Author: Dale McGavran

The scene was Washington City.  The date, August 24, 1814.  It was a time of chaos.  With the news that the British Army had defeated the Americans at Bladensburg, James Madison and his Cabinet officials fled the capital, fearing the worst.  Setting up temporary residence in Brookeville, Maryland, Madison sent a message to his wife, informing her that if she needed to evacuate the city, to save as many official documents as she could fit into her carriage.  In spite of this message from her husband, Dolley was determined to stay and protect the house.  Hearing cannon fire, she took to the roof of the house to see if she could ascertain what was happening in the surrounding countryside.  Even though she had a spyglass, Dolley was unable to see the battling armies.  It was probably a good thing, because the Americans were getting whooped.

Later in the evening, a friend of the family arrived and told her she needed to leave.  Reluctantly, Dolley complied.  She had already put several items into her carriage, including draperies, china, and the silver service, but as she was leaving, Dolley caught a glimpse of the Gilbert Stuart portrait of George Washington hanging in the state dining room.  She ordered the staff, most of whom were slaves, to take it down, fearing that it would fall into the hands of the British only to be destroyed.  However, the painting was screwed into the wall.  With time running out, Dolley told them to break the frame and load the painting onto a separate carriage to be taken out of the city and hidden.  (She was also reportedly able to save a copy of the Declaration of Independence.)  With her carriages loaded to capacity, she made her escape.

A few hours later the British arrived in the city.  They promptly headed to the Presidential residence and made themselves at home.  They drank much of the wine they found and grabbed as many souvenirs as they could carry.   Then, Admiral Cockburn, one of the British commanders, ordered the soldiers to set fire to the residence.  Into the next day, the British continued their destructive path, setting many other government buildings ablaze.  If not for a thunderstorm that night, much of Washington would have burned to the ground.  But as it was, most of the fires were contained by the rainfall.

In the middle of the crisis, there was no sight of the President, his Cabinet, the American Army.  No one.  At least no one of military significance.  But there was a fierce lady and a few courageous slaves.  They may not have saved anything we would consider of major significance (after all, there were other copies of the Declaration of Independence, paintings can always be redone, draperies and china can by purchased again), but while many residents had fled the city, freaked out by the invading enemy army, these few kept their heads, organized an exit strategy, and escaped with what they deemed valuable.

There are Dolleys all around us.  And if we’re not careful, we’ll miss seeing their significance.  When being impressed with the “star”, we miss the one who chooses to remain out of the limelight.  While we might remember James Madison as the father of the United States Constitution, we cannot forget the amazing woman, who, on the night in which the building that would soon be known as the White House faced destruction, took action and saved a little bit of history.  

After James died, Dolley remained extremely popular in the capital city, having hundreds of friends who would come to her aid on more than one occasion.  They loved her, and history has immortalized her for that fateful night during the British invasion.  So in case you were wondering what it takes to get a snack cake named after you…now you have the answer.  You just have to keep calm and save George.

In July of 1755, a young George Washington rode on horseback with General Edward Braddock, a British officer, and about 1,300 troops as they set out to push the French army out of the Ohio Country.  General Braddock set as his target, Fort Duquesne.  Nearing the fort, the British army were attacked by a combined force of French soldiers and several Indian tribes.  Unaccustomed to guerrilla-style fighting within tree lines, the British were beat back.  To make matters worse, British soldiers began firing into their own lines, thinking they were instead shooting at the French.  This led to mass chaos and immediate retreat by the British.  To help clear the battlefield confusion, Braddock rode forward, but was struck down with a mortal wound.  His men grabbed his body as they continued the retreat.  

Washington now realized he had to step up and provide leadership in the absence of the dying Braddock.  He rallied the British to establish a rear guard that allowed some soldiers to retreat safely.  While doing so, Washington had two horses shot from underneath him.  But each time, he climbed onto a horse belonging to another fallen warrior.  If not for Washington’s actions, more British would have been captured and killed.

