Who Would Jesus Kill?

"Four Dead In Ohio:" A Personal Reflection on May 4, 1970

 I graduated from high school in June 1969. The Vietnam War was at its bloodiest—at least for the United States. Getting drafted into the army didn’t sound like a good career trajectory for me. I mean, almost seventeen thousand Americans died in the war my senior year. While I was morally ambiguous about shooting—really shooting—another human being, I knew I didn't want to be shot myself! I was self-centered that way.

Then came May 4. Just one week before my birthday. Just up the road from where I attended college. On that day members of the Ohio National Guard fired sixty-seven rounds in thirteen seconds into unarmed protesters (the closest of whom was one hundred feet away), some of whom were throwing rocks and National Guard tear gas canisters back at guardsman. Four students died. Nine others were wounded. Two of those killed weren’t even protesters—just students walking to class. One of them was a member of Kent State ROTC!

“Collateral damage,” as the Pentagon says today.

I had a hard time wrapping my head around the idea that, if drafted, I might be called on to shoot my fellow citizens. I mean, shooting foreigners in a jungle was one thing! But our own people? I also knew I might just do it if they riled me up enough. Throw some rock at me and I might just do more than point my M1 Garand rifle at you. Rock may beat scissors. But a .30-06 bullet beats rock. And kills you.

I was afraid to fight.

I was afraid I might like fighting too much.

That second fear scared the crap out of me. What if I did like it—a lot? And went on a real killing spree—even if it was sanctioned by my nation? I’d read Luke 22:49–51:

When Jesus’ follower saw what was going to happen, Brent said, “Lord, whom do You want me to shoot?” And then Brent fired and struck the servant of the high priest, shooting off his right ear.

But Jesus answered, “No more of this, you doofus!” And He touched the man’s ear and healed him. (NBBV)

Reading the Bible always gets me in trouble.

While I’d always taken my Christian faith seriously (very seriously, for someone who was so bad at it), I began trying to figure out if faith meant something in my day-to-day life. Not in the abstract. Not for others. For me. Especially around the issues of peace and war. A question that kept coming was, Whom would Jesus shoot? The events of May 4 began to work on me subtlety. As did Jesus' words.  Slowly, but inexorably I moved toward peace -- and not as a political stance, but as a religious response.

My move toward peace and away from soldiering was furthered when I came across the words of seventeenth-century Quaker Robert Barclay:

Whoever can reconcile this, “Resist not evil”, with “Resist violence by force”, again, “Give also thy other cheek”, with “Strike again”; also “Love thine enemies”, with “Spoil them, make a prey of them, pursue them with fire and the sword”, or, “Pray for those that persecute you, and those that calumniate you”, with “Persecute them by fines, imprisonments and death itself”, whoever, I say, can find a means to reconcile these things may be supposed also to have found a way to reconcile God with the Devil, Christ with Antichrist, Light with Darkness, and good with evil. But if this be impossible, as indeed it is impossible, so will also the other be impossible, and men do but deceive both themselves and others, while they boldly adventure to establish such absurd and impossible things.

Yeah, the language is stilted, but I caught the drift. I couldn't make those things fit together. For me they were at completely opposite ends of the war/peace spectrum. So what was an eighteen-year-old boy to do? Hell, forget the hypothetical eighteen-year-old—what would I do if drafted?

Would I fight and deny my slowly growing faith and belief that as a follower of Jesus I shouldn’t shoot anybody?

Would I serve as noncombatant?

The issue was decided on the draft lottery of July 1, 1970. My birthdate was number 293. I was beyond the range of those who would be called.

Josiah Strong once said there is a popular faith that “God takes care of children, fools and the United States.” I don’t believe God takes special care of the United States, but God seemed to take care of this poor fool at that time. Perhaps to give me time to work on my decidedly unpeaceful nature.

I'm ashamed to this day that it wasn't the deaths of almost 60,000 Americans in the conflict that around my age that moved me. Or 200-250,000 South Vietnamese military personnel. Or 1.1 million North Vietnamese and Viet Cong. Or 2 million civilians from South and North Vietnam. At the time, I thought, "Well, that's war. And it's a long way away from me."

What began my awakening were the deaths of four college students in northeastern Ohio.  Four students just like me. Well, most of them were much more socially aware than me.  Which also shames me as a I look back.

But look back today I do. I am far from perfect. Far from peaceful. But my hurt hurts today -- both from the memory of that day and the events of these days.

When I was that longish haired freshman, some friends and I sang in a folk-rock band. And one of the songs we used to love to sing was "Where Have All the Flowers Gone" by Pete Seeger and Joe Hickerson.

Where have all the flowers gone,
Long time passing,
Where have all the flowers gone,
Long time ago,
Where have all the flowers gone,
Picked by young girls every one,
When will they ever learn?
When will they ever learn?

