Tuesday, December 29, 2009

the lady.

Redeemed, she had enough joy in her little finger to "waken all the dead things of the universe into life." I strive to be a woman such as this lady...


Some kind of procession was approaching us, and the light came from the persons who composed it.


First came bright Spirits, not the Spirits of men, who danced and scattered flowers—soundlessly falling, lightly drifting flowers, though by the standards of the ghost-world each petal would have weighed a hundred-weight and their fall would have been like the crashing of boulders. Then, on the left and right, at each side of the forest avenue, came youthful shapes, boys upon one hand, and girls upon the other. If I could remember their singing and write down the notes, no man who read that score would ever grow sick or old. Between theme went musicians: and after these a lady in whose honour all this was being done.


I cannot now remember whether she was naked or clothed. If she were naked, then it must have been the almost visible penumbra of her courtesy and joy which produces in my memory the illusion of a great and shining train that followed her across the happy grass. If she were clothed, then the illusion of nakedness is doubtless due to the clarity with which her inmost spirit shone through the clothes. For clothes in that country are not a disguise: the spiritual body lives along each thread and turns them into living organs. A robe or a crown is there as much one of the wearer’s features as a lip or an eye.


But I have forgotten. And only partly do I remember the unbearable beauty of her face.


“Is it? … is it?” I whispered to my guide.


“Not at all,” said he. “It’s someone ye’ll never have heard of. Her name on earth was Sarah Smith and she lived at Golders Green.”


“She seems to be … well, a person of particular importance?”


“Aye. She is one of the great ones. Ye have heard that fame in this country and fame on Earth are two quite different things.”


“And who are these gigantic people… look! They’re like emeralds… who are dancing and throwing flowers before her?”


“Haven’t ye read your Milton? A thousand liveried angels lackey her.“


“And who are all these young men and women on each side?”


“They are her sons and daughters.”


“She must have had a very large family, Sir.”


“Every young man or boy that met her became her son—even if it was only the boy that brought the meat to her back door. Every girl that met her was her daughter.”


“Isn’t that a bit hard on their own parents?”


“No. There are those that steal other people’s children. But her motherhood was of a different kind. Those on whom it fell went back to their natural parents loving them more. Few men looked on her without becoming, in a certain fashion, her lovers. But it was the kind of love that made them not less true, but truer to their own wives.”


“And how… but hullo! What are all these animals? A cat—two cats—dozens of cats. And all those dogs… why, I can’t count them. And the birds. And the horses.”


“They are her beasts.”


“Did she keep a sort of zoo? I mean, this is a bit too much.”


“Every beast and bird that came near her had its place in her love. In her they became themselves. And now the abundance of life she has in Christ from the Father flows over into them.”


I looked at my Teacher in amazement.


“Yes,” he said. “It is like when you throw a stone into a pool, and the concentric waves spread out further and further. Who knows where it will end? Redeemed humanity is still young, it has hardly come to its full strength. But already there is joy enough in the little finger of a great saint such as yonder lady to waken all the dead things of the universe into life.”


(Taken from The Great Divorce by C.S. Lewis, chapter 12)

Thursday, December 24, 2009

merry christmas eve.

This is the big celebration day in Bolivia.

Some the street kids will go to visit their relatives for the night to have a big family feast at midnight, as is the tradition. But there are a lot of lonely kids on the streets that are going to get really high tonight to numb the pain of being orphaned, abandoned, or kicked out of their homