The War Prayer

I came across this essay last week, even before the news of Bin Laden's death. I had thought about posting it here, but decided it was too long and no one would read it. It was collected under the title A Pen Warmed-up in Hell: Mark Twain in Protest (Edited by Frederick Anderson). It is a collection Twain's best essay's on war, religion, and personal patriotism. The fact that it was written in 1904 makes it even more timely.

The War Prayer

Mark Twain


It was a time of great and exalting excitement. The country was up in arms, the war was on, in every breast burned the holy fire of patriotism; the drums were beating, the bands playing, the toy pistols popping, the bunched firecrackers hissing and spluttering; on every hand and far down the receding and fading spread of roofs and balconies a fluttering wilderness of flags flashed in the sun; daily the young volunteers marched down the wide avenue gay and fine in their new uniforms, the proud fathers and mothers and sisters and sweethearts cheering them with voices choked with happy emotion as they swung by; nightly the packed mass meetings listened, panting, to patriot oratory which stirred the deepest deeps of their hearts, and which they interrupted at briefest intervals with cyclones of applause, the tears running down their cheeks the while; in the churches the pastors preached devotion to flag and country, and invoked the God of Battles beseeching His aid in our good cause in outpourings of fervid eloquence which moved every listener. It was indeed a glad and gracious time, and the half dozen rash spirits that ventured to disapprove of the war and cast a doubt upon its righteousness straightway got such a stern and angry warning that for their personal safety's sake they quickly shrank out of sight and offended no more in that way.

Sunday morning came -- next day the battalions would leave for the front; the church was filled; the volunteers were there, their young faces alight with martial dreams -- visions of the stern advance, the gathering momentum, the rushing charge, the flashing sabers, the flight of the foe, the tumult, the enveloping smoke, the fierce pursuit, the surrender! Then home from the war, bronzed heroes, welcomed, adored, submerged in golden seas of glory! With the volunteers sat their dear ones, proud, happy, and envied by the neighbors and friends who had no sons and brothers to send forth to the field of honor, there to win for the flag, or, failing, die the noblest of noble deaths. The service proceeded; a war chapter from the Old Testament was read; the first prayer was said; it was followed by an organ burst that shook the building, and with one impulse the house rose, with glowing eyes and beating hearts, and poured out that tremendous invocation

*God the all-terrible! Thou who ordainest! Thunder thy clarion and lightning thy sword!*

Then came the "long" prayer. None could remember the like of it for passionate pleading and moving and beautiful language. The burden of its supplication was, that an ever-merciful and benignant Father of us all would watch over our noble young soldiers, and aid, comfort, and encourage them in their patriotic work; bless them, shield them in the day of battle and the hour of peril, bear them in His mighty hand, make them strong and confident, invincible in the bloody onset; help them to crush the foe, grant to them and to their flag and country imperishable honor and glory --

An aged stranger entered and moved with slow and noiseless step up the main aisle, his eyes fixed upon the minister, his long body clothed in a robe that reached to his feet, his head bare, his white hair descending in a frothy cataract to his shoulders, his seamy face unnaturally pale, pale even to ghastliness. With all eyes following him and wondering, he made his silent way; without pausing, he ascended to the preacher's side and stood there waiting. With shut lids the preacher, unconscious of his presence, continued with his moving prayer, and at last finished it with the words, uttered in fervent appeal, "Bless our arms, grant us the victory, O Lord our God, Father and Protector of our land and flag!"

The stranger touched his arm, motioned him to step aside -- which the startled minister did -- and took his place. During some moments he surveyed the spellbound audience with solemn eyes, in which burned an uncanny light; then in a deep voice he said:

"I come from the Throne -- bearing a message from Almighty God!" The words smote the house with a shock; if the stranger perceived it he gave no attention. "He has heard the prayer of His servant your shepherd, and will grant it if such shall be your desire after I, His messenger, shall have explained to you its import -- that is to say, its full import. For it is like unto many of the prayers of men, in that it asks for more than he who utters it is aware of -- except he pause and think.

"God's servant and yours has prayed his prayer. Has he paused and taken thought? Is it one prayer? No, it is two -- one uttered, the other not. Both have reached the ear of Him Who heareth all supplications, the spoken and the unspoken. Ponder this -- keep it in mind. If you would beseech a blessing upon yourself, beware! lest without intent you invoke a curse upon a neighbor at the same time. If you pray for the blessing of rain upon your crop which needs it, by that act you are possibly praying for a curse upon some neighbor's crop which may not need rain and can be injured by it.