Where have all the young girls gone,
Long time passing,
Where have all the young girls gone,
Long time ago,
Where have all the young girls gone,
Gone to young men every one,
When will they ever learn?
When will they ever learn?

Where have all the young men gone,
Long time passing,
Where have all the young men gone,
Long time ago,
Where have all the young men gone,
Gone to soldiers every one,
When will they ever learn?
When will they ever learn?

Where have all the soldiers gone,
Long time passing,
Where have all the soldiers gone,
Long time ago,
Where have all the soldiers gone,
They've gone to graveyards every one,
When will they ever learn?
When will they ever learn?

Where have all the graveyards gone,
Long time passing,
Where have all the graveyards gone,
Long time ago,
Where have all the graveyards gone,
Gone to flowers every one,
When will we ever learn?
When will we ever learn?

After May 4, 1970, I was struck by the irony of how we'd sung the words cluelessly, innocently, stupidly -- just some kids in a band.  "Entertaining" fellow students in coffee houses. Fellow students like the four dead up the road in Ohio.

"When will we ever learn."

The Fightin' Quaker, part 3: Humble Stumble

Besides living lives of peace, Quakers are also urged to live simply. I'm bad at that, too. Back in the 1970s I was an inveterate hoarder of 45s and LPs, aka "records." I'm happy to report that has changed. In the 80s I began collecting CDs. As with "records", I've given up acquiring as many CDs as I used to. Now its MP3s. And I still have most of the records, CDs, cassettes, 8tracks, and reel to reel tapes that I ever bought or made.

Sigh.

But all that acquisition hasn't been in vain. I've learned a lot from various pieces of music. Like an album I found in the early 70s. On one of my frequent long afternoons in the record department of F. R. Lazarus in downtown Columbus, Ohio, I came across a cut-out in the bargain rack. It was a flop in era of successful spiritual rock songs, most notably Norman Greenbaum's "Spirit in the Sky." The record I found had a cover featuring Edward Hick's painting "The Peaceable Kingdom" along with two long-haired fellows inserted. Long hair wasn't unusual in those days -- even I had long hair. Heck, I had hair back then! What was unusual was that all of the songs had spiritual themes based on Quaker writings. So, I plunked down my $1.49 and took it home.

It really wasn't very good. In fact, I think it was one of the LPs I let my ex-wife have when we divvied up our music collection. But it was the first time I heard the expression "Let us then try what love will do" sung or spoken. It was memorable enough that I was curious where it came from. I found, of course, that it was by William Penn, who said:

Let us then try what Love will do: for if men did once see we love them, we should soon find they would not harm us. Force may subdue, but Love gains: and he that forgives first, wins the laurel. (William Penn, 1693 24:03)

This was the beginning of my learn to live a more peaceful life.

Like all Quaker principles, it was more than just a good idea or philosophy. It was something rooted in the teaching of Jesus. And it was a call to life and attitude changing positive action. Which was something that appealed to me.

Unlike many Christians I am not attracted to a life of denial and giving up. Oh, I see that those are good things. And even necessary things. But I much prefer a call to something positive, not denying something negative. As kids we were often urged to give up sin in the form of things like going to the movies or rock and roll music or ... horrors ... roller skating. Well, that last one I could give up easily. We were asked to give up our middle class existence and trek off to Timbuktu. It was always give up. And try as I might, I wasn't good at giving up. It's a character flaw, I admit. But as I've said, I'm bad at being good.

And I could be called again and again and again to give up hate or violence. But if someone did me wrong (or what I considered wrong) I could get a good mad on and punish the person for days. Just ask my poor first wife. I wasn't pleasant about slights real or perceived. I was trying to put into practice the way of peace as against war. I could do that. Probably because it was more theoretical and removed. But in my daily life, not so much. Hate flared at drivers who cut me off, fellow workers who seemed more favored than me, etc.

Until I heard that record. And began to think, have I ever tried to see what Love would do? Not my "love" but "Love." God's Love. What would it be like to treat those around me with Love? All the time. Not in the abstract, but in the real day to day stuff of life.

For one thing I knew I'd have to start treating those closest to me a bit nicer. I'd have to remember what it was like to be in love with my spouse. I'd have to treat my children with more of the wonder I had on the day I saw them born.

For another thing, I'd have to start remembering that it's not all about me. It just might be that the driver who cut me off was racing to the hospital to tend to someone in dire need. Okay, so that probably wasn't the reason. But it could happen.

