How do you explain the unexplainable? How do you make sense out of the senseless? When such times come, and come they will, you had better know what truly comprises the fabric of your being. A look back in history can provide answers for what lies ahead.

Nearly 140 years ago, in the midst of the American Civil War, one man had to reach deep to inspire his exhausted countrymen to move beyond the weary moment of frustration into the bright hope of tomorrow. His message lasted only two minutes. The entirety of his life's work and the stated purpose for his nation's existence was summed up in 266 words, encased in a mere 10 sentences. What many consider to be the greatest speech in American history was offered as a dedication to the dead and to those who remained alive after the western hemisphere's greatest battle. What events led to Abraham Lincoln's speech on that cold November day?

A three-day, life-and-death struggle

Four months before, great bands of soldiers were surging from Virginia into Maryland. General Robert E. Lee wanted to take the fight directly into the North with the hope that a major victory on Union soil would crush his opponent's desire to maintain the war effort. But both armies had lost sense of one another's movements. It was a tense time.

The need for shoes would set the wheels in motion for the greatest of Civil War battles. There was rumored to be a large supply of shoes stored in the little crossroads town of Gettysburg, Pennsylvania. On July 1, an infantry officer under Confederate General Ewell's command went to the village to commandeer gear for his foot-sore troops. Thus began the epic three-day struggle between armies of the North and South. They had found one another, and there was no turning back.

Immediately, couriers were sent out for reinforcements. By the second day of battle, 85,000 Union troops were squared off with 65,000 Confederate troops anxious for a knockout blow against their one-time fellow countrymen.

A vast mournful roar

But it was the third day that would seal the fate of one side or the other. On this day, the Southern military leadership misread the North's continuing capabilities to battle. A human wall of 13,000 Confederate infantrymen, spread over a line of one-half mile, surged forward across a farm field towards their foes' elevated position.

Bruce Catton captures the moment: "As the Confederate infantrymen came on steadily and quietly nearing the awful climax of the war's greatest battle, Union artillery fire shook their ranks with deadly accuracy, and then both sides exploded in a tremendous clash of musketry." He goes on to describe an eyewitness account as to how "the battle noise was strange and terrible, a sound that came from thousands of human throats...like a vast mournful roar" (American Heritage's Picture History of the Civil War, 1982 edition, p. 344).

Of the 13,000 Southern troops who initially marched forward, in just a matter of minutes half would be dead or captured. "Pickett's Charge," as it came to be known, would seal the fate of the day. Three days of battle would end in nearly 51,000 total casualties that were nearly equally distributed over both sides. A staggering one third of all men engaged in this epic clash would be wounded or killed. The North had won, but at such cost! The South would never recover its position.

Now, four months later, how would Abraham Lincoln give voice to that "vast mournful roar" of battle? How could he make sense out of the senseless in responding to an invitation "to make a few appropriate remarks" at this national cemetery dedication?

First came a two-hour oratorical rendering by the former governor of Massachusetts, Edward Everett. Now what would the man from Illinois say? What could he possibly say, that hadn't been already said? One legend says that he wrote his Gettysburg Address on the back of an envelope as he rode to Gettysburg. That simply didn't happen! The 266 words were incredibly well-crafted and organized in a theme almost spiritual in nature. Only the phrase "under God" would be added at the podium, as Lincoln knew he needed all the help he could get.

Lincoln's intended thrust was to move "their moans" from the cry of death to the collective cries of "the birth of freedom." William Safire, on pages 49 and 50 of his 1992 book Lend Me Your Ear, offers great thought to the construction of this national treasure. He suggests that Lincoln's famous introduction of "four score and seven years ago" offers a "biblical solemnity to the number 87." He goes on to suggest the speech may best be understood by focusing on "the metaphor of birth, death, and re-birth," with obvious undertones of Christ's triumph over death.

Safire illustrates how "four images of birth are embedded in its opening sentence: the nation was 'conceived in liberty'; 'brought forth' or born, 'by our fathers'; 'with all men created equal.'" He then focuses on how Lincoln touches on images of death with thoughts of "final resting place," "who gave their lives," "brave men living and dead," "these honored dead"—and by verbs of religious purification, "consecrate and hallow."

