipped more deeply into bondage because of our hatred. I fear we shall now be bound with even stronger cords of self-deception. O Rebel Hearts, Sons of the South, see how dark is that root of sin, your pride and your peculiar institution called slavery! The Spring from which we now drink is most Bitter and the Cry of the Blood has become deafening to those who have ears to hear. Gettysburg's ground has not become hallowed, but profaned, now crying with a voice louder than the death shouts of those tens of thousands who perished in battle.
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