I knew I'd have to start small. I'm not that good at starting big. If I started big, I'd fail big. So I didn't start by trying to peaceful and loving toward ... um, I've forgotten who I found most annoying at the time. Instead I tried to be more loving to my family -- the people I was living with. Sometimes I succeeded. Sometimes I failed. Drastically. That's shown by the fact that I have a former spouse. If I was that good at it, surely that relationship could have been saved.

I've taken small steps and learned small things that help me live in love more fully and live more fully into a life of peace. You might find some of these practices helpful.

• Be helpful -- I can choose to be helpful (positive action) or choose to be obstructive (negative action). How am I modeling the way of Jesus if I stand in the way of that which benefits another?
• Be caring -- practicing compassion doesn't cost me anything. Another person's suffering doesn't enhance my standing in this universe. Rather it diminishes me. 
• Be friendly -- this can be pretty hard for me. I'm an introvert and am just fine most of the time keeping to myself. But smiling at someone or welcoming a stranger into a place that I'm familiar with doesn't take anything away from me and indeed makes them more comfortable -- and at peace.
• Be listening -- even though I'm pretty sure it (whatever it is) is all about me, there's a chance that it isn't. So what I have to say may not be the most important thing. Especially when there's a chance for disagreement or discord. So I'm learning to listen to what others have to say. Even the idiots.
• Be childlike -- Jesus says that the kingdom of Heaven (which I imagine to be a true place of peace) is made up of those who are like childlike. Be honest, trusting, wide-eyed, and non-cynical. Not easy!
• Be non-anxious -- yeah, hard to believe that Mr. Anxious (just ask anybody who sits next to me on an airplane!) would say this, but it's a good practice. It's amazing how it brings peace into a situation.
• Give up control -- actually,you're not giving up anything but the illusion of control. Rarely can we control anybody for more than a short time. And the reality is that nobody likes to be controlled. We know we don't! So give them and the situation over to God and trust God to do what is best. "Oh wait, you mean God's in control." "Yep!"
• Look for Commonalities -- everyone human is a part of the family of God. If we truly believe that, we can look for the links, not the differences. I mean, who wants to smack his brother or sister? Okay, bad example.
• Focus on What's God in Them -- Quakers have this saying, "That of God in everyone." Look for it! You may have to look really hard, but do it.

Am I perfectly at peace? Nope. Especially toward fellow drivers, who I can be annoyed at anonymously. But the Quaker idea to try first what Love can do has been an important lesson in living in peace. As Friend Sidney Bailey said --

The follower of Jesus is to discover and then promote the Kingdom of God. That Kingdom has two tenses: it is already here, in each one of us; and it is still to come, when God’s goodness becomes a universal norm. We are to live now ‘as if’ the Kingdom of God were already fulfilled.

Peace begins within ourselves. It is to be implemented within the family, in our meetings, in our work and leisure, in our own localities, and internationally. The task will never be done. Peace is a process to engage in, not a goal to be reached. (24:57)

"The task will never be done." Indeed...

The Fightin' Quaker, part 2: Humble Stumble

"Get off my land!"  I yelled those words, hands cupped around my mouth, at a bunch of ATVers (all terrain vehicle riders) tearing up and down the creek bed below me.  Then, heart racing along with my mouth, I scrabbled down the hillside to where they were churning up muddy water, driving up and down the creek bank, zipping up into the field where I'd freshly planted tree saplings.

I was pissed.  I was beyond pissed.  I was so mad that I wished I could have just punched one of 'em.  Especially the one who smiled as he ran over my foot while speeding off.  By the time I got back up the hill and called the sheriff to report them, I had a really good mad on.  My sister and her husband were there when it happened -- and love to tell the story of the fire-breathing Quaker pacifist chasing wild riders off his property.

They don't know that it wasn't the first time it happened.

But this isn't about the yahoos who trespass on our property (on horseback, in Jeeps, on foot, with hunting dogs, destroying prairie flowers and grass, trampling trees -- "Oh, this is private property?  We didn't know").  Nope, it's about me and how, despite my aversion and abhorrence of war, and how I'm just not a very peaceful person.

Which is one reason I'm a Quaker today.

It challenges me.  The early Quakers said they lived in that spirit that takes away the desire for all war.  Which I take to mean all violence.  And I don't live in that spirit sometimes.  I mean I'm better than I used to be -- but the heart of the killer that was in me as a young kid still resides (at least partially).  I have the feeling, despite my public testimony against violence, that sometimes there are some people who just need to be slapped.

In fact, in the early days of the Association of Bad Friends (for Quakers who admit that we don't quite measure up to our Friendly ideals), Jacob Stone and I came up with a plan to relieve the tension I -- and I suspect others felt -- while raising money for good Quaker causes.  We proposed instituting a series of Quaker indulgence.

Here's how it could work (with apologies, somewhat to Jacob for stealing his idea and going completely wild with it). Let's say you're like me -- a bad Quaker. I don't mean evil, I just mean, not very good at it. And as a bad Quaker someone has really ticked you off and you'd just love to smack some sense into them. Under the Quaker Indulgences Plan, you could donate $500 (in addition to your regular giving) to your favorite Friendly organization and in return they would issue you an one day indulgence from the Peace Testimony. Then you could skip calling your Lutheran brother-in-law, and just go slap the offender silly yourownself.

Well, of course, while it's funny, it's not helpful. What I want, what I need to is to learn to live in in that spirit that takes away any desire to inflict injury -- whether physical, emotional, intellectual, whatever -- on another person.  I want to know that spirit of which early Friend James Nayler said, "... delights to do no evil, nor to revenge any wrong, but delights to endure all things, in hope to enjoy its own in the end. Its hope is to outlive all wrath and contention, and to weary out all exaltation and cruelty, or whatever is of a nature contrary to itself. It sees to the end of all temptations. As it bears no evil in itself, so it conceives none in thought to any other. If it be betrayed, it bears it, for its ground and spring is the mercies and forgiveness of God. Its crown is meekness, its life is everlasting love unfeigned;"

That speaks to my untamed, unruly, often hateful heart.  

But how do I start?  And  does the Quaker way help?

The Fightin' Quaker, part 1: Humble Stumble

My career as a killer began early.  By the time I was thirteen I had killed each member of my immediate family (one of my sisters I had murdered numerous times),  countless cousins (the boy cousins because they were the only ones who counted back then), a number of my neighbors, and a slew of strangers.

I amassed a pretty high body count -- especially for a Quaker.  I picked them off with my Mattel Fanner 50, rubber band guns, ping pong ball squeeze guns, water pistols, wooden flintlocks, Thompson sub-machine guns, James Bond Walther PPKs with silencers, my finger, more.  The Indian head ornament perched on the hood of my grandfather's Pontiac Star Chief made a perfect sight for the twin .50 caliber machine guns mounted in the bumpers.  The last murder I remember was in Tijuana when I shot the person taking my picture right after I'd purchased the gun I'm pointing at her.

I guess, for a kid, I had a lot of pent up anger or something to be such a killer.  And, though I knew a little bit about Quakers supposedly being a peaceful people, that wasn't so much my experience of them.  At least the group I grew up in.  I had a whole bunch of family members who had served in the Army, Navy, and Army Air Corps in previous wars.  Many of my friends' fathers had been in the military, too.  And as I prepared to graduate from high school, it was going to soon going to be my turn.  The Vietnam War was at its bloodiest -- at least for the U.S.  Suddenly being in the Army didn't seem as much fun as playing army just a few years earlier.  While morally ambiguous about shooting -- really shooting -- another human being, I pretty sure I didn't want to be shot myself!

Then, as freshman in college, came May 4.  A week before my birthday.  Just up the road from where I was in college, members of the Ohio National Guard fired 67 rounds in 13 seconds into unarmed protesters (some of whom were throwing rocks and National Guard tear gas canisters), killing four of them and wounding nine others.  Two of those killed were not protesters, but students walking to class.   I had a hard time wrapping my head around the idea that, if I were drafted, I might be called on to shoot my fellow citizens.  Although I also thought I might just do it if they riled me up enough.  I was both afraid to fight and afraid I might like it too much.

And, while I'd always taken my faith seriously, I began trying to figure out what it meant to be a Quaker.  Not in the abstract.  But for me.  A question that kept coming was, "Who would Jesus shoot?"  Even though we told a joke about a Quaker farmer who, awakened one night by the sound of a burglar coming up the stair, grabbed his shotgun and pointed it down the stairs and proclaimed, "Friend Burglar, I would not harm thee for the world, but thee is standing where I'm about to shoot!", I wasn't so certain that my faith would let me shoot anybody.  Despite my willingness as a kid to knock off anybody who annoyed me.

My move toward peace and away from being a mass murderer was furthered when I came across the words of 17th century Quaker Robert Barclay -- "Whoever can reconcile this, ‘Resist not evil’, with ‘Resist violence by force’, again, ‘Give also thy other cheek’, with ‘Strike again’; also ‘Love thine enemies’, with ‘Spoil them, make a prey of them, pursue them with fire and the sword’, or, ‘Pray for those that persecute you, and those that calumniate you’, with ‘Persecute them by fines, imprisonments and death itself’, whoever, I say, can find a means to reconcile these things may be supposed also to have found a way to reconcile God with the Devil, Christ with Antichrist, Light with Darkness, and good with evil. But if this be impossible, as indeed it is impossible, so will also the other be impossible, and men do but deceive both themselves and others, while they boldly adventure to establish such absurd and impossible things."

Sure, the language was a bit stilted, but I caught the drift.  I couldn't reconcile those things.  What would I do if drafted?  Would I fight and deny my faith?  Would I even serve as non-combatant?  The issue was decided on the draft lottery of July 1, 1970.  My birth date was number 293.  I was beyond the range of who would be called.

But there was still the question of what to do with my decidedly unpeaceful nature.

Into The Darkest Hour -- A Poem for This Season of Wonder

It was a time like this,
War & tumult of war,
a horror in the air.
Hungry yawned the abyss-
and yet there came the star
and the child most wonderfully there.

It was time like this
of fear & lust for power,
license & greed and blight-
and yet the Prince of bliss
came into the darkest hour
in quiet & silent light.

And in a time like this
how celebrate his birth
when all things fall apart?
Ah! Wonderful it is
with no room on the earth
the stable is our heart.

-- by Madeleine L’Engle

On Being Attentive -- One Thing

I generally think of myself as a fairly attentive guy. But then there are days I realize I've driven 22 miles to work without really noticing the road surfaces, passing sights, road construction crews, and the myriad things that line my way. I've spent the time in my head while my body took me safely along the oft traveled route.

I'm that way at other times, too -- at the office, at home, out walking in the woods. I, as a friend of mine says, "Think too much."

I miss so much of life whilst living in my head. Including God-sightings that are taking place around me, but which I rarely notice.

So I've decided to try to slow myself down, figuratively, if not literally, by taking time to pay attention. And, since there's no better time to live in the present than the present, I decided to start today.

Of course, today is, in some ways, an enormous day. It's the 10th anniversary of monstrous attacks on our nation. Attacks which changed much about the way we live. There was much opportunity to pay attention to that -- television broadcasts, news articles, and much more.

There was too much -- at least for me. So I decided that I would simplify. I decided to try to spend this day focusing on single things. To see the individual things that comprise the whole of life.

So, after Meeting for Worship this morning, I came home, put on my comfortable old jeans and boat shoes, picked up my camera, lit my pipe, and went out to pray. I often pray with my pipe and camera. The camera helps me focus. To look at the little picture. The pipe helps me tend my breathing... to slow it down.

I first wandered through Nancy's garden between the house and the barn. Autumn is on it's way and the flowers and bushes show that. I paused to look at individual flowers. To see the singles that made up the whole.

In a lesson that I guess God thought I needed, I quickly noticed that each single was multiple. Multiple stems or petals or tiny florets teaming with honeybees and butterfly. Still, I would not have noticed the bees and flutterbys had I not looked at individual flowers.

I made my way out onto the prairie. The big blue stem grass is dying, bending low. Coneflowers, asters, iron weed, goldenrod are feeding the thousands of insects. Each individual plant contained its own unique beauty and each contributed to the diversity of and beauty of the prairie as a whole. The loss of one black eyed Susan would have diminished the landscape.

Walking quietly, pausing to focus and shoot, I head bees buzzing, butterflies' whispering wings, small animals scampering through the prairie, and birds calling warnings to and about me.

Moving into the woods, larger animals moved away from me. Deer? Coyote? I had my glasses off as I focused on clover blooms in my path, so I have no idea. Being near-sighted does help one focus on the singular that is close by.

Autumn's approach was apparent in the woods, as well. How to see that story? A photograph of the entire woods is too much with too little detail. A picture of one dying leaf is all that is needed. The special Fall scent that fallen leaves send up as they lay on the ground, filling with raindrops from a passing shower, and then drying in sun that comes out. I looked at many of them ... one at time. I slung my camera over my shoulder -- its work was done. Now I was just here to look at things one by one by one.

My pipe went out, the tobacco all gone. It was nearly lunch time, so I headed back up to the house. Walking back through the prairie, I continued to look a single flowers, grasses, leaves on the path. A light rain began to fall. I watched the individual rain drops darken my shirt with their moisture, alight on stalk of big blue stem.

I noticed my breathing was nice and slow. My mind was full... but not of the usual chatter that goes on there. Instead it was full of wonder and beauty of that which I was walking through and participating in.

It was one of the singular walks of my life.

-- Brent

David Finke Repsonds to My Post: "On Quaker Life and the Peace Testimony"

Below you will find David Finke's response to my post on "Quaker Life and the Peace Testimony" and some of the comments (notably by Jeremy Mott and myself). Since David does not blog and posted this as a series of comments (limited by the word length parameters that Blogger imposes) I offered to post it (unedited) as one, seamless article so that readers could gain the full effect of his writing. I offer my response in the comments section.