Once safely down the road, Washington took stock of what happened.  Recalling the event in a letter to his brother, Washington wrote, “But by the all-powerful dispensations of Providence, I have been protected beyond all human probability or expectation; for I had four bullets through my coat, and two horses shot under me, yet escaped unhurt, although death was leveling my companions on every side of me.”  Why hadn’t Washington been hit when so many of those around him lay on the ground dead and dying?  The Reverend Samuel Davies might have understood the reasoning better than anyone.  Upon hearing what occurred, he wrote, “As a remarkable instance of this [his bravery], I may point out to the public that heroic youth, Colonel Washington, whom I cannot but hope Providence has hitherto preserved in so signal a manner for some important service to his country.”

Providence.  Preserved.  Service.  Three thought-provoking words.  

Both the colonel and the good reverend understood that divine Providence had intervened.  Now, there is no shortage of critics who want to convince us that George Washington did not believe in God.  They cite all kinds of facts to include he rarely took communion, or that he rarely attended church.  But the fact of the matter is Washington spoke and wrote about God quite liberally, even commenting that he himself might turn preacher when his current duty as the commander of the army ceased.  Washington believed that an all-powerful God had protected him.

Davies too, believed, quite correctly, that God had preserved Washington’s life in that moment, where bullets were whizzing around and through his jacket, for some greater purpose.  It wasn’t poor marksmanship by the French and Indians.  It was God’s hand preserving Washington’s life.  And why had God’s hand preserved Washington?  Because the colonel was needed for a greater service, as Davies wrote.  The rag-tag group of colonies needed a resolute commander for its army.  After the war, these same colonies needed a voice of reason in establishing a Constitution.  And the fledgling United States needed a man of remarkable experience as its first president.

So, was it the fickle fingers of fate, or the guidance of God’s Providence? George understood what Isaiah the prophet had written some 2,500 years earlier, “Fear not, for I am with you…I will uphold you with my righteous right hand.”

Gutzon Borglum was the best, or at least he thought so.  No one else was up to the challenge of, what must be considered, his greatest work.  Doane Robinson must have thought so as well, for the South Dakota resident began a correspondence with Borglum about a project that would loom large over his state’s vast frontier.  Excited at the prospect, Borglum immediately traveled to listen to Robinson’s idea, and would eventually agree to taking on the work, with a major adjustment of course.

Robinson had the vision of creating a massive monument celebrating heroes of the West.  However, Borglum wanted it to be greater…celebrating not Western heroes, but heroes of the entire United States; Washington, Lincoln, and others.  Robinson agreed and began the laborious task of gathering support.  At times, it would prove nearly insurmountable, and while the monument would face (pun intended) many other obstacles over the years, none would rival the financial burden that at times stopped the work completely.

All that aside though, on August 10, 1927, with President Coolidge in the audience, Borglum ceremoniously drilled six holes into the side of the mountain.  The project had officially started, though it would be another two months before actual work began.  In 1930, George Washington’s face was dedicated in a ceremony.  Six years later, Thomas Jefferson was dedicated, and a year after that, Abraham Lincoln was dedicated.  The final face, Theodore Roosevelt, was dedicated in 1939.  Work continued on all four Presidents until the end of October 1941.  Sadly, Borglum died seven months before the completion, forcing his son Lincoln (named for the President) to finish the work started by his father 14 years earlier.

Mount Rushmore is a remarkable sight to see.  My family traveled there this summer to see the four “larger than life” faces carved into the side of the mountain.  It got me thinking though of the similarities between this monument, a national treasure and us, the treasure of God.  Now, depending on where you are in life, you may not feel treasured by God, but rest assured, you are.  Exodus 19:5 is just one verse that reminds us that we are indeed God’s treasure.  

In the original plans for Mount Rushmore, Jefferson’s face was going to be on Washington’s right.  The blasting and carving was well underway.  His face had begun to take shape.  But then, something unplanned occurred.  The rock was found to be too unstable.  As a result, it was blasted away and carving began to the left of Washington.  Like Mount Rushmore, you and I face obstacles that would love to see us fail.  We may be going along in life, and suddenly, something happens that forces us to change directions and go somewhere we never imagined.  We might be inclined to call these detours of life, but are they not really God’s way of getting our attention, oftentimes preventing us from going down a path that leads to destruction?

During the years’ long work, the carving was done by blasting away the outer rock.  Once that was removed, workers drilled a series of holes into the rock face, through a process called honeycombing.  They would then be able to chip away the remaining rock, shaping it into the faces of the Presidents.  Sometimes God has to use spiritual dynamite to clear away things in our life…things that are not healthy for our walk with Him.  Other times, he uses precision “honeycombing” to get the results needed for that closer relationship.  Isaiah 64:8 says that we are the work of His hand, and Philippians 1:6 reminds us that God has begun a good work in us which He will complete in His time.

Looking at the faces from a distance, it seems as though the surface of the rock is smooth and flawless.  But take the time to examine up-close photos and you realize how wrong you are.  Their faces are anything but flawless.  There are veins of discolored rock that run through all four Presidents.  Imperfections mar cheeks, lips, eyelids, chins, and foreheads.  There is nothing smooth or flawless about their likenesses.  Similarly, from a distant, it might look like we have it all together…that we are perfect.  But when examined up close, it is quite apparent that, in fact, we are not.  We have flaws, and not just the facial blemishes that we try to cover with make-up.  We say things we should not.  We judge others when we know it is wrong.  We act on behaviors that we later regret.  We are… well, flawed.  “But God shows His love for us in that while we were yet sinners Christ died for us.” (Romans 5:8)  So, even though we explore paths we should not, God loves us.  Even though we carry extra baggage that needs to be blasted away, God loves us.  Even though we, so ineffectively, pretend to be perfectly put-together creatures, God loves us.  We are, after all, His treasure.

“Four score and seven years ago….”  So starts one of the most recognizable speeches in American history.  On the 19th of November 1863, Abraham Lincoln stood on a make-shift platform in Gettysburg’s Evergreen Cemetery, and spoke for a few moments.  David Wills, a resident of Gettysburg, invited the President to, in a sense, sanctify the hallowed grounds of one of the nation’s bloodiest battlefields.  It might seem unthinkable in today’s environment to ask the President of the United States to hop on a train, spend the night in town, wake up the next morning and sit through a 3-hour program.  Yet, this was exactly what Lincoln did.  And then he spoke for only a few minutes.  Now, we would be appalled if this occurred, but Wills intended for Lincoln’s speech to be brief for in his invitation to the President, Wills asked him to provide “a few appropriate remarks.”

In his few appropriate remarks, Lincoln pointed out, that while he and others were there to dedicate this piece of sacred soil, in reality there was nothing they could do that was not already done.  Let me highlight just two of the ten sentences he spoke that day; “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.”  The devotion, the consecration, the sanctification, the dedication, had been done four and a half months earlier.  Brave men had done what no one else, not even President Lincoln, could do. 

On that hallowed ground, two great armies fought for the first three days in that previous July.  Over and over again in epic battles, soldiers displayed incredible bravery in the face of certain death.  Today, as one tours the countryside that bore witness to the devastating carnage of fighting between the North and the South, you cannot go far without seeing a monument dedicated to a regiment, brigade, division, or an entire corps.  There are numerous statues honoring individuals involved in the fighting.  Some are more extravagant, and thus, more noticeable, than others.  There is the larger-than-life statue of General George Meade, the Union Commander, astride his horse.  Major General John Reynolds has three monuments dedicated to him, and he never saw any direct action at Gettysburg as he was killed as the battle began to unfold.  Then there is the statue of Major General Gouverneur Warren atop Little Round Top, with binoculars and saber in hand.  He is credited with identifying a gap in the defensive lines and ordering men to extend the line of battle to protect against any flanking movement of the enemy.

