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While
waiting for a first appointment in the reception room of a new
physician, I noticed the framed certificate which bore his
full name. Convinced that I had heard it before, I racked my
brain until I remembered that a tall, gawky kid with a
similar-sounding name had been in my high school class, some
45 years ago. But upon being ushered into his office, I
knew….just knew….I was wrong. I mean, this balding,
graying man with the double chin and a face the quality of old
shoe leather was far too old to have been my classmate. But I
thought” “What the heck?” No harm in asking him anyway.
So
I said: “There isn’t a chance you attended Mackenzie High
School in Detroit, is there?”
“Yes,”
he said (looking surprised). “I did.”
“When
did you graduate?” I asked.
“Class
of '58,” he answered.
“Why,
you were in my class,” I said.
Looking
at me closely (as if trying to place me), he asked: “Just
what class did you teach?”
Which
is my way of admitting I have circled the track a few times.
And if I haven’t seen it all, I have seen a lot. Some of
which moved me. Some of which moved beyond me. And some of
which came at me….did a U-ey….retreated momentarily from
me….only to come back at me again.
Forty
years ago, when I didn’t know a single graduate
student….even a Yale graduate student…. flush enough to
own their own television, I wedged myself into a divinity
school lounge and watched a president talk about the need to
disarm a tyrant. The president’s name was Kennedy. The
tyrant’s name was Castro. Now, with most of you, I recently
watched another president talk about disarming another tyrant.
The president’s name being Bush. The tyrant’s name,
Hussein.
I
remember the anxiety I felt that long-ago night, given that
Cuba was but 90 miles from Miami and I was but 23 years of
age. Divinity draft deferments (especially in a school not
linked to a particular denomination) were shaky at best. And
while I sympathized with the historic peace churches, I was
far from a pacifist. In short, the prospect of war that night
was something I faced far more personally than
philosophically.
I
am older now….age-protected now….better-educated
now….possibly-wiser now. But I am still anxious now. Because
the stakes seem higher now. And while I have no responsibility
to fight (as do those we prayed for this morning) or fly
bombing missions (as do two of my daughter’s more recent
male companions), I do feel a responsibility to care and
counsel, pray and preach. Especially preach, which I do this
morning in the largest, most influential congregation in
Michigan Methodism.
Not
that you need….not that anybody needs….one more “talking
head.” The airways (both cable and network) are full of
“talking heads,” equally matched by “writing heads” in
newspapers and magazines. But in a denomination where all
kinds of “briefcase bureaucrats” (not presently serving a
church) are more than willing to speak for the church,
I thought the time might now have come for one inside the
church to speak to the church.
I
do so, this morning, after much tightrope-walking,
foot-dragging, sleep-losing and (yes, you’d better believe
it) impassioned praying. I also do so of my own accord,
speaking for no one but myself….not my bishop….not the
various boards and agencies of my denomination….not my
clergy colleagues (dispersed hither and yon)….or my local
clergy colleagues (full-time and retired). Just me. So let me
beat around the bush no longer and tell you where I stand,
followed by a trio of words on why my decision was hard, how
my decision was made, and what I believe an informed Christian
conscience might consider next.
Simply
put, I have concluded (within the very last few days) that the
President and the President’s war agenda deserve my support,
and that my meager weight should be diverted from the ethics
of opposing war with Iraq to the ethics of how best to conduct
it. This has nothing to do with my becoming a “hawk,” but
everything to do with my becoming a “realist.” If I am
wrong, may Christ forgive me. But if I am right (not a word
commonly associated with me, by the way), may Christ use me.
Now
I promised I would answer three questions, the first being:
“Why was this hard?” I give you several reasons. First, it
was hard because of my belief that war….any war….all
war….every war….grieves the heart of God. Irrespective of
necessity. Irrespective of outcome. Irrespective of noble
purpose (to whatever degree noble purpose can be defined or
claimed). If Jesus really wept over Jerusalem a mere five days
before his execution (because, in his words, nobody in that
town knew the things that made for peace), I can only conclude
that he learned those tears at home, from a heavenly father
who taught him how to cry.
Second,
my decision was hard, given my belief that the preponderance
of the Gospel witness (not the entirety of the Word, but the
weight of the Word) favors peace-making over war-waging.
Isaiah wrote: “How beautiful upon the mountains are the feet
of the messenger who announces peace.” While Jesus said:
“Blessed are the peacemakers, for they shall be called the
children of God.”
Third,
my decision was hard because when I probe the scriptures in
answer to the question “Why did Jesus come, really?” (I am
talking about the Incarnation, here), my answer draws me to
the word “reconciliation” every bit as much as it draws me
to the word “salvation.” “God was in Christ,” said
Paul, “reconciling the world unto himself, and entrusting
unto us this ministry of reconciliation.” And it is hard to
pursue reconciling with people you’re bombing….at least
while you’re bombing them. Or so it seems.
