Stones of Remembrance

 

And Joshua set up at Gilgal the twelve stones they had taken out of the Jordan. He said to the Israelites, “In the future when your descendants ask their parents, ‘What do these stones mean?’ tell them, ‘Israel crossed the Jordan on dry ground.’ 

—Joshua 4:20-22

In this story from the Torah, Joshua had instructed the Israelites to carry stones out of the Jordan river and arrange them as a memorial of their crossing. Leaving memorials in stone is a uniquely human thing we do. From ancient cave drawings, to pyramids, obelisks, statues, or simple grave markers, we leave our mark on stones, so that future generations would know we existed.

On May 24, 2020, the New York Times published excerpts of the obituaries of some of the 100,000 lives lost to the COVID pandemic ravaging this country. People from all walks of life. Parents, children, wives, husbands, professionals, veterans, and laborers. The AFL-CIO had previously posted a scrolling list of their members who died in New York due to COVID. On that list were everyday people, teachers, communications workers, healthcare workers, transportation workers, and grocers. Just ordinary people, “essential” workers in our current parlance. Everyday heroes who carried out their duties despite the risk. While these were electronic, virtual publications, most of these lives will eventually have their names marked in stone by their loved ones. Stones of remembrance. 

May 24, 2020 falls on a Memorial Day weekend. It is a time when we pause to remember the people who gave their lives in our country’s conflicts. Whatever our judgments about the nature of these conflicts, we ought to remember people who fulfilled their responsibilities at the cost of their lives. Their gravestones cover the hills of our military cemeteries as far as the eye can see. Stones of remembrance.

Of all the creatures on Earth, we humans have the ability to build a “durable world” as Hannah Arendt called it. We leave our mark. We alone have a written language allowing us to leave a record, discoveries, and hopefully, lessons learned. We memorialize the people we leave behind. Ultimately, we will be memorialized and become the ancestors of future generations. What will they remember of us?

Will they remember this period as a time when we let our rancor take us into a needlessly lethal pandemic and then onto a second Great Depression? Will homelessness, illness, and hunger reach record levels? Or will we look back on this time and recognize it as a pivotal point in history when people of good will seized this moment to build a more just, a more sustainable society?

The fewest of words for posterity are marked on our grave stones. The name of the deceased. The date of birth and death, separated by a hyphen. In that hyphen is our entire lives. When people come upon our graves one day in the future, what will they remember? What will they tell their children?

What Does It Feel Like to Lose Your Country?

The other day I encountered a posting from Mike Frost, a blogger I follow, titled So this is what it feels like to lose your country  He spoke of the loss and grief that comes when your home, your entire country is destroyed by fire, as was the case in Australia during the summer of 2019-2020.

The post evoked several memories of lost homes and countries. A few years ago, I was working into the Christmas holiday season along with a some colleagues who had also spent their allotted vacation during the summer months. A colleague and friend, a Chaldean Iraqi, invited me out to an Iraqi restaurant in the area, as a break from the monotony of being in the office during the holidays. For me, a Westerner of European heritage, it is always a treat to step outside my routine (and cuisine) to experience another culture. My friend wanted me to feel at welcome in his world, so he ordered up a sampling of Iraqi culinary delights, which needless to say, were delicious.

As I sat and took in the ambiance of the place, murals on the wall caught my attention. On the walls all around me were hand-painted images of village life in Iraq. I imagined these were images of life before the US invasion and subsequent flight of Chaldean Christians. It then dawned on me that my friend goes here to see pictures of a home country he can never return to. The thought saddened me.

Mike Frost's post reminded me also of my father, a refugee from Poland after it was invaded in World War II. He lost his family. The world and the people he knew were gone. Forever. He rarely spoke of his loss and grief. All he would say is "this is my country now". As I look back, I am also sad for his loss.

As a frequent visitor to San Francisco, I am also reminded of the homeless, refugees in their very own country. They are often economic refugees, unable to earn enough to keep a roof over their heads in the face of skyrocketing real-estate prices and stagnant wages. The addicted and mentally ill are also well represented among their number. They are truly refugees, although we don't think of them that way. The former are refugees, thrown out of the control of their own bodies, while the latter are refugees who have been thrown out of reality itself. When they are looked upon with revulsion or just simply ignored, when they are prosecuted or driven away by law enforcement, they are reminded of their status: they have no place in the land.

