« A Priori Hermeneutics. | HomePage | Architectural Principles. »
16 April 2007
Easter in Wartime.
I couldn't quite make the Sunrise service. It's hard to fit into a day schedule when you work nights. It ended working out, though. So I am here, instead, at the evening service on my compound, sitting in a canvas tent with wooden floors, singing praise songs projected slightly askew onto canvas. I look to my left, and there is a gunner, to my right is a navigator. Two rows ahead, a doctor, two back, a lawyer. We are Latino, White, Black, Asian, men and women, and we are all here together. There are no racial reconciliation seminars here, but by necessity and by choice, we are one tonight.
We lucky few, we band of brothers? Perhaps. Once more into the breach, certainly. But it is not Saint Crispin's day, and we need no King Henry to lead us. We are here because we choose to be. And we choose to be here together. So in the bond of arms and honor, we are brothers and sisters.
But in this tent, we are twice brothers and sisters. All of us under this roof share in the blood of Christ, and we may be called to shed it together. We are the house of the Centurion, the Christian community at war. I cannot help but recall Dietrich Bonhoeffer's experiences in Life Together. I wonder if the great minister and pacifist would approve. In his younger years, with his head full of Karl Barth, probably not. But maybe the full-grown Bonhoeffer, co-conspirator in Admiral Canaris' plot to kill Hitler, might understand.
A week ago, Palm Sunday, I was able to get to the morning worship service. And there I see a number of TCNs, third country nationals, who work on the base. Many of them were from African countries. We praised God together. 'Peace be with you' takes on a much more immediate meaning here. I think of how they, too, are separated from their families. I pray that God would comfort them, and that I would keep them safe, along with my charges.
I just finished reading a compilation of C.S. Lewis' personal letters. Hard reading, but quite fascinating to crawl around inside his head. I was particularly intrigued, given the circumstances, by his letters about going off to war. It strikes me that he faced the same chlorine and machineguns that are now arrayed against us. War seemed to pull him away from God. The inhumanity of it all eroded his faith in a Creator. It seems to have the opposite effect on me. The inhumanity of it all shows me how tremendously important our humanity is. To
steal a phrase from Switchfoot, the shadow proves the sunlight.
Each of us has reasons that brought us here. I can only speak to my own. Perhaps I still have something of the dreamer that pulls me here. If Middle-Earth has its Rangers of the North, then I will find a place with the Rangers of Mogadishu. If Han Solo has his Millennium Falcon, then I'll find an airplane with a couple of tricks up its sleeve, but probably one you need to kick sometimes to get it to work. But it is not some childhood fairy-tale that brings me here. I believe in what we are trying to do here. Seeing it unfiltered, seeing the reality of it all only serves to clarify things in my mind. There are people here who need us still. They may need us to be smarter and subtler, but they need us nonetheless. But there is something even deeper. I think Black Hawk Down says it the best: we came here for each other.
Do not think me a fool. I am not some gullible victim of propaganda. I can wield my Kennedy School degree, analyzing the near-infinite policy considerations for this conflict. I can recount both sides' reasons why we should be or should not be there. I know things are complicated. But I am old enough to know, or perhaps young enough not to have forgotten, that some things are still simple. We have lost so much to our steamrollers of deconstruction, reducing and paving away all of our myths. But myths exist to remind us of the simple things.
And one of those simple things is justice.
I now understand what King David meant when he said that he loved the Law of God. David was a warrior. He would not stand to see a giant stand and mock the Most High. So he used what power he had, strengthened by the Almighty, to cast down that giant. It is a mockery of the Laws of God for men to use precious children as
camouflage for a car bomb. Insofar as I am able, I will fight men such as these. Blessed be the name of the Lord, who trains my hands for war.
I know the counterarguments, I know the objections. 'If we weren't here none of this would have happened.' Perhaps. And if the woman had not been there, perhaps the man would not have eaten the fruit. And if the serpent had not been there, perhaps the woman would not have fallen. And if God hadn't had the audacity to place humanity above the angels, perhaps the Enemy would not have fallen. At least that's what we tell ourselves. I no longer buy it. It is true that all actions exist in context, and that almost all actions are a mix of
a great many things. But no amount of Verstehen can ever convince me that it is ever okay to gas a marketplace full of innocents. I have been blessed with the power to do something about it. So I will.
Justice is not the only simple thing: Love is simple. And on this side of the fall, it is wrapped in war. Christ stands in testament to this: we must fight through hell for love on this side of the fall, for all the forces of hell oppose all forms of love and reconciliation. Ultimately, we must fight through hell for each other. Christ arms us to do so, for He has conquered hell. But the fight is never without casualties… the Cross speaks to this clearer
than I ever could. Suffering and sacrifice must always accompany love. It looks clean and linear in some systematic theology textbook. But seeing it is the difference between The Problem of Pain and A Grief Observed. I heard a man die across the radios a few nights ago. It all happened too quickly to do anything about it. That man is a hero. I refuse to believe that his death was meaningless. He died; fighting for a people who were not his own, in a land that was not his own, training and equipping those people to fight for their land. It is then appropriate that he died alongside those men he trained. 'There is no greater love than this, that a man lays down his life for his friends.' I am honored to be counted amongst men such as these.
I cannot help but think back to the discussions over lattes, the pressed suits and the policy experts, the sophomores who felt compelled to throw their hands up and stop traffic. And then, I think of J., my classmate from the Academy. His wife sits a few rows ahead of me in church back home. He gave his life a few years back in much the same way. He loved Jesus, I know that much. And I'll see him again, I have no doubt.
J. chose to go. He understood love. He understood that it was worth fighting for. I choose to believe in a world that Cantabrigia told me no longer existed, a world of valor, of myth, of honor. A world of heroes. So I leave behind the artfully carved benches on the banks of the Charles; instead, I choose a pilot's chair overlooking the Tigris and the Euphrates. Instead of philosopher's quotes carved into marble, I choose plywood painted with the words of the great prophet Isaiah: 'Who shall I send, and who will go for us?… Here am I, send me.' I am honored to be sent.
20:03 Posted in Thoughts | Permalink | Comments (1) | Trackbacks (0) | Email this
Trackbacks
The URL to Trackback this post is: http://odb130.blogspirit.com/trackback/1252173
Comments
You simply hit it right on the head my friend, the ultimate sacrifice is embodied in the simplicity of love. I miss you man and I can't wait for you to come back. Give me a call as soon as you get in dudsky!
For the King,
Berni
Posted by: thejourney | 24 May 2007