Fourth,
my decision was hard because I am far from convinced that
attacking Iraq will make us any safer….and may actually
widen the window of our vulnerability for a while. War has
changed since “the Big One”….making the enemy less
identifiable….the battle lines less discernable….and the
risks less calculable.
Fifth,
my decision was hard because there are so many
analysts….heck, so many experts…. looking at the same data
and spinning it differently. My impressionability makes me
nervous when, after all this time, I can still be swayed by
the one who spoke last and the one who speaks loudest.
Sixth,
my decision to support war against Iraq was hard, given that
my life-long “lean” has been toward those who would rather
talk sense than knock sense. And I am incredibly patient when
it comes to talking. Ask anyone who knows me.
Seventh,
my decision was hard, given my fear that the one place this
war will be neither swift nor clean will be the streets of
Baghdad, where (from both sides) the best will be lost….the
most will be lost….and scores upon scores of the youngest
and poorest will be lost.
Those
are just a few of the reasons why my decision was hard. So why
was it made? Three reasons (well short of seven, but enough to
tip the balance).
First,
I said I was not a pacifist. I admire pacifists. I support
pacifists. I regularly learn from and seek to emulate
pacifists. When I was doing youth ministry during the Vietnam
era, there were three occasions when I submitted briefs to the
Dearborn Draft Board supporting young men in my youth group
who were turning 18 and filing for C.O. status (as
conscientious objectors). The law of the land did not require
that I agree with them. It only asked my testimony that they
were “seriously convicted,” and that their convictions
were formed (at least in part) by their association with
something that looked like a church. I was most willing to
step forward on their behalf. But you might ask yourself how
popular that made me in 1967 and 1968.
Getting
in the way of any pacifism I might have embraced was, and
still is, my understanding of sin….how pervasive it
is….how powerful it is….how persistent it is….and how
(on occasion) it needs to be reined in by power as much as it
needs to be redeemed by love. Sin makes people do awful stuff.
Some of which is very hurtful stuff. And while there is none
of that awful, hurtful stuff that can’t be forgiven in the
long run, there is some of it that must be opposed in the
short run. Especially when it is blatant. Especially when it
is deviant. And especially when it is on-goingly unrepentant.
Second, I
believe that “evil” is an applicable word in this debate.
I cringed when Ronald Reagan talked about “that evil
empire.” And I cringed again when George Bush talked about
“the threefold axis of evil.” But the one single line in
President Bush’s State of the Union Address I couldn’t
shake free from came when, after cataloging delay after delay,
abuse after abuse, and threat after threat (traceable to
Saddam Hussein), he said: “If this is not evil, then evil
has no meaning.” And the temptation that comes to people
like me is that, in my desire to believe the best about the
most, while cutting the slack of grace even to the worst
(which I still believe is God’s modus operandi eternally), I
run the risk of whitewashing “evil” right out of the
dictionary while it is still alive and out-of-control in human
affairs. While no hands (including our hands) are clean hands,
some hands need restraint as well as washing.
Third,
it occurred to me (just a few days ago) that we have placed
George Bush in a bit of a quandary. After the tragic events of
September 11, 2001, there were many who suggested that our
government (and our president) should have known
more….should have had better intelligence….should have
better communicated and coordinated the intelligence they
had…. and, therefore, were ignorant.
While
others suggested (in the wake of September 11) that our
leaders did know, were aware, and had received numerous
intelligence reports, but simply hadn’t acted upon them in a
prudent and timely manner. Therefore, they were not so much
ignorant as irresponsible.
So
now, when the President (and the government) claim to have
information and have taken steps to act upon the information
they have, pardon my reluctance to leap in and say:
“You’ve probably read the situation wrong, and your steps
are only going to make the situation worse.” We start by
damning them for doing nothing, then turn around and damn them
for doing anything.
Therefore,
I have concluded that some form of war is inevitable. Not
laudable. Certainly regrettable. But, in this set of
circumstances, understandable. And maybe, depending on its
conduct, marginally acceptable.
As
with the Cuban Missile Crisis forty years ago, I pray that we
won’t have to play the hand we’ve laid on the table. But
if we do, I find moral breathing space on page 61 of the
United Methodist Church’s Book of Resolutions (2000 edition)
which reads:
Some of
us believe that war, and other acts of violence, are never
acceptable to Christians. But we also acknowledge that most
Christians regretfully realize that when peaceful
alternatives fail, the force of arms may be preferable to
unchecked aggression, tyranny and genocide.
