Imagine a surgeon, sworn to heal, to save lives, to do no harm. His country calls him to war. He is stationed on a faraway island, in a canvas tent with a dirt floor that offers little respite from the tropical heat, the insects, the disease. The wounded young men keep coming in, drenching the tent in their blood and agony.

The enemy has breached the defenses. Suddenly they appear at the tent, their war-lust undimmed by pity or mercy for the wounded. The surgeon sees an enemy soldier bayonet one of his patients on a gurney.

What does a healer do?

He does this.

This is why we celebrate Memorial Day.