Safire finishes evaluating this metaphor of existence by moving beyond the nation's symbolic birth and death to focus on rebirth, that is resurrection. As Safire so eloquently defines, "out of the scene of death, 'this nation, under God, shall have a new birth of freedom' and thus, 'shall not perish,'" i.e., be immortal! Lincoln does not leave America with simply a distant past or troubled present, but the hope of a bright and renewable future. He recognized that the recipe for democracy had been brought forward in 1776 and placed into the fiery oven of reality. He was assured it would survive.

Constant rhythm of dedication

But beyond the powerful metaphor of life's cycles, it is his use of the one word "dedicate" that gives a constant rhythm to all Lincoln says, and ties the three metaphorical parts into the ongoing existence of rock-solid purpose. As Safire indicates, Lincoln uses the word six times to build to his point.

Lincoln's reasoning with regard to this word, Safire states, is "rooted in consecration, making the secular sacred by pledging it to God. The first three dedications spring from the theme of the Declaration of Independence's ideal 'that all men are created equal.' The fourth dedication is reserved to enshrine 'a portion of that field as a final resting place.' The fifth and sixth dedications move beyond death to the future: 'to the unfinished work' and 'to the great task remaining before us.'" This unmistakable rhythm links the honored fallen dead with the yet standing listener so that from their martyrdom may come the living sacrifice of "increased devotion to that cause."

After the speech, Lincoln was displeased with his presentation. Many in the media scorned his message. But it was Edward Everett, the other speaker, who said it best when he wrote the president, "I should be glad if I could flatter myself that I came as near to the central idea of the occasion, in two hours, as you did in two minutes." Yes, sometimes even when we don't see immediate results, our words and actions can touch others.

Reunited in brotherly love

Geoffrey C. Ward picks up the story in 1913, at a 50th anniversary reunion at Gettysburg. Thousands of old veterans came to be a part of what one man called a "radiant fellowship of the fallen." The climax was a reenactment of Pickett's Charge. Thousands of spectators watched the Confederate veterans emerge from the woods of Seminary Ridge and once again advance. One Union veteran said, "We could not see rifles or bayonets but canes and crutches. We soon could distinguish the more agile ones aiding those less able to maintain their places in the ranks."

As they neared the Northern line, they broke into one final, defiant rebel yell. At the sound, after half a century, a moan, a "gigantic gasp of unbelief," rose from the Union veterans. "It was then," said an observer, "that the Yankees, unable to restrain themselves any longer, burst from behind the stone wall, and flung themselves upon their former enemies...not in mortal combat, but re-united in brotherly love and affection" (The Civil War: an Illustrated History, 1992, p. 412).

Not lost in the moment

While not as eloquent as a Lincoln, the staff of World News and Prophecy is equally "dedicated" to a bright tomorrow and the rebirth of humanity in the bonds of brotherly love. All of our articles are "dedicated" to this cause. All we say points to one galvanizing, hopeful conclusion, crystallized in Revelation 21:1-5:

"Now I saw a new heaven and a new earth, for the first heaven and the first earth had passed away. Also there was no more sea. Then I, John, saw the holy city, New Jerusalem, coming down out of heaven from God, prepared as a bride adorned for her husband. And I heard a loud voice from heaven saying, 'Behold, the tabernacle of God is with men, and He will dwell with them, and they shall be His people. God Himself will be with them and be their God. And God will wipe away every tear from their eyes; there shall be no more death, nor sorrow, nor crying. There shall be no more pain, for the former things have passed away.' Then He who sat on the throne said, 'Behold, I make all things new.' And He said to me, 'Write, for these words are true and faithful.'" Yes, 150 words in nine sentences that tell it all.

Do our lives have a seamless consistency of dedication, like Lincoln's words? Could you sit down and write out in 266 words what you are all about? Take a break, soon, and with pencil and paper create two minutes dedicated to eternity. Why? Perhaps the apostle Peter echoes best the millennial refrain of "this is the way, walk you in it" (Isaiah 30:21), when he says, "Always be prepared to give an answer to everyone who asks you to give the reason for the hope that you have" (1 Peter 3:15, NIV). Such answers just aren't written on the back of an envelope at a moment's notice, but are chiseled in our hearts one day at a time.