If you lived through World War II, you remember December 7.  You remember the day that the heretofore seemingly invincible United States of America was attacked, attacked in a way it did not suspect (although as most historians know, there is considerable debate about how much of an inkling the nation's administration had beforehand), attacked quickly and brutally, leaving over two thousand people dead on the shores of Hawaii.
     In the seventy years since this attack, much has changed.  America and Japan reconciled long ago, and the world moves on.  For those who remember the day, however, the pain remains.  As it should.  Although we should do what we can to mitigate our memories of suffering, we do equally well to not let go of them entirely.  Pain shapes us, pain molds us.  In many ways, pain, the scourage of a fallen world, defines us.  That's why we remember Pearl Harbor, that's why we remember the Holocaust.  In an odd way, there is merit in remembering such pain.
     Many religions realize this, too.  As Buddhism remembers the travails of Siddartha, Hinduism the struggles of Krishna and Arjuna, so does Christianity remember the cross on which Jesus died.  We remember these pains because through our trust in their effects we come into new life.  We arrive at new understandings of existence.  We change for the better.
     Pearl Harbor drove stakes deep into many hearts.  So does the Christian cross.  Why? Only through this cross, the divinely sanctioned cross, and our appropriation of its memory and effects, do we come into the fullest understanding of the necessarily transcendent character of redemption, the liberation, ultimately, from all worldly pain. 
     Remember.  And believe.