All Hallow’s Eve (Halloween) October 31
On this Halloween morning in Sunday worship, we remembered those who have gone before us in our Christian faith. We lifted the names of those who raised us from childhood, supported us through challenges, or inspired us by their example. Thanking them in the presence of others, we lit one white candle on the altar for each name raised – the small flame a symbol of the inspiration they brought to our lives.
We sang that grand old hymn, “For all the saints, who from their labors rest, who thee by faith before the world confessed, thy name, O Jesus, be forever bless’d. Alleluia, alleluia!”
There are many, many saints whom I bless — from my wonderful parents to the old missionary couple in Taiwan who guided me toward a right, but unusual, marriage choice with their deep faith and wisdom. But today I raised only the name of my brother, Captain Steve Olmstead, USNA 1970, USMC, deceased at 36 years old.
I had recently been honored to attend the 50th reunion of his Naval Academy class (of course, delayed a year by COVID). His classmate, Bill K., did a wonderful job of organizing the events and inviting Steve’s widow and sons, who could not attend, then me to stand in because I live near Annapolis. I had the unusual privilege of seeing Steve’s classmates and buddies again after meeting them at academy events in my late high school and early college years so long ago. I was honored to meet some spouses – I had the sense with two warm and wonderful women in particular that we could have been friends over our lifetimes had Steve not died and the silken thread of connection been severed.
I went to represent — in some ways, I wanted Steve’s buddies to know “what happened next” for him. I wanted to bring a little comfort. Military people lose a LOT of buddies and friends over the course of a military life, especially in times of war. They bear losses, dis-connects, and absences that “those who stay home” do not see or understand. Those stresses are an invisible, painful part of their service to our country.
Some of the now-retired officers talked quietly, but some guys bragged about what they had accomplished. One wise soul described coming to peaceful terms with this life and career especially in the face of one “flashier guy” in particular for whom things seem to have “gone swimmingly.” But I was struck by the vacuum in the story where Steve “should” have been. I longed for his presence and was a little jealous of other officers who had had full careers and time with their families before death.
But Steve did very well – he managed his short life and final challenge with honesty, humor, faith, and dignity. Of course “more time” was our wish, but the quality of his influence on me and his witness for Christ were the best possible.
For all the saints, I’m glad you can rest from your labors and pain. I miss you but I . . . thank you and I thank God for you.
Susan Olmstead Wang 