From David:

I am very much enjoying reading Jeremy's pointed challenges (he never has been mealy-mouthed or half-way about anything). He addresses the question that has been central to his life and mine: namely, how does discipleship to the Prince of Peace square with the demands of the war-making State? My testimony to J.M.'s steadfast integrity first had occasion to be public when he called me as a character witness (yes, he was a character!) in his federal trial in Chicago (1968?) for draft noncooperation -- a high honor in my life.
He and I both come from family traditions which honored the much-misunderstood and maligned positions both of conscientious objection and also conscientious non-cooperation with an institution determined to be fundamentally evil. My father was a legally-recognized C.O. during W.W. II, while my uncle was imprisoned for failing to take the ministerial exemption the draft board insisted upon rather than consider his C.O. claim. Jeremy has described how he had functioned -- in good consciences but at different times -- both within and outside of the institution of conscription. For myself, there was both the legal recognition at age 18, and then at age 26 (when I became "over age" because I'd never sought a deferment) I sent back my draft card -- inspired by the moral consistency and sacrifices of Jeremy and his comrades from 1967 when the draft was revived to provide fodder for the cannons of Vietnam.
So I write not with the assumption that there is only one, self-evident, way in which a dedicated Christian may respond in good conscience to the demands of the war-making and conscripting State. I try very hard to understand and have respect for people whose choices are other than mine. I submit in humility to the only One who Jesus says we may consider Good.
However, I want to get in my own friendly licks here in this discussion, knowing that Brent welcomes creative and forthright dialogue, and that we may pursue with respect whatever disagreements we may apparently have.

First, I challenge his use of the phrase "national service" when referring to the choice to enter the military (or to accept it when thrust upon one, under penalty of law.) You mention that your son-in-law "felt led to serve." I trust you saw that the choice made by Bob (if not yourself) was also a leading to serve.

Although "serving" is the dominant, common way of referring to being in the military -- and builds on noble, self-giving, altruistic impulses which young people may have for wanting to help and protect their fellow human beings -- I will actively resist the equation of preparation for killing with the concept of "service."

It is a slick illusion, a swindle perpetrated upon our youth. It is an elusive euphemism, undergirded by the cult of the National Religion and its ceremonies. It is not consistent with Truth. My view of the primary role of the military is not altered by the fact that occasionally they are mobilized for humanitarian disaster relief, or peddled to the desperate and gullible as "job training" or "being all you can be."

The ability to demolish villages, blast apart bodies, destroy families... all these are to be done without question to those giving the orders, if one properly follows ones indoctrination, discipline, and preparation. The most effective counter-recruiters that I have known over the decades are the soldiers/sailors/marines who have been out there doing the dirty-work of the warmakers (who, legendarily, sit in posh offices sending others to their death.)

They know that warfare is not about "freedom" or "service" or glory. At the least, it is about trying to stay alive, and then doing what one can to protect one's comrades. Let the honest veterans make this case, if we will listen to them. (Most of them I've known adamantly refuse to talk about what they had to do when in combat; I cannot blame them.)

Secondly, there is the tendency in your narrative, Brent, to imply that at least for your friends if not for yourself, there were equally good, moral, justifiable decisions made about the military -- all consistent with Christian principles. I find that only slightly distant from moral relativism. I suspect that it arises from charity, respect, and not wanting to seem "judgmental." But concerning how many other social evils are you willing to simply say, "That's not my choice; that's not what I am led to do"? No, I think you as a follower of Christ can be very clear-cut as to what is required of you and what is forbidden to you, and that you understand this teaching of the Way of Love to be universal rather than selective. Such a position, of course, goes against the dominant Individualism of our era and culture.

We may well have heard -- whether in main-line East Coast "liberal" Quakerism, or in the Evangelical branch -- that it's all up to the individual, and the "peace testimony" is whatever a person decides to do, if they are sincere. "Wear thy sword as long as thou canst" (whether Fox actually said this or not) is the easy way in which we comfort ourselves in believing this is The Quaker Way.

Within the past 150 years, the bulk of our Religious Society decided we would settle for a peace testimony that was optional, or at least "advisory," rather than normative and expected. In this country, I believe this was probably because in the crisis over slavery: A preponderant number of Quaker young people decided to take up arms either to preserve the Union or to have some part in liberating their enslaved brothers and sisters. Those must have been agonizing choices! Those who enlisted or were drafted at least knew they were going against our Peace Testimony, and were readmitted to Quaker membership after making an acknowledgment of that plain fact.

For me, this in no way is to point a finger at those of the Evangelical heritage from which you came. I believe it was Jeremy who first pointed out to me that in W.W. II there was a higher percentage of young men in Oregon Yearly Meeting than in Philadelphia YM who took a position of conscientious objection to military participation.