"You have heard your servant's prayer -- the uttered part of it. I am commissioned of God to put into words the other part of it -- that part which the pastor -- and also you in your hearts -- fervently prayed silently. And ignorantly and unthinkingly? God grant that it was so! You heard these words: 'Grant us the victory, O Lord our God!' That is sufficient. the *whole* of the uttered prayer is compact into those pregnant words. Elaborations were not necessary. When you have prayed for victory you have prayed for many unmentioned results which follow victory--*must* follow it, cannot help but follow it. Upon the listening spirit of God fell also the unspoken part of the prayer. He commandeth me to put it into words. Listen!

"O Lord our Father, our young patriots, idols of our hearts, go forth to battle -- be Thou near them! With them -- in spirit -- we also go forth from the sweet peace of our beloved firesides to smite the foe. O Lord our God, help us to tear their soldiers to bloody shreds with our shells; help us to cover their smiling fields with the pale forms of their patriot dead; help us to drown the thunder of the guns with the shrieks of their wounded, writhing in pain; help us to lay waste their humble homes with a hurricane of fire; help us to wring the hearts of their unoffending widows with unavailing grief; help us to turn them out roofless with little children to wander unfriended the wastes of their desolated land in rags and hunger and thirst, sports of the sun flames of summer and the icy winds of winter, broken in spirit, worn with travail, imploring Thee for the refuge of the grave and denied it -- for our sakes who adore Thee, Lord, blast their hopes, blight their lives, protract their bitter pilgrimage, make heavy their steps, water their way with their tears, stain the white snow with the blood of their wounded feet! We ask it, in the spirit of love, of Him Who is the Source of Love, and Who is the ever-faithful refuge and friend of all that are sore beset and seek His aid with humble and contrite hearts. Amen.

(*After a pause.*) "Ye have prayed it; if ye still desire it, speak! The messenger of the Most High waits!"

It was believed afterward that the man was a lunatic, because there was no sense in what he said.

A Hate-filled Man is Dead

I am not entirely happy.

I am happy that the figurehead of a massive terrorist organization has been destroyed. As the face of global terrorist, Bin Laden is no more. This is a good thing.

But as I listened to newscaster's ecstatic vocabulary last night, as I read this morning about how this will make Obama politically bullet-proof for 2012, I felt sad. Caryn and I had just finished talking to high school kids about bullying, about what they could do to stand up for those who are picked on by those would are more powerful. Bin Laden was a global bully, I don't doubt that. But with his death, the United States can stand on top of the school-yard hill, the undisputed king-of-the-hill.

Osama Bin Laden was not outside the reach of God's grace. He was hated by many people both in the United States and in the Arab world. He was also respected by many people for his passion and religious fervor. But this was how people saw him. I'm confident that God has a different view of him. I don't claim to know how God viewed him, but I know that he would not smirk, giggle, or rejoice if he was a news reporter who has to tell the world that Bin Laden had been killed.

I don't want the world filled with people who are willing to kill other people. But even less do I want the world filled with people who first de-humanize their enemies to make it easier on their conscious when they do kill them. I am not a pacifist, but I am a Christian, and that requires me to pray for my enemies, go the extra mile, and to feed and care for those people who seek to do me harm.

Writer to Know: Madeline L'Engle

Madeline L'Engle is one of my favorite writers. Most people have read her 1963 Newberry Award winner A Wrinkle in Time. But the book I return to again and again is Walking on Water: Reflections on Faith and Art. Instead of praising all the different books she's written, today I am going to pull out two quotes to share with you.

***

"To trust, to be truly whole, is also to let go whatever we may consider our qualifications. There's a paradox here, and a trap for the lazy. I do not need to be "qualified" to play a Bach fugue on the piano (and playing a Bach fugue is for me an exercise in wholeness). But I cannot play that Bach fugue at all if I do not play the piano daily, if I do not practice my finger exercises. There are equivalents of finger exercises in writing books, the painting of portraits, the composing of a song. We do not need to be qualified; the gift is free, and yet we have to pay for it."

***

"When another young woman told me that she wanted to be a novelist, that she wanted to write novels for Christian women, and asked me how was she to go about it, I wrote back, somewhat hesitantly, that I could not tell her because I do not write my books for either Christians or women. If I understand the gospel, it tells us that we are to spread the Good News to all four corners of the world, not limiting the giving of light to people who already have seen the light. If my stories are incomprehensible to Jews or Muslims or Taoists, then I have failed as a Christian writer. We draw people to Christ not by loudly discrediting what they believe, by telling them how wrong they are and how right we are, but by showing them a light that is so lovely that they want with all their hearts to know the source of it.
     If our lives are truly "hid with Christ in God," the astounding thing is that this hiddenness is revealed in all that we do and say and write. What we are is going to be visible in our art, no matter how secular (on the surface) the subject may be. Some of those angry etching of Hogarth, depicting the sordidness and squalor and immorality caused by the social inequities of his day are profoundly incarnational, for they are filled with anguished pity for the thief and the prostitute and the scum of the earth, and this compassion is Christ's"

[The hyperlinks are my addition.]

Writer to Know: C.S. Lewis

If C.S. Lewis were to publish his books today, there would be such an outcry from most Christians in America that it would rival rants about witchcraft in Harry Potter. Yet, he is (nearly) canonized by Christians across denominations. His Chronicles of Narnia books have remained in print since they were written and three of them have been made into movies. His Space Trilogy are respected works of science fiction. His autobiography Surprised by Joy is touching and full of unexpected moments. Mere Christianity should be standard reading (at least the first half) for new Christians.

His popularity within Christian circles can produce Lewis-burnout, but we should not mistake distaste for people who over-quote Lewis with distaste for Lewis' writings. For I wonder if many of the people who quote him, fully understand how often un-orthodox his views sometimes were.

He is one of my role models, not because he is the best writer in the world (Roald Dahl, in his book Matilda summarizes it well when Matilda says, "There are no funny parts.") but because he writes non-fiction and fiction, faith and imagination, serious philosophy and serious children's stories. What kind of writer is he? He is every kind of writer that C.S. Lewis could be, and that is both honorable and enviable.

If you have only read his fiction, I suggest getting a copy of Reflections on the Psalms. If you have only read his philosophical works, get a copy of A Horse and His Boy. And if you haven't ready it, read his autobiography Surprised by Joy. It will be worth your while.

What I've Learning Being Off Facebook

I decided to give up Facebook for Lent, not for any particular religious reason, but because it was a nice time-frame to use for my own purposes. I had Caryn change my password so that I would not even be able to log into my account. And as Easter has come and gone I thought it would be worth noting a few things I've learning in my time away from the Big Blue Monster which feeds on your time.

First, a note on why I did this. I don't think I spent a lot of time on Facebook. I know this is a relative statement, so let me be more specific. I estimate that I spent around a half an hour a day on Facebook. This was broken down into one minute to ten minute segments and spread over an entire day. This is just a fact of how I was spending my time, neither bad nor good.

There are two thoughts that motivated me to to try giving up Facebook. First, Is this all it is? I kept thinking, why do I keep checking Facebook? What am I looking for? What am I hoping to see? Some people love to be voyeurs into what other people are thinking or doing, but I couldn't help but see most status updates as cries for attention.

Second, there were a lot of other things I would rather do if given a half hour a day. These include exercise, reading, writing, blogging, baking bread, or even cleaning the house. When I stepped back and examined my life, asking myself, "What kind of life do you want to lead?" Facebook wasn't a big part of it. I could go on further about both these points but the takeaway is that I am not making any big statement about Facebook in general, but about my own personality and the kind of life I want to live.

Things I learn by giving up Facebook

1. Facebook has some good things about it.

Facebook has allowed me to keep in contact with my brother (Chicago) and sister (Denver) more easily. I have a general sense of connectedness to cousins, people I went to college with, seminary peers, and other people I no longer see on a regular basis. It also provides a personal interaction between co-workers because I can see pictures of their families or share a game of Scramble.

2. Facebook offers a general sense of connection but it shouldn't be mistaken as good as face-to-face conversations.

It is too easy to believe that I am connected with people through Facebook who I probably owe a phone call, email, or visit. I justify not doing these things because I am comforted by the vague sense of connection that Facebook gives; just enough so that I don't feel the distance of a friend who has moved across the country, but also just enough that I don't do anything to maintain a connection more serious that clicking "like" on a status or photo.

2. Facebook is the future.

I have some co-workers who still insist that WordPerfect is a better program that Word. I have listened to their case and I'll admit that for their purposes, it is a superior tool. At the same time everyone uses Word. You cannot fight against the sheer numbers of people who use a product. In the same way, you need to have a Facebook account because Facebook is already deeply woven into the way we live our lives. It is become as ubiquitous as (and occasionally replacing) email, necessary as cell phones, and as useful as Google.

3. Facebook is not the future.

Facebook is a choice. Spending weeks not logged in as has made me realize that I don't have to have a Facebook account to be happy, stay connected, be efficient, feel cool, or have friends. Facebook needs to serve the life I want, not the other way around.

