On War, America, and Christians

I am currently reading a new book to fill my “free” time. It is titled The Horrors We Bless: Rethinking the Just-War Legacy by Daniel C. Maguire, and it is a fascinating read in the midst of the current ongoing political storm. I would like to share several excerpts from Maguire’s writing for us all to ponder–as followers of Christ and citizens of the world:

“Terrorism is the war of the poor and war is the terrorism of the rich.”
–Peter Ustinov

“It is a sad trick of the mind that makes us all too often ignore the obvious, so we’ll begin with the obvious and move to further critique. What is most obvious is that war is dumb. Given all the glory we ascribe to war and warriors, that charge may seem undignified and unfair. Let the record speak.

“People like to find settled, ritualized ways of doing things; and that’s what we do when we engage in the business of socialized slaughter. Going back to the fourteenth century we find that the Europeans had pretty much ritualized the standard operating procedure for organizing fighting. Soldiers showed up on a field, dressed in their proper colors. Then they had at one another until one side prevailed or until both sides collapsed and those left standing went home to spin the event as best they could…”

“War changes constantly, from charging knights in bright armor to longbowmen with their arrows, from uniformed soldiers in armored planes and vehicles to guerilla warfare — such changes show that the mode of war is an artificial construct of human imagination. We make up different ways of doing it. This should raise questions. Why not have a duel between two leaders of the countries involved and agree to abide by the result? Is that any sillier than having armies of coerced citizens from the lower economic class out slaughtering one another while gouging and wrecking the rest of nature?…”

“Sometimes the dumbness of socialized slaughter (war) shows up in ways where comedy and tragedy meet. Germany’s foremost news magazine Der Spiegel features a critical article about George W. Bush’s ‘crusade against evil.’ They designed a satirical cover using figures from American popular culture. President Bush was given a muscular Rambo body with weapons and ammunition belts. Dick Cheney became ‘The Terminator’ while Condoleeza Rice was dressed as Xena, the Warrior Princess. Colin Powell was Batman, and former Secretary of Defense Donald Rumsfeld was Conan the Barbarian, holding a sword dripping with blood.

“Daniel Coats, the U.S. Ambassador to Germany, immediately went to Der Spiegel’s editorial office not to protest but to report that ‘the President was flattered.’ Mr. Coats requested thirty-three poster-sized copies of the cover to be conveyed back to the White House since all those depicted wanted copies. This is a commentary not just on our leadership. The satiric cover that ‘flattered’ our leaders was drawn right out of the popular violent icons of Americana…”

“Citizens and the press should never be more alert and vocal then when their government is about to go out and kill people in their name…”

“The poignant words that Deuteronomy 31 put into the mouth of God cry out to us: ‘I have set before you life, and I have set before you death. And I have begged you to choose life for the sake of your children.’ The Song of Moses could have been addressed to us: ‘Perverse and crooked generation, whose faults have proven you no children of His. Is this how you repay the Lord you brutish and stupid people?‘ (Duet. 32:5-6). We ‘brutish and stupid people’ in the United States are spending thirty-one million dollars an hour, twenty-four hours a day on military power. Military analysts say we could “earmark for military spending as much as the next ten largest military powers combined and still reduce Pentagon outlays by tens of billions of dollars per year.” Stop and think what we could do with that money if we were to point it toward life and not toward death. Let me give you some examples:

“We could immediately double the salaries of all the elementary and high school teachers in the United States. And…

“With a mere forty to fifty billion dollars a year — what it costs to wage war for several months in Iraq — we could finance all public college and university education. And…

“Health care could be free for those who cannot afford a copay, and no one would be denied medicine they need. And…

“We could then, working with other nations through the U.N., take more of those wasted military dollars and end hunger and thirst on the earth. That would fight terrorism.

“Our preference, however, is for bombs.”

“We were supposedly made in the image and likeness of God, but what images are we following? Not the image of God, not the image of peace.”
–from The Horrors We Bless: Rethinking the Just-War Legacy, by Daniel C. Maguire

Who Am I?

The following is my first short essay of the semester for a Christian Related Vocations (Ministry) class taught by the college chaplain. The reflective paper was assigned with the simple prompt to be answered by each student: “Who Am I?” It is a little longer than normal posts, but nonetheless I hope you enjoy.

Ironically, I am not too sure where to begin. My father always told me that we are our own worst judges, but it seems that only I can tell you who I truly am. As intimate and personal as my friends and family may be, they only hold an external perspective of me — the perspective of an outsider looking in — while I can bore you with the genuine perspective of an insider who knows seemingly all of Sam Hill.

But the view of an insider can often be shocking and unexpected and the life of Sam Hill is certainly no exception. To cut to the very core of a person is to peel away all of the common facades, to overlook the vain words, phrases, and actions that so easily become our identities — it is to ignore the standard responses to silly questions. It is not often pretty, but nonetheless, here goes.

Sam Hill may be the most hopeful person I have ever met. From the age of four he has secretly dreamed of one day becoming the President of the United States only for the simple reason that he could not think of a loftier dream. He dreams of one day speaking to millions, filling the stomachs of the hungry, and transforming the hearts of the apathetic. Sometimes he thinks of one day compiling obscene wealth, gaining worldwide fame, or acquiring powerful influence. Other times he thinks of becoming a rancher in the mountains of Colorado, or a star quarterback on the college football team, or a taxi cab driver who listens to soft jazz music while winding through the city streets. But when the dreams fade and the silly fairy tales come to pass, all he wants is to leave an impression on the world — and not just any impression, but an impression that surpasses all expectations of friends and family and onlookers. And he wants, if it even be possible, to surpass the expectations of himself.

Oh yes, Sam Hill may be the most hopeful person I have ever met.

But there remains a nagging question that plagues his robust dreams and dampens his lofty hopes:

Is all hope lost?

(Can the world truly be changed? Can hearts be transformed? From where did the darkness of pain and suffering come? Can it ever be distinguished? Is our very nature the cause of the horrors of the world? Could the atrocities of poverty, hunger, disease, racism, oppression, war, and greed be more accurately defined as natural disasters? — disasters caused by the very substance of who we are inside. If this be true then could such a terrible condition possibly be cured? Are we poisoning ourselves unknowingly? Could I possibly make a difference?)

And the as the questions fire like missiles assaulting his dreams of hope and change, a depression seeps deep into his bones — perhaps it less of depression but more of fear.

And in the midst of it all he finds himself with a tongue, a pen, and a pulpit. Like an eye-dropper in a wildfire.

But the question still stands: Who is Sam Hill?

Even I cannot fully say, but when the trappings of vanity and the desired sights of this world are suddenly pulled back—when the lies slide away like sheets and the expectations crumbled like stone, we see that Sam Hill is really a simple thing.

He sings his feeble song of hope as best he can and prays that the music may brighten the world in some minute way. He puts forth his flawed attempt to speak, to encourage, to lead, to learn, to serve, to minister, to love — all the while praying that all hope is not lost and the world might one day be rid of all that causes pain.

Indeed, Sam Hill may be the most hopeful person I have ever met.

But one cannot greatly hope of a brighter day without greatly fearing a day even darker, and so he lives in constant hope and fear: hoping that his impression upon this world can truly make a difference and fearing that this hope of change only serves the purpose of easy sleeping, night after night after night.