I live in Metro Detroit, home to a large community of immigrants, and now their descendants, of whom I am one. Metro Detroit is also home to a large Chaldean diaspora. A Lebanese diaspora. A Yemeni diaspora. A Balkan disapora. I could go on, but you get the point. America is home to a lot of ethnic groups, but we don't often think of the reason they are here. We assume that it is for economic opportunity, and often that is true. More often it was simply to escape persecution and violence in their homelands. That is even true for African-Americans who migrated from the South to flee racial persecution and poverty for economic opportunities in the North.

Nearly every one of the situations that cause people to lose their home and homelands are man-made. War and conflict certainly have a direct causal relationship to human displacement. Human-induced climate change also displaces people as ambient conditions and frequent catastrophes make areas uninhabitable. Religious and ethnic persecution add to mass of fleeing humanity. Today, there are over 70 million displaced persons world-wide by some estimates.

Perhaps the Biblical imperative to “not oppress a foreigner; you yourselves know how it feels to be foreigners" (Exodus 23:9) is not such a dated concept. Rather it is a moral imperative. We should do everything we can to welcome the stranger. Everyone should feel welcome somewhere. We should also do more to change energy and defense policies which promote war and climate change, which in turn, drives people from their homelands. This will require much more of us who are privileged but not as influential as we could be. We will have to organize and engage the apathetic to make our voices heard. Otherwise, we too may find ourselves among those who know what it feels like to lose one's country.

The Church of St Elsewhere

Mont Saint Michel in Normandy is about as other-worldly as a church can get. It is an island in the sea, one kilometer from shore.  Mont Saint Michel is a monument to wars between kings, kingdoms, and religions. It is a crumbling fortress against the outside world that must constantly be shored up against rising tides (and sea levels).

Mont Saint Michel is among the great church buildings of the world I hope to see: Notre Dame in Paris (though now all that remains are the stone walls), Westminster Abbey in London, and St. Peter's in Rome. For some reason I have a fascination with centuries old church buildings. It would seem to be an odd fascination since I rarely attend a church service these days.

Maintaining these physical structures of the church is a never-ending battle against time, nature, and changing human sensibilities. Hundreds of years ago, wealthy noblemen and kings commissioned the building of these structures to the "Glory of God". Artisans and laborers devoted their energies to buildings that would inspire wonder and awe from both  inside and out. Perhaps this is the all too human response to our mortality. We want to build something that will outlive us, though Jesus warned us, "Not one stone will be left upon another."

We humans are not satisfied with physical structures. We want organizational structure. Jesus exhorted us to gather for fellowship at the table, but we want to know which end of the table is the head. In the Gospel of Mark, James and John decided they want to be in charge. Not only did they want to form a hierarchy, they wanted to be the head of it!

Then James and John, the sons of Zebedee, came to him. “Teacher,” they said, “we want you to do for us whatever we ask.” “What do you want me to do for you?” he asked. They replied, “Let one of us sit at your right and the other at your left in your glory.” “You don’t know what you are asking,” Jesus said. “Can you drink the cup I drink or be baptized with the baptism I am baptized with?” “We can,” they answered. Jesus said to them, “You will drink the cup I drink and be baptized with the baptism I am baptized with, but to sit at my right or left is not for me to grant. These places belong to those for whom they have been prepared.” When the ten heard about this, they became indignant with James and John. Jesus called them together and said, “You know that those who are regarded as rulers of the Gentiles lord it over them, and their high officials exercise authority over them. Not so with you. Mark 10:35-43

Although Jesus told his disciples that  to "lord over" and to "exercise authority over" others was not to be the pattern for his followers, they began to adopt the world's structures of hierarchy. Most of the centuries of church conflict and turmoil was not so much about what the belief was as who was in charge.

A few centuries after Jesus had left this earth, the Roman model of diocese and archdiocese had been fully integrated into church governance, with bishops and archbishops as the heads. In the centuries which followed, the line between government and church were indistinguishable. The combination grew increasingly powerful, leading to the Crusades in the eleventh century. Over time, as nation-states formed, the influence of the church waned, but never completely abated.

Whatever its degree of influence on temporal affairs, the church knew that it was operating against the explicit direction of its Master.  Allowing space for monastic orders was a tacit admission of this truth. Most of the saints designated by the church, were either from monastic orders, founded orders, or otherwise operated at the fringes of the church. It was necessary to put some distance from the structures of power for people to even attempt to follow Jesus.

