Father's Day, 2007

Now that I have over a year's worth of blog posts, it is interesting to occasionally be able to look back and see where I was a year ago. Last year, I was worried sick about my dad's upcoming deployment. Today, I am relieved and grateful that he is back and yet, what I wrote then holds today:

We are now responsible for cleaning up our act and helping the people of Iraq. That doesn't mean shooting them. It means improving lives - with things like access to healthcare, roads, bridges, etc. It means asking folks with practical on-the-ground experience of peacework how to set about trying to rebuild. It means getting Haliburton the heck out out of there, and looking at actually *helping* people to rebuild their own lives, so they are invested in it and feel that they have some power in their own life, rather than whatever influence the US wants to visit next on them. It means walking humbly and saying we're sorry.

And that still holds today. We have spent yet another year going down that wrong road, again and again. We disrupt the lives of Americans and Iraqis, and the main benefactors seem to be extremist recruiters and big money corporations. Halliburton is no longer even an American company, but still they rake in the government spending on this war with no-bid contracts, despite prior shoddy performance, misuse of government funds, and outright theft.

Money that should go to rebuilding Iraq instead lines the pockets of corrupt "businessmen" who cheat our country and our troops. Money that could be spent on healthcare, education, caring for our wounded veterans and their families, all the boring, necessary work of responsible government, instead goes to billionaires who cynically exploit our political system.

Today, there are thousands of families that are where I was last year, waiting for the dreaded day for deployment, clinging to the time remaining, and many thousands more who will be sending emails and ecards for fathers away at war. In this years proclamation of Father's Day, Mr. Bush said that "Fathers have indispensable roles to play in the lives of their children: provider, protector, nurturer, teacher, and friend." And yet, we are separating families by the thousands. Children are growing up without knowing their fathers, because those fathers are overseas, without even a clear reason for being there or plan for sucess. And some of those fathers return wounded in body and soul. Some never return alive.

This Father's Day, let us begin to do the legwork to reunite those American families that have been separated for war. Although Mr. Bush specifies that Father's Day is for honoring American fathers, let us recognize that Iraqi fathers have a role to play in their children's lives, too. Instead of sending more troops, isn't it time we begin to send experts in world development? Many of those experts are familiar with dangerous conditions. Instead of floundering about with a military "solution", let us address actual concrete issues on the ground. People are living without adequate water or sanitation. For the sake of their fathers and ours, isn't it time we started trying to find practical solutions?

Over at Quaker Pagan Reflections, there is a post that spoke deeply to me and to my condition. I've come to see my spiritual identity (not my religious identity, which I think is currently off on vacation in the Bermuda Triangle) as a reflection of the ways God is trying to work change in me. More and more, those changes have been happening in the quiet times and places, in listening and simply opening up the concerns of my heart rather than in anything I could remotely consider traditional prayer.

It has come with a feeling of vulnerability, as though that opening will not close. There is a saying in Judaism: the gates of prayer and repentence are always open. The traditional imagery of that saying is that they are always open in Heaven, before God's throne, but I've come to feel that each of us has a gate of prayer within, and that if we are aware of it, prayer becomes not a separate time or action, but a part of everything. The joy of seeing the trees waving in a spring breeze becomes a sort of hymn of thanksgiving, and the anxiety and sorrow I've been feeling lately also become a sort of shared prayer.

And I find myself wondering, also, if perhaps this tenderness is necessary to begin on the road to reconciliation and healing. I have two dear friends who are deeply tender over the rifts that are occurring in their faith communities. Recently, as this article discusses, there has been an increase in polarization as some religious communities deal with a rise in atheism and secularism. There is much in the article that I found at the least imprecise, but I think it illustrates the recent hardening of positions very well. As I have written about before, this rift has been very hurtful within the American Episcopalian community, and I find myself wondering how the community could come together to share that tenderness and hurt, not with more hurting, but in a spirit of communion. Similarly, I see so many divisions, so much hardening of the heart, that I wonder how the formal religions can keep the gate of tenderness and prayer open within them.

(And a special thanks to Christine over at Quiet Paths for the link to mull over.)

Peacemaking as liberation

After reflecting over yesterday's post and taking the advice of a good friend who commented, I checked out the Velveteen Rabbi's haggadah. While there are parts I would add, and parts that do not speak to me, this is a good one, one that tells the actual story we are supposed to be remembering, and gives context to the reminders that built up over the centuries, besides giving space for new ones and new ways of looking at the story.

The language is affirmative of the variety of human experience and the opportunities for sharing in the seder. It directly addresses the many ways we may feel ourselves to be in bondage and the ways we may be undertaking our own journeys of liberation. So I wrote a short note to the author to thank her.

In writing that note, I realized that one of the central things that spoke to me from her work was the idea of peacemaking as a journey of liberation. This year has been a year of taking those shaky, hopeful steps for me. And also a year of realizing that even small steps are indeed steps. As I recently wrote in a comment to a post over at Country Contemplative, I can't make the world a peaceful place, but I can make me a peaceful person.

And also, I've been facing down the shackles that kept me from really participating in music. Even if I don't produce beautiful music, singing makes me happy, so I'm singing if only to myself. And I'm learning to play the banjo, having won one in a radio contest. Each new accomplishment becomes a further platform for more to come. And again, whether or not anyone else particularly appreciates hearing me play, I'm happy knowing I can.

A simple request

I do not think anyone reading this blog could possibly mistake me for a supporter of this war. It is difficult to imagine someone having more than about five minutes' conversation with me and making such a mistake. Which is why I was confused yesterday.

As my husband and I left our neighborhood supermarket with our bags of soup and sandwich fixin's, we were approached by a woman with an armful of fliers. Okay - that happens reasonably often in our neighborhood. Turns out she was from a group organizing a peace march in DC and was asking us to show up. Nearly the first thing out of my mouth was "We're going" despite the fact that I don't like crowds, noise, or other stuff that usually gives introverts like me hives, and usually that is the very stuff of marches. But this is important, and I can cope with crowds for a few hours, even if afterwards all I want is a long, quiet, very hot bath.

Why, then, did she feel the need to further convince us? Yes, I'm willing to go. Yes, I've been writing letters, signing petitions, and otherwise exercising my First Amendment rights. I've also been trying to address the fear in this country in my own ways, telling stories and explaining history, telling jokes, and being calm and peaceful in places that we've been told to be afraid in.* But this was not enough for her. When my husband made a comment that did not strike her as sufficiently doctrinaire, she snapped a correction at him.

Um.

My request is this: we are working for peace. Can we please keep in mind that as important as this is, we need to act peacefully ourselves? Our message of peace can be strong without this kind of thing, and in fact, would be stronger if we were to show that we have internalized our message and, as Arlo Guthrie once said "done for ourselves what we want to do for the rest of the world".

It is still very important to reach out to those who are so motivated by fear that they see no other options. I hate this war from the bottom of my soul, but I don't want to be in a place of hate. I want to show others the hope of peace, that there is another way to address fear. And that includes folks who support this war. Most are just afraid. Snapping at each other is no way to address that fear.

* It amazes me how much it actually does just to be cheerful and calm in difficult circumstances. As my family stood outside the hotel after the earthquake in Hawaii, several other people came over to ask us how often we got these. The assumption seemed to be that because we were calm and trying to help other people as best we could as we came down the stairs, and later remained optimistic, we must be locals. Similarly, my habit of bringing crafting materials whenever I have to go into an airport has given me wonderful opportunities to reach out to my fellow passengers.