The central part of your narrative/essay seems to be that Christ will teach us, in God's Time, what we are called to do, according to our being teachable. I have no quarrel with that. But it shouldn't be mysterious as to what Our Teacher's lessons were the first time around -- both in his behavior and his precepts. Jesus makes manifestly clear how we are instructed to deal with those who oppress us. (In the Middle Ages, of course, those who believed that the Sermon on the Mount might require something of them personally were given the monastic life as an alternative, while the "realists" lived in a world of moral compromises.)

It is no accident that for the first 3 centuries after Jesus' earthly ministry, it was NOT an open question as to whether one could be both a follower of Jesus and a soldier. Was that taught in most of our First Day Schools? Or church history classes? The way of martyrdom in faithfulness was what Christians were called to, rather than helping Caesar maintain his empire through the brutality that required soldiers to nail people to crosses. Yes, I know that a lot of the soldiers simply were engaged in road building and what we might call "civil service," even as modern armies have more people behind desks than in foxholes. But the purpose of the military has never changed, and we should not let ourselves be fooled. It is about destroying human life and property, to impose the Will of the sovereign State.

How has it happened that of the historic "Peace Churches" we Quakers have slipped into something where we think that war refusal is just a matter of personal preference, and all options are on the table? Was it when we became so acculturated that we didn't want to be seen as "a peculiar people" any longer? Were we embarrassed that we might be confused with the Amish? Did the "seeds of war" in our ever-increasing material goods lead us to welcome that the war-making State would fend off those who might challenge our society's rapacity in gobbling up the resources of this world? I don't have clear answers to this, and I acknowledge that I am at least as much "part of the problem" as "part of the solution," given the society into which I was born and whose benefits I usually accept without much challenge.

Your mention of Lutheranism reminds me that a "two kingdoms" theory hasn't been peculiar to that particular denomination. It certainly has roots in Augustine's formulations ("The City of God and the City of Man"). Luther was, if I recall, an Augustinian friar. The basic sickness, though, I believe goes back to what our Anabaptist brethren rightly denounce as "The Constantinian Captivity of the Church"--in contrast to which they were called to re-establish the True Church... much as Quakers claimed "Primitive Christianity Revived."

Caesar took over the church, welcomed its blessings on whatever policies he deemed expedient, gave them their protected realm in which to rule themselves so long as they stayed out of his way, and won the game. "Render unto Caesar that which is Caesar's" was co-opted to say--quite contrary to Jesus' intention--"Whatever he claims, he can have."

But his Jewish hearers, when Jesus was given that entrapment question, would have known that "The earth is the Lord's and the fullness thereof..." And in the face of Divine Sovereignty over our lives, Caesar can make no ultimate claims. So long as it serves the public weal (the "common wealth") there is a justifiable place for civil government, and to that we should be subject and obedient. Thus, Penn's "Holy Experiment." But the power over life and death? No! "Vengeance is mine, said the Lord, *I* will repay." So far as we have any control over it, we are to live at peace with all.

Unless there's a declaration of war? An Imperial Edict? A call to arms for the militia? Friends faced these challenges, and had a resounding corporate testimony against such an intrusion of Caesar into God's realm. How could we have missed that?

One more thing about Lutheranism's "two kingdoms." Look how that played out in the Third Reich. The Church was told to stay out of the way--actually, was coopted to bless the racism and give an ideological integration to the fanaticism: "German Christianity"--which can only be upheld by a systematic lie as to our faith's Jewish origins! Fortunately, there was the underground "Confessing Church" (Read the Barmen Declaration) which understood "the cost of discipleship" and that "the blood of martyrs is the seed of the church."

Not that Bonhoeffer's movement was pacifist; they were willing to apply "just war" criteria and strike a blow against tyranny. But how many Christians in our acquaintance either understand the rigorous criteria for a war being "just," or have courageously applied it to whatever the government wants them to kill for?

Anyway, I hope this conversation continues within classic Quaker understandings of what we are called and empowered to be and do. It takes some of us Christians longer rather than sooner. But if we pay attention, there really *is* a corporate witness, which may prevent each of us having to re-invent the wheel. Having listened to the Light Within, the Spirit of the Living Christ--and knowing that it is not the subjective "MY light"--we may be truly guided in His Ways. He has come to teach his people himself.

And it's not, "Whatever...."

Love to all who read this,
-DHF

On Quaker Life and the Peace Testimony

"I know plenty of Quakers who have served in the military. I know plenty of Quakers who have marched against war. I wouldn’t consider one group of Friends better peacemakers than the other." – Katie Terrell, editorial, Quaker Life magazine.

I’m like Katie in this (and far different from her in many other ways). And her recent editorial, (read it please – and the entire Quaker Life issue when it’s available) has certainly stirred the Quaker pot, as evidenced on Quaker Life’s Facebook page. As I pondered what she wrote, I was reminded of a section of my book Sacred Compass that deals with this issue to some extent – the issue being, in my eyes, how Quakers (indeed how Christians of all stripes) have arrived at different conclusions about how to live out the peace testimony. And how we can learn to respect another’s decision if we trust that God is working in others as God is working with us.