Jesus never left explicit directions on how to organize the nascent group of believers he was leaving behind, but he was very explicit about what structures and behaviors to avoid. Throughout history, Jesus' wisdom on these matters had to be rediscovered:

“the "small goodness" from one person to his fellowman is lost and deformed as soon as it seeks organization and universality and system, as soon as it opts for doctrine, a treatise of politics and theology, a party, a state, and even a church. Yet it remains the sole refuge of the good in being. ”― Emmanuel Levinas

This is why attempts to evangelize the world end up being an evangelization of the structures of power. The most notable example is the Roman Catholic church and its "Doctrine of Discovery." This gave European colonialists the moral cover to displace and enslave indigenous peoples. A number of non-denominational American churches have picked up on this as they setup satellite churches under the administration of one senior pastor. But truth is not found at the centers of power:

"If you really want truth, you need to escape the black hole of power and allow yourself to waste a lot of time wandering here and there on the periphery. Revolutionary knowledge rarely makes it to the center, because the center is based on existing knowledge. The guardians of the old order usually determine who gets to reach centers of power, and they tend to filter out carriers of disturbing, unconventional ideas." ―Yuval Noah Harari

Centralized power was always going to be a problem for the church. It's a place to hide all sorts of evil. It's why Jesus operated at the periphery. The margins are where he built his church. Father Oscar Romero realized this in the most trying of places, El Salvador in the late nineteen seventies.

Oscar Romero was appointed and installed as the Archbishop of El Salvador in 1977. He was placed as the head of the Catholic church in El Salvador. His position naturally overlapped with the centers of power at the time, the wealthy landowners and the government. A number of events, culminating with the assassination of his friend, Father Rutilio Grande, changed his perspective about the center of power and moved him to the periphery, the poor laborers of El Salvador. He began to voice the sufferings of the poor and painted a vision of what the Church could be:

"God wants to save us as a people. He does not want to save us in isolation. That is why the church today, more than ever before emphasizes what it means to be a 'people'. And that is why the church experiences conflicts: the church does not want just crowds; she wants a people. A crowd is a bunch of individuals, and the more lethargic they are, the better; the more conformist they are, the better." - St. Oscar Romero 

The "church" Romero speaks of, the communion of life, the church which forms a people, is alien to the concept of "church" in middle America. I have read many of  Romero's words. As I did so, I was saddened by the vast gulf, a great chasm, between the Church Romero speaks of and the church we have today. Romero was martyred as he tried to live out this vision of what the church could be.

Yet I remain hopeful. I see stirrings among the people who want to follow Jesus, who see the truth of his life and teachings. They are tired of living a lie, of putting on a smiling face when inside they are grieving. I am one of those people. I know there are others. Perhaps you are one of them. We can all lament and grieve the state of the church and we probably need to do that. But we also need to realize that the baton has been dropped in front of us. At some point we are going to have to pick it up and "run the race set before us" (Heb 12:1). We cannot run this race alone. We must nurture a hopeful expectancy to find others on the same journey, those who are heading in the same direction. We must learn to recognize the presence of God in people and places where we did not expect to find him. Quite often those places are at the margins of society. We should try to be more spiritually aware, living with a Jesuit expectancy to look for "God in all things." Let us try to learn from those times when we look back, kick ourselves and say "God was in this place and I did not realize it!" (Gen 28:16).

The church we seek, the people that follow Jesus, is the fellowship of saints and the body of Christ. It does not necessarily meet in a building, although it sometimes does. It is a people who will live and speak the truth, however imperfectly. It is a people who have come to terms with their own mistakes, sufferings, denials, and sins. It is a place where people can rejoice, but also grieve together. It is a place where people will bear with one another in all their frail humanity.

It meets at the Church of St. Elsewhere. Service times to be announced.

Never Again?

We are observing milestones in world history. The 80th anniversary of the Invasion of Poland and World War Two. The 75th anniversary of the liberation of Auschwitz. A common refrain heard during these observances is "Never Again". Yet we seem to have learned nothing from these events in history.

Presidential orders have turned hatred into policy.  The administration has banned Muslim travel to the US, is building a wall on our southern border, regularly posts dog-whistle comments to foment open racism and anti-Semitism.  

It makes me think about my very existence. My father fled Poland during World War II through a number of countries, finally ending up in the US. His father, mother, and sister did not make it. Except for my sister, I have no surviving relatives on my father's side.

As a young man, I worked in a TV repair shop (yes, we used to fix them).  I made many service calls to Polish neighborhoods in southwest Detroit. In those days, very few homes were air conditioned. In the summer heat, my customers wore light garments with short sleeves. From time to time I would see numbers tattooed on people's forearms. We would briefly look each other in the eye without a word. No comments were necessary.

I married the daughter of immigrants. My entire family is built on immigration. So yes,  I get emotional when talking about immigration. 

