A few weeks ago a dear friend confronted me about some unhealthy patterns of emotion she saw in me. She is, sadly, correct. The unhealthy patterns exist, have had a long history, and so far have been easier to cover up than actually face and address. That too, is unhealthy, and by God’s grace is undergoing change, though the process will be, I am assured by people who know such things, neither easy nor quick. So be it. One thing is certain: I don’t want to be the sort of person who exhibits such unhealthy patterns.

            I’d be more specific but am not comfortable doing that right now—maybe someday.

            Alas. The brokenness we must own as sons of Adam and daughters of Eve.

            In the weeks since our conversation I’ve thought and reflected, and prayed a lot about all this. Some things have become clearer and other things seem to need more clarity. The fact that patterns of emotion—of responses that seem so automatic as to be instinctual or reflexive—can remain below my threshold of consciousness is troubling. So much for thinking I was living an examined life.

            But then good friends willing to have hard conversations that initiate a period of hard learning, growth, and hopefully healing: this too is a form of examination, and a necessary if painful one. I am after all, finite as well as fallen.

            As I’ve wrestled with all this, some ideas about hardship caught my attention:

            “From repeated research studies, [Russ] Moxley [former senior fellow at the Center for Creative Leadership] became convinced that the most important element of marketplace leadership training concerns how persons learn through hardships. The center’s research summarizes the lessons learned from hardships in four categories: self-knowledge with a clarifying of values, sensitivity and compassion toward others, limits of personal control over circumstances, and flexibility…

            “Moxley… made another striking observation. He said that hardships are only useful when persons experiencing them have support systems that sustain them emotionally and that encourage them to reflect on the experience. ‘Hardships often evoke powerful and painful emotions, and an inability or unwillingness to face and reflect on this pain prevents learning.’ Vulnerability in safe relationships makes learning possible.” [p. 44-47]

            That seems so very correct. I do want to be known for those four things: self-knowledge with a clarifying of values, sensitivity and compassion toward others, limits of personal control over circumstances, and flexibility. And I am grateful for the safe relationships that envelop me that will, by grace, make growth possible.

Source: Resilient Ministry: What Pastors Told us about Surviving and Thriving by Bob Burns, Tasha D. Chapman & Donald C. Guthrie (Downers Grove, IL: InterVarsity Press; 2013).

This weekend Margie and I took a day away, to be together, to talk, and be refreshed. We determined not to hurry but to enjoy the leisureliness of the time, to let things unfold quietly. Our topics of conversation were only partially determined ahead of time—including some speaking and writing we are working on—but that consumed only a portion of the day. The rest of the time we talked about whatever came up, and enjoyed times of silence together.

We drove to Minneapolis, and so began talking on the hour’s drive from Toad Hall to our first destination: Black Sheep Coffee. We ordered lattes (Margie’s was soy) and as always, found the atmosphere lovely and refreshing. Then we drove to The Museum of Russian Art to see two shows: “Concerning the Spiritual in Russian Art” and “Jewish Life in the Russian Empire: Photographs from the Museum of Ethnography, St. Petersburg, Russia.” Lovely, poignant, moving. Before having dinner at the Himalayan Restaurant (very good), we wandered over to Lake Harriet, found a bench near the water and sat in the sun.

The bench near Lake Harriet was situated between walking and biking paths, so bikes swept by just behind us and people walked or jogged just in front of where we sat. All ages were represented, some strolling leisurely, some walking dogs or pushing baby strollers, others in pairs or little groups. After sitting there for a while we realized we were hearing snatches of conversations, so I started jotting down what we could make out.

(boy) …I didn’t know if you needed a drink…

(woman) …I just don’t feel like going to work tomorrow…

(woman) …they bought a new coffee table… (woman) …and they redid the tile, and they redid the bathroom, and the hall, and it looks wonderful…

(man) …Triska! Triska! No! No!...