But at the Union line on top of Cemetery Ridge, there is a small, unassuming, granite marker bearing the name of an artillery officer killed during the Confederate attack on July 3.  First Lieutenant Alonzo H. Cushing, the commander of Battery A, Fourth United States Artillery, was one of the thousands that gave his life on that day.

Cushing was born in Wisconsin, but raised in Fredonia, New York.  He attended the United States Military Academy, 400 miles to the west.  He graduated twelfth out of thirty-four cadets, and was commissioned a second lieutenant in June 1861.  Before long, he found himself on the battlefield at Bull Run, engaged in his first fight with the enemy.  Cushing, at the time, was a member of Battery G, Second U.S. Artillery.  He also saw action at Antietam, serving then as one of General George McClellan’s aides, and it was during the May 1863 battle of Chancellorsville that Cushing was promoted to the temporary command of Battery A, Fourth U.S. Artillery.

Cushing’s Battery A consisted of six 3-inch Ordnance Rifles which fired a shell that weighed between eight and nine pounds.  It was very accurate hitting the intended target up to a mile away.  On the afternoon of July 3, Cushing’s battery, along with numerous other artillery batteries, would be tested during the famous charge named for the Confederate general, George Pickett.

The artillery duel between the Union and Confederate batteries lasted for what must have seemed like eternity.  Thousands were killed or injured as a result of the barrage of cannon and gunfire.  In the heat of the battle, one of Cushing’s sergeants attempted to head to the rear, reportedly to get a replacement wheel for one of the rifles, but Cushing stopped him, threatening to shoot him if he abandoned his post.  Some moments later three of Cushing’s limbers were hit by enemy fire.  Cushing suffered a wound to his thigh.  It would not be the last time he would get hit on this day.

As his battery continued to get torn apart, Cushing approached Brigadier General Webb, a brigade in the Second Corps, and asked him if he wanted to pull his damaged rifles out of the way for undamaged batteries.  Webb told him to stay in place for they would need everyone on the line.  Cushing then asked permission to move his last two rifles to the stone wall in front of him to avoid shooting over the heads of Union men.  Webb agreed to the request.  After moving them, Cushing had soldiers load the two rifles with whatever they could find…pieces of broken shell, stones, bayonets…and then fired.

Cushing was struck by a second bullet, this time in the shoulder.  Still, he refused to stop.  When the Confederates were less than a hundred yards from the Union front lines, Cushing received his third injury, a severe abdomen wound.  One of the men of his remaining rifles went down, and Cushing rushed in to replace him.  When firing an Ordnance Rifle, one of the men must cover the vent hole with his thumb, protected by a leather thumbstall.  Cushing did not have one, and there was no time to retrieve it from the downed soldier, so he covered it with his bare thumb, resulting in it being scalded to the bone.  At one point, he was told to get medical treatment for his wounds, he responded by saying that he would remain right where he was, and either fight to victory, or die trying.  Sadly, it would be the latter.  As he gave orders to adjust the range of the firing, he was hit a final time by a bullet.  This time Cushing was struck in the mouth, killing him instantly.

One hundred fifty-one years after giving his “last full measure of devotion”, Alonzo H. Cushing was posthumously awarded the Medal of Honor.  The citation accompanying the medal states that he distinguished himself by acts of bravery above and beyond the call of duty….”  He certainly did.

He was described as homely, hatchet-faced, not handsome, gaunt, awkwardly different, uncomely, odd-featured, lean and ugly in every way, and having a most ungainly mass of arms and legs ever seen.  His first official photograph had to be doctored to draw attention away from his overly long arms and neck.  Even his wife said he was not pretty. 

