Rev. Ryan BradyPastor · St. Christina

A Reflection on Independence Day

As we celebrate the 250th anniversary of our great nation's independence this weekend, I can't help but think of the most memorable Fourth of July I've ever had. There were no fireworks, parades, or marching bands. Instead, the day was marked by a profound silence that spoke more eloquently than any celebration ever could.

I was alone. I was in Rome on the morning of July 4, 2022. I asked myself, "what is a solo American to do in Rome on Independence Day?" I decided to take the train an hour south to the little seaside town of Nettuno. Overlooking the Mediterranean Sea, more than 7,800 white marble crosses stand in perfectly ordered rows across the meticulously kept grounds of the Sicily-Rome American Cemetery. Beneath those markers rest the American soldiers who gave their lives during the liberation of Italy in World War WWII. Most of the men buried here were barely out of high school.

On that Fourth of July, as is true every day, an American flag flew over the cemetery. It stirred gently whenever an occasional sea breeze cut through the hot, humid air. I passed the regal front gate of the cemetery and realized that I was still completely alone; no one else was there. Wading my way through the sea of marble markers, I found myself lingering before the graves, reading names, hometowns, ages, and dates of death. Many markers read: "HERE RESTS IN HONORED GLORY AN AMERICAN SOLDIER KNOWN BUT TO GOD." Nearly 500 young men, known only to God. What was originally heartbreaking became unbearable. I broke down, knelt, and embraced a cross of an unidentified American soldier.

It was also impossible not to notice how many markers bear the age of nineteen, twenty, or twentyone. Each stone represents a future surrendered so that others could live in freedom. Among the 7,800 American soldiers buried there are 30 sets of brothers. I stumbled upon brothers William and Preston Kaspervik, buried side by side in Plot F. I later learned that their brother Donald was also killed during the war and is buried back home in the United States.

The cemetery's quiet beauty makes the cost of our liberty plain for all to see. The peace of the grounds — neatly trimmed lawns, flowering shrubs, and brilliant white markers — contrasts sharply with the violence that once consumed the surrounding beaches and fields. The singing of birds and the sound of distant waves stand in stark contrast to the artillery fire that echoed through the seaside air more than eighty years ago.

Standing there on Independence Day gave new meaning to the words "land of the free and home of the brave." Our freedom is not inherited cheaply. It was purchased at an extraordinary cost. Far from home, on foreign soil, I suddenly realized I wasn't alone at all. I was surrounded by 7,800 fellow Americans.

On that Independence Day, I was surrounded by the very best of America — those who fulfilled the highest ideals of our nation. They left behind families, dreams, and futures they would never see. They did it for me. For you. For us.

As we celebrate our nation's semiquincentennial, let us remember that patriotism is more than pride — it is gratitude. Each military cemetery reminds us that the liberties Americans enjoy today were secured by ordinary young men and women who performed extraordinary acts of courage. In the silence of that sacred place, the true meaning of Independence Day became unmistakably clear to me. This weekend, let that true meaning become unmistakable for you as we give thanks in prayer.

*Oremus pro invicem! Fr. Ryan

P. Brady