For myself, I am today a firm adherent of the traditional understanding of the Peace Testimony – that Christians should not participate, under any circumstances, in making war on others. But, I did not arrive at this place easily. And so I offer the following from Sacred Compass.

Why don't we all have the same leading about the same issue? I think it's because Christ, our Inner Teacher, knows our teachability. The Spirit works with us where we are and within our own capacities for growth. Yes, God might stretch us. We will probably feel such spiritual stretching most when we’re lead in a way that others are not. But as the Psalmist says, “I am the Lord your God, who teaches you for your own good, who leads you in the way you should go.” You. In your way. God will not teach anyone else in your way; everyone is taught differently.

I turned eighteen at the height of the Vietnam Conflict. This meant I was supposed to register for the draft, which I did. Since I was a Quaker, I had the choice of signing up as a conscientious objector, but I couldn’t. At that time I was ambivalent about war. Four of my uncles served in the military, and my mother’s father fought in the Spanish-American War, yet I didn’t feel led to that same way. I had been accepted into college and knew that as long as I kept my grades up I wouldn’t have to decide whether or not to go to war for at least four years. So I registered and got my student deferment.

My friend Bob Gosney, who I met in seminary a few years later, found his way opening very differently. After initially not registering for the draft, he registered and applied for conscientious-objector status. He felt his participation in war went against his call to live in love and with nonviolence toward others, so he acted to keep himself out of the war. But Bob’s application for conscientious-objector status was denied, and he refused induction into the military. He didn’t flee to Canada to avoid prosecution, but rather stayed and took his lumps. He found himself in federal district court facing a five-year prison sentence and a ten thousand dollar fine. However, the Selective Service System had the court case dismissed and reconsidered his application. He was found to be a conscientious objector and served two years of alternate service working at a state institution for mentally handicapped people.

Mark Peterson, now my son-in-law, found way opening for him in a still different way. His draft lottery number was high enough that he was in no danger of being drafted. But he was raised Lutheran, and as he looked over his life’s and faith’s call, he felt led to serve. This call is consistent with the two-kingdom theology (we are citizens of two kingdoms—the kingdom of heaven and the kingdom of earth that sometimes needs to take up arms) of his Lutheranism. So he joined the Air Force, where he served in Vietnam and then stayed in as a career military man.
Mark, Bob, and I were all strongly religious. We each wanted to do what God called us to do. But we each saw a different way opening. Why was that? Was there one right way and one of us found it, while the other two messed up?

No.

Each way was the right way because we approached it with prayer, study, and a deep desire for God’s leading. Each one of us was led by the light we’d been given. What light I had at eighteen came from an evangelical Quaker congregation that was conservative politically and my family with much the same convictions. I could have registered as a conscientious objector, but I didn’t have any clear leading either to go to war or to be a conscientious objector. I was led safely into student status.

Bob, on the other hand, was affiliated with a group of Friends that, like many other Quakers, was

against the war (any war—not just Vietnam), and was raised with a biblical and social understanding much different from my own. His faith was saturated with calls against the war and for peace.

Lutheran Mark Peterson saw national service as a way to be a Christian. He still feels the same way—that his service in the military was a major part of his living out his faith.

What these three stories show is that we have to be led by the light given to us. We can’t be led by another’s light; it will be unable to really light our way because we don’t own or understand it. Neither Bob’s way nor Mark’s way could have been my way—I wasn’t in a place to own or understand either one. God worked with me in God’s time and not the government’s, the church’s, or my family’s.

These stories also show a need to respect others whose ways are not our ways. This respect grows from faith, especially when we have the chance for faithful dialogue with others whose way led them to a place that we ourselves would not go. Listening to each other with spiritual ears wide open helps us to understand each other.

And, I would add, to hear the voice of God more clearly for ourself and not worry about hearing the voice of God for others. A sort of different way of worrying about the log in our eye instead of the mote in an other's.

-- Brent

excerpt from Sacred Compass: The Way of Spiritual Discernment, © 2008 by J. Brent Bill, published by Paraclete Press, Orleans, MA.

The Cost of War -- The Cost of Peace

Now I know I'm out of step with many folks feelings, but I do place Jesus' words "Love your enemies, do good to those who hate you" above false patriotism's words "Love your country -- right or wrong." And when I saw this brief video I was reminded both of the cost of war and the potential for good that could be accomplished were our government (of a nation that many still want to hold up as a "Christian nation") to redirect those funds towards peace. Would to God that would happen.




--Brent