He was constantly worried about his appearance and reputation.  He rarely smiled, not because he was never happy.  The culprit for his less than joyous demeanor was his teeth, or rather dentures.  The myth lives on that his teeth were made of wood…they weren’t.  Instead, his dentures were made from ivory, other people’s teeth, lead, tin and copper alloys, and even possibly a cow’s teeth.  The pain derived from his dentures stayed with him for most of his life.

He was a physically-uninspiring young boy.  He suffered from asthma and was generally confined to indoor activities such as reading.  Because of his frailty, he was kept from playing with children his own age.  He suffered near-sightedness and an underweight body.  In short, he was not the image of a healthy boy.

He was said to have uncommonly long arms.  His hands and feet were oversized.  He stooped a little, and when sitting, he slouched more than usual.  His chin, too, as was said, was longer than normal.

The human eye.  Made up of thirty different components, it is one of the most incredible, complex organs of the body.  Many don’t realize it, but your eyes see the world upside down.  Because of the process of refraction and the convex shape of your lens, the image that initially hits your retina is inverted.  Your brain then takes the image and puts it in the right perspective, that of right-side up.  Now, it is way more complicated than that and if I were a ophthalmologist I would be able to explain it better.  

However, for all of the intricacies of the human eye, it only sees what is visible.  With the assistance of technology such as x-rays, cat-scans, MRIs, and surgical cameras, the eye can see the inside of the body and the condition of bones, the heart, lungs, kidneys, etc, but it is still only sees that which is physical in nature.  

The human eye is amazing, but it only saw the homely, hatchet-faced, ungainly mass of arms and legs of Abraham Lincoln.  The human eye is extraordinary, but it only noticed the grim, joyless face of George Washington.  The human eye is fascinating, but it only recognized the frail body of a young, asthmatic Theodore Roosevelt.  The human eye is remarkable, but it only distinguished the longer-than-normal arms and chin of Thomas Jefferson.

The human eye could never see the most powerful nature of these men…that which made them who they were.  It was not their physical appearances that made them great.  If this were true, they all would have started with two strikes against them.  If ever the old saying “you can’t judge a book by its cover” rang true, it was in the lives of these four men.  But isn’t that just what we do…judge by the externals, the appearances?  Beautiful face – check.  Six-pack abs – check.  Toned muscles – check.  Meanwhile, we pay no attention to those who do not have the photographic appeal.

Such was the case in the Old Testament book of First Samuel.  God instructs the prophet to go and anoint one of Jesse’s sons as the new king.  Upon arriving, Samuel begins the selection process.  First up was Eliab.  I don’t know for sure, but I think he was handsome, had the muscles, and of course, the requisite six-pack abs – for who would ever want a king without those?  Samuel must have thought to himself, “This is the easiest job ever, Eliab is the chosen one.”  But suddenly God intervenes.  “Sam, it isn’t this guy.  I know he is fine-looking.  However, I the Lord, do not use the human eye to judge the capabilities of man.  Sam, I understand that you look at his physical appearance and believe Eliab is the one.  But it is not so.  I look at the heart.  I see what is on the inside of man.  I know how a person is going to react to adversity.  I know that when the going gets tough, you think that a man’s muscles are going to pull him through.  But you are wrong.  It is who he is on the inside, that which is invisible to your human eyes, that will lead him through the storm.  That is what is important, Sam.”

And storms these men went through.  Lincoln held together a divided nation.  Washington led a rag-tag, ill-clothed, desperate group against a professional army, and won.  Roosevelt mourned the loss of the two most important women in his life, his mother and his wife, within twelve hours of each other.  Jefferson drafted the Declaration of Independence, one of the most important documents in our nation’s history, which would have the effect of a revolutionary war.

We have honored them by having their likenesses carved into the side of a mountain, not because they were particularly good looking or had six-pack abs.  Their faces are memorialized because of what the eye could not see in them.  Because that is what is important.