Which
brings me to question three: “What does an informed
Christian conscience consider next?” Personally, I should
like to see Christians turn from a discussion of the war’s
validity to a discussion of the war’s conduct. I am talking
about moral issues that relate to objectives, weapons,
targets….those sorts of things. If the only war-related
question Christians debate is “yes” or “no,” we
forfeit the opportunity to influence anything that happens
once the generals begin talking about “how.” For
centuries, theologians and ethicists (especially Catholic
theologians and ethicists….let’s give credit where credit
is due) have worked on something called “The Just War
Doctrine”….two points of which are of great personal
interest.
First,
proportionality. A nation waging a just war is careful that,
in opposing and destroying evil, it does not create more evil
than it destroys in the process. From time to time I will talk
with my wife about a strategy I have chosen for addressing
some conflict or another. It may involve a conflict with one
of you. Or it may involve a conflict with the church. And
after listening to my strategy, she sometimes asks: “Are you
sure you aren’t going to do more harm than good?” Which is
a rather simplistic phrase. But I believe it is worthy of
ongoing debate, given that the conduct of war is much too
important a matter to leave solely to the generals.
Second,
non-combatant immunity. A war is considered “just” insofar
as it is able to successfully exempt from aggression those who
are not active participants in the aggression. For years, this
has been taken to include women and children, the infirm, the
sick, the elderly, etc.
When
Kris and I were just starting out in Dearborn (where I was up
to my neck in youth and young adult ministry), a young lady,
very much in love, called and said: “I’ve got somebody
special I’d like you to meet. Is it all right if I bring him
by?”
“Come
on over,” we said. So they did. She was radiant. He was
young….handsome….relatively new to her life….and not all
that many weeks removed from a tour of duty in Vietnam. Making
small talk, I asked his impression of the war. To which he
said: “They’re a bunch of gooks. They all look alike. They
all sound alike. You can’t tell good gooks from bad gooks.
You can’t tell our gooks from their gooks. So we ought to
douse the entire country with gasoline and tell the last
remaining GI to light a match.” The girl who brought him
over for approval was my sister. The guy who wanted to torch
the entire Vietnamese landscape eventually became my
brother-in-law. I suppose it will not surprise you when I say
that we were never close.
*
* * * *
War
against Iraq?
Inevitable?
It would seem so.
Necessary? I
reluctantly conclude so.
Winnable?
I am reasonably persuaded so.
And
while I won’t ask God to bless it, I pray that God will
understand it….forgive it….sustain us in it….see us
through it….heal the world following it….and eventually
lead us and our enemies beyond it (toward something that most
closely resembles the Kingdom that we prayed for earlier this
morning).
Amen.
Notes
When
I selected the text for this morning’s sermon, it was my
intention to spend more time talking about the phrase “wars
and rumors of wars.” Subsequently, I discovered that another
member of our clergy team, Rod Quainton, surfaced the same
phrase in a sermon two weeks previous. At that time, Rod
discussed the apocalyptic imagery of the passage, meaning that
I no longer had to. Additional comments on the passage landed
on the cutting room floor due to time constraints. Clearly,
war never receives an endorsement from Jesus as a method of
conflict resolution. Equally clear, however, is the
recognition by Jesus that war is an occasional (albeit
unfortunate) occurrence in the course of human events. All
told, the business about “wars and rumors of wars” is an
interesting phrase in an interesting passage, and I am
grateful for my colleague for exploring its implications
(apocalyptic and otherwise).
Given
the preponderance of anti-war statements from denominational
leaders, I was surprised to find the language I quoted from
the Book of Resolutions, 2000 edition. For fuller discussion
of the complexities of this issue, read Section V:G
(“Military Service”) in the United Methodist Social
Principles, page 61 of the Book of Resolutions, 2000 edition.
For a discussion of war and peace, look to the Book of
Resolutions, pages 762-788. And for the only reference to
Iraq, turn to page 682 of the same source.
Many
of my understandings on this subject have been impacted by the
writings of the late Reinhold Niebuhr, especially as found in
his Gifford Lectures entitled “The Nature and Destiny of
Man.” As concerns the Doctrine of the Just War, I find
myself returning again and again to Paul Ramsey’s classic
work, “War and the Christian Conscience: How Shall Modern
War Be Conducted Justly?” I do acknowledge that both Niebuhr
and Ramsey wrote in an age that was pre-nuclear (albeit well
after World War II), but their treatments of human sin and
military ethics are still considered classics in many circles.
Finally,
I would confess that the opening illustration about my
Mackenzie High School classmate is apocryphal. I owe the story
to my esteemed colleague, Dr. Roger Wittrup. As for my
brother-in-law, he mellowed in subsequent years. Alas, it has
been over 20 years since he was my brother-in-law. And much of
his post-Vietnam rhetoric can be traced (if not entirely
excused) to the emotionally devastating experience of having
been a foot soldier in that war.
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