4. You need to set the terms/limits of your Facebook interaction or it will naturally suck you in.

Facebook is the casino of the Internet. Real casinos are designed so that every time you want to leave, or go to a restaurant or the spa, you need to walk all the way through the main casino floor. The rooms don't have cable television and have sparse accommodations. Everything is made to send you into the gaming floor. Why do you think that Facebook keeps tweaking their format and layout? Because they know how to make the experience more addicting. Why do you think they call people you're linked to "friends" and not something like "connections"? Because they want everyone connected. So instead of "setting a healthy boundary between myself and an old high school girlfriend" I have to "de-friend" her. Harsh.You need to decide how you are going to use Facebook because otherwise Facebook will decide for you.

Conclusion: I'm going to log into Facebook tomorrow. (I had to reset my password because the one Caryn had didn't work and they lock you out for 24 hours after resetting a password.) I'm sure I'll have missed interesting things, but I've actually liked it a lot not being on Facebook. It feels kind of weighty to being going back, like I'm someone accepting an obligation. But who knows, maybe after a couple of months I'll shut down my account all together. For now, I'm going to set some rules for myself. Log-in no more that two times a day and take one day each week and not log in at all.

Why We Look after Blowing Our Nose

I am almost over a wicked cold that I picked up from one or both of my kids. Symptoms included: body-ache, sore throat, headache, cough, and a furious runny nose. This last one is particularly bad. I went through at least a box and a half of Kleenex. I'm beginning to feel well enough to resume normal activities like blog entries, speaking in a normal octave, and shaking my fist at the falling snow that has no right to invade the skies in the middle of April. I also have the energy to reflect on an aspect of being sick that I had not ever put much thought into: the admittedly gross practice of looking into a tissue after I had blown my nose.

Maybe it was because my nose was producing amazingly amounts of mucus, but I kept examining the tissues I used. I marvelled when I needed to use three of four tissues to clear my sinuses. I never called Caryn over to look, but I did have a moment of self-awareness when I thought to myself, "What am I doing? This is really gross. What am I hoping to see?" For several minutes I could not come up with an answer other than that I am disgusting. But I cannot be alone in this curiosity. There must be other people who examine their used tissues, or who stare into the toilet, or obsess over their fingernails, or whatever other socially unacceptable self-examination that interests them.

Maybe this impulse is why people go into medicine. I am normally repulsed by the interior of bodies: valves, arteries, membranes, bile, hemorrhage, just a few of the words that can send me to the ground with my head between my knees. It's possible that, despite my aversion, I'm still interested in what makes me a flesh-and-blood human being. It's just that my comfort level end with used Kleenex. I mean, that yellow-ish flem, that was...is...was....me! Or a part of me at very least.

People are not as physically defined as we sometimes think. Food moves in and out of us, as does air and water. Sounds too, enter our ears and leave our mouths (and other parts). Blood can even be moved one person to another, body parts too. Skin cells shed and are replaced by other. Environmental toxins enter us and can accumulate in dangerous and deadly ways. It is not so much that we are independent animals operating in our world around us, rather we are woven into the fabric of the earth, or maybe the earth (and water, air, bacteria, dust, etc.) and woven into us into mystical quilt of human life.

And that  was only one though that came to me as I looked into that used tissue.

I Can Finally Stop Parenting

Parenting is a lot of work. I often find myself tired in the evening when I wish I had even enough energy to make it to the end of The Biggest Loser.

But upon a recent trip to my local library with the twins, I struck upon a genius idea, an idea that should make parenting much simpler, easier, and give me more time and energy to enjoy hobbies that often get pushed aside. The only question I had was, "Why hadn't I thought of this earlier?"

Let the Berenstain Bears raise my kids.

There are Berenstain Bear books that address every possible parenting situation that you could think of, or at least most of the major ones. There are close to 350 titles in this series. I'll start with a few of my favorites that I remember reading in my own childhood.

 

But just because you remember a few books, don't think you don't need to revisit Bear Country USA and see what's changed. Papa Bear still has his backwoods overalls and Mama Bear is still rocking her housecoat, but times have changed so Brother Bear and Sister Bear have had to be prepared for new things. Things like...


Women working outside the home:

How to handle gang initiation:

Global Warming:

or the growing number openly nerdy people in society

I could go on and on, but you can visit Bear Country yourself and learn more about how easy parenting actually can be. I know that I'll be ready for whatever life throws at me. When my kids ask me...

Why is that man in a chair with wheels? I've hand them:

Why are there no professional female football players? They get:

Dad, can I start a boy-band? They'll learn all about the problems of a life in rock and roll from:

And now that the Berenstain Bear books are published by Zondervan, a Christian publisher, they have converted the Bear Family from nominal Judaism to evangelical Christianity, which makes my job even easier. I can hand over my kids spiritual formation in addition to their personal, social and emotional formation.

It is such a sweet sense of relief to be able to let go of the sense that I had to try and explain anything to my children. I think I'll make Bear Country, My Country.