I have lived and worked with a multitude of ethnicities. I have been welcomed into the homes of Muslim, Christian, and Hindu families. I have broken bread and shared drinks with coworkers and neighbors come from all over the globe. Some own businesses that employ people and in so doing, multiply the GDP of this nation. All of these people are hard-working, tax paying citizens. And good neighbors. This is the rich DNA of America. This is an existential issue. If we deny immigration, America will die of a self-inflicted wound.

So in this climate of hate, I worry. I worry about my neighbors and friends being profiled. I worry about their families. I worry about them when they travel outside our borders that another arbitrary order will come down and block their entry. I worry that history is repeating itself. 

Singling out an ethnic or religious group as an "enemy" is the beginning of road that humanity has been down many times. It is a time-honored political strategy to create an "enemy" and make them the object of fear and derision. America is better than this. And, if America is not better than this, then we should dispense with the pretense. That we are a nation of immigrants. Once we shut the door, we are not. That we are a "Christian" nation. If we bar the "least of these", then we are not. We have denied Christ.

On the Statue of Liberty, there is a plaque and inscription by Emma Lazarus:

“Give me your tired, your poor,
Your huddled masses yearning to breathe free,
The wretched refuse of your teeming shore.
Send these, the homeless, tempest-tossed to me,
I lift my lamp beside the golden door!”  

If we bar the "tired, poor masses" who have been huddled in refugee camps for years, who have fled unimaginable violence, then we should give the statue back to France. We are not deserving of the gift and the honor it bestows.

Or perhaps we will wake up to what is threatening to overtake us.  America is not perfect nor has it been. Yet every day I see examples of good people doing good things. Will we join together with people of good will and stand up for what is good and right about America? Because if we don't stand up for what is good and right about our country, we will lose it.

Why am I Here? Perhaps as a Warning

I am the son of a refugee. My father fled Poland in 1939 just days after it was invaded by Nazi Germany and Soviet Russia. Horse-drawn artillery and wooden biplanes had no chance against the mechanized forces of two world powers. He decided to flee to Romania. As fighter planes approached to strafe those fleeing, he dove into a ditch for cover. He felt the repeated thump of machine gun bullets impacting the ground. After the planes left and he felt it was safe to get up,  he arose to discover every other person in the ditch was dead. He just happened to be in the place that was between rounds.

I can't help but be a student of history, since my life is the product of it. It seems so ironic that I owe my existence to the rise of demagogue. Eighty-three years ago in Europe a man rose to power on the promise of restored national glory, renewed economic prosperity, and the defeat of foreign and domestic foes. He knew how to channel the public angst into wild-eyed devotion. Crowds were spell-bound before him. There was only one catch....enemies had to be named and destroyed. The rest is history, so to speak.

So pardon me when I sense a darkening cloud casting its shadow over our country. A demagogue has arisen who knows how to work a crowd. He has said he will "Make America Great Again".  He has blown by all boundaries of civility, all the lines that his opponents and predecessors would not dare cross. The truth of what he says does not matter. His character does not matter. That he has stiffed countless people that have worked for him does not matter. That he says outrageous things about minorities, women, and even veterans is excused as forthrightness. He has named our enemies which somehow all happen to be people of color. He has talked about mass-roundups, internment, and deportations. He has talked about the exclusion and public marking of religious groups. He has talked about legitimizing racial profiling and searches. He has talked about muzzling the press because "they say bad things" about him.

Some of us are going to vote for him because we believe in him. Some of us are going to vote for him because we despise "her". Some of us will vote for him because we are afraid. Some of us are going to vote for him because he has thrown us a bone about some issue dear to our hearts. Some of us are going to stay home because our candidate lost the primaries. Some of us will stand on principle and vote third party. We will say to ourselves, "so what if he gets elected, we will only have to put up with him for four or eight years. What have we got to lose?" Everything!

Let's not delude ourselves about constitutional limits and protections or that we are a nation of laws. Constitutions, amendments, and protections of the law operate under the assumption of  a collective good will. That if things don't go my (our) way, we will live to fight another day through the legal process and perhaps through a change of national conscience. In our past, universal suffrage and the Civil Rights struggle were able to advance in this way. In our past however, there have also been reversals:  the Japaneses internment, Communist witch-hunts, and the Kent State massacre, to name a few. It doesn't take much to throw constitutional protections out the window when it suits a collective national will. Just a little fear will do it.

So why then am I here? I very nearly was not. Perhaps I'm here as a warning. History does repeat itself.