(woman) …I said I was definitely concerned about the conversation…

(man) …You can go boating out there on this lake? (man) Sail boating.

(woman) …so far my white sheers go well enough…

(woman) …my friend and I were starry-eyed…

(woman) …my bike is really slow. I’ve got it in the highest gear though…

(man) …my flag holder in front has created…

(woman) …I’m going to start digging…

(man) …I didn’t really feel good but I’m doing it anyway…

(man) …is that an answer? (woman) What?...

(boy) …give me my bike back, c’mon, give me my bike back…

(man) …I didn’t know if that was the trade-in value…

(woman) …my shoulders are sore, but I don’t know…

(woman) …black and red, black, red dot, red dot…

(boy) …I need to go to the bathroom (woman) Well right now we are kind of moseying…

(man) … (laughs) I should probably creep down (laughs)…

(boy) …faster, Dad…

(man) …and why is that? (woman) It’s kind of cool. No…

(man) …no, we really do (woman) I thought your mother took care of it (man) Yeah, I did too…

(man) …another alternative is to say to the group…

(girl) …zippity zippity do…

(man) …I know it is so annoying (woman) Yeah, Heather watches people…

(woman) …is she celebrating Mother’s Day? (man) Yeah, my sister knows this seedy bar…

(woman) …my cousin won’t make a dessert…

(young woman on cell phone) …so it is, like, possible, and she said, oh gosh yes, and I was like, because I told her so, and she was like, literally overwhelmed…

And that’s the news from here.

We need to talk

            Like Hurt Locker, Kathryn Bigelow’s 2008 Oscar winning film, Zero Dark Thirty is a compelling war film, appropriately gritty and compelling. It tells the story of the raid by the U. S. Navy S.E.A.L. team in 2011 in which Osama bin Laden was killed and the ten-year search by the intelligence community that led up to it.

            I am aware of the controversy surrounding Zero Dark Thirty. It’s been so public that I have trouble believing anyone who is half-alert to the news wouldn’t have heard about it. One voice expressing dislike of aspects of the film is that of Glenn Carle, a former CIA agent involved in interrogating terror suspects. In an online post, “Zero Dark Thirty—Torture Is the American Way?” Carle issues a strong warning to his fellow citizens:

            Zero Dark Thirty, Hollywood's version of how we killed Osama bin Laden essentially says that torture works. Torture is disturbing, but tough, and American heroes do it.

            Do not be misled. Pay attention: The men and women who hunted, found, and killed Osama bin Laden—and heroes they are—did not need to use torture. Torture is un-American. It is evil. We found bin Laden using painstaking intelligence work, not waterboards.

            The shocking opening scenes and the underlying premise of Zero Dark Thirty, the latest fillip of the torture hagiography to afflict and pervert American society insidiously propagates the view that torture is necessary; tough men and women must make tough decisions, right? It becomes clear how deeply America's moral frames of reference have deteriorated when we realize that it was Kathryn Bigelow, a Hollywood director and power, and not a known shill for the Neoconservatives, whose film presents torture as having been instrumental in finding Osama bin Laden, and that “enhanced interrogation” is Americans doing what Americans must do to protect home and hearth.

“In an otherwise laudable film,” Carle concludes, “Zero Dark Thirty’s opening scenes corrode our culture, just as ‘enhanced interrogation’ has.”

            I don’t wish to nitpick here, but I think a distinction is important. The torture permitted under the Bush administration did indeed corrode American society, our nation’s reputation, and our ethics as a people. I think the opening scenes of Zero Dark Thirty are an example of one of the essential roles that art plays in a fallen world: to make us think. My fear is less that the film will corrode our society than that we will fail to think. Even if you don’t like war movies, please see Zero Dark Thirty. If you are troubled by it, don’t be alarmed: it is a troubling film, and is designed to be. You should be alarmed if you are not troubled by it.

            My opposition to what was euphemistically termed “enhanced interrogation” is not because they repulse me, though the opening scenes of the movie were very hard to watch. I am opposed because my Christian convictions, informed by just war ethics, concludes they are evil, unjust, and dehumanizing. From a biblical perspective, even terrorists intent on attacking us are persons made in God’s image and deserve to be treated as such. America has never lived up to its ideals, but its ideals are better than this. “For a time,” Jill Lepore, Harvard historian writes, “Americans interrogating suspected terrorists were not answerable to any rules, except those made, ad hoc, by the Bush Administration. The White House’s answer to terrorism, which is an abandonment of the law of war, was the abandonment of the rule of law.”

            Thankfully, when Barack Obama became President he put an end to this evil practice and closed the door on this sad episode in American history. I am not convinced, however, that as a people we have thought about this issue or discussed it sufficiently. That our leaders could so easily sacrifice our deepest ideals in the name of security is troubling. In fact, just war principles had been raised in the last few decades as justification for conflicts in which American soldiers would be participating. Why did such ethical considerations not enter the picture here? The rule of law in war is vital because without it a nation can win a conflict only to discover that in the process they have sacrificed their souls.

            Terrorism remains a sad fact in our broken world, the yearning for security still lingers amidst the fears generated by the daily news, and decisions need to be made about fresh threats as time goes by. We need to talk.

            Now, under a Democratic Administration an equally troubling specter has become a regular practice in the name of America, but again, with insufficient discussion as a people. It too is in the news, but has yet to appear in a film troubling enough to get a thoughtful conversation off the ground. I refer to the use of drones. I understand their appeal: besides their obvious cost effectiveness, drones provide the ability to use smart weapons to target individuals and groups without endangering the lives and safety of American troops. Perhaps they have a place in the pursuance of a just war. As a Christian, however, I remain dissatisfied with and concerned for the status quo, described by Dr. Lepore:

...the New York Times has reported that the Obama Administration holds “Terror Tuesdays,” meetings in which the President and his national-security advisers discuss which suspected terrorists, remaining at large, should be assassinated by drones. In about a third of these cases, the President alone takes responsibility for naming the targets, which have included American citizens.

This is insufficient, badly insufficient. Just war ethics requires a far clearer reliance on legal accountability and the rule of law. Again, we need to talk.

            Both topics, the use of torture and the use of unmanned drones, are difficult to face and more difficult to discuss with civility. Still, this is a national conversation that is badly needed and that needs Christians as participants. For one thing, civility is not an option for us since the command to love even our enemies requires it. Hopefully that will help. And because our faith reveals a worldview that under Christ’s Lordship addresses every aspect of life and reality, we can join the discussion with something substantial to contribute. That may require some thinking and research of our own, but that’s simply a part of faithfulness. As Christians we care about security because we believe in justice but we don’t idolize it because we know perfection is not possible in this insecure world and that we are called to give our lives for our neighbors. That means we can contribute to the national discussion without defaulting into any political ideology. And in our highly politicized society that is a grace.

            Sadly, Christians are often contributors to both the lack of civility and the polarization in the public square. May we repent of our lack of love (which is what civility is) and idolatry (which is what a commitment to political ideology is), and return to the first principles of God’s kingdom. Then we will be ready to enter the conversation.

            We need to talk. May the conversation occur, and may Christians who seek to think and live Christianly be part of the conversation.

Sources: Glenn Carle online (http://www.huffingtonpost.com/glenn-l-carle/zero-dark-thirty-torture_b_2395939.html); Lepore in “The Dark Ages: Terrorism, counterterrorism, and the law of torment” in The New Yorker (March 18, 2013, pp. 28-32) p. 30, 32.

We need to talk

            I am not a pacifist. I thought I was one for a few years, but my oldest daughter who was only a day old at the time, convinced me I was mistaken.

            In the Sixties American troops were fighting in Viet Nam, and I was in college. That meant a student deferral from the draft, but school was becoming intolerable because without a sense of meaning it was increasingly difficult to be motivated about my classes. A man in the small fundamentalist movement in which I had been raised gave me a booklet he had written on pacifism. I remember the cover was white card stock, with only a title and his name, obviously self-published. He was quite exercised on the topic, spending considerable time, energy, and money to convince young men like myself to be conscientious objectors from the military. So I did. Or, at least I applied to be one.

            Looking back on that booklet now I realize it did not make a very compelling case. The essay, though passionate was theologically naïve but full of the sort of selective proof texting I had been taught to recognize as necessary as a biblical case for something. I have read much better arguments for pacifism since that time, but between the booklet and his conversations with me I became convinced pacifism was the only fully Christian option. I got the necessary forms and applied to become a conscientious objector from the military.

            My draft board set a time for me to meet with them, and in preparation I reread the booklet enough times that I virtually memorized it. The men on the board were very solemn and polite, if a bit gruff. The meeting was in a small room, paneled in dark wood, with worn wooden straight back chairs arranged in a semi-circle and one chair in the focus point of the semi-circle, where I was to sit. They asked me a few questions but basically let me talk, asking me to tell them why they should believe I was a principled pacifist that should be granted exemption from serving in the military. I was a bit nervous, but had been in debate in high school so by the end left feeling I had done a pretty good job. They quickly ran out of questions, excused me and said I would learn of their decision in a few weeks by letter, which would inform me of my status concerning the draft.

            The letter finally came: the draft board had rejected my application to be a conscientious objector. I was therefore to report for military service when my number in the draft lottery was chosen.

            I have often thought about that meeting with those men, and wish now I could talk with them. Not to challenge their decision but to ask what they were thinking during their interview with me. I’d like to know what prompted their decision, if they would be willing to talk about it. Were they simply so pro-military they could not be party to pacifism? It’s possible because emotions ran high on both sides of the question concerning Viet Nam. Or had they over the years interviewed enough young men to be able to see past my carefully memorized religious arguments into the indecision and uncertainty in my soul? That’s possible too, because it was the truth. My pacifism was only as deep as any of my beliefs, and at the time I was sliding into an ever deeper crises of faith.

            In any case, I eluded the draft, and argued for pacifism whenever the topic of war arose which it did frequently during the Viet Nam conflict and its turbulent aftermath. Then our first child was born. A day later I visited Margie in the hospital and held my newborn daughter for the first time. She was wrapped in a soft blanket and was asleep, but kept stirring, making little almost inaudible sounds and squeaks, and one arm came loose so that I could see her hand. I remember being stunned at her fingernails—so perfect, so tiny, they brought tears to my eyes.

            At that moment the door flew open and a figure barged into the room. I tensed, glanced up and knew in that instant beyond a shadow of doubt that if they threatened my child I’d take them out and feel not a single tremor of guilt or regret. It was just a nurse who had come to check on Margie. I looked into the face of my still sleeping daughter and my pacifism crumbled and dropped away.

            In one sense my discovery concerning my pacifism was not very surprising since during those years I was certain of very little. The Christianity in which I had been raised, privately compelling but socially irrelevant was unable to provide answers to the questions in my mind and heart. I had discovered the writings of Francis Schaeffer by this time, so was finding answers but still had not fully grasped the faith as a coherent worldview by which all of life could make sense. In time things would clarify for me, even concerning war and its horrors.

            So, I am not a pacifist, but stand instead in what is usually called the just war tradition. The details of that tradition need not detain us here, but I would say that the details are important and I take them seriously. I believe the world is so profoundly fallen that sometimes violence is necessary to constrain injustice and stop wicked people from preying on the powerless. Still, as the name of this tradition implies, not every war or exercise of force is just, and this distinction is important. I love America, but my prior and primary commitment to God’s word and kingdom requires me to evaluate American foreign policy—and especially it’s use of force—in light of the very important criteria of just war ethics.

            Which brings me to Zero Dark Thirty. And to our national need to talk.

            Or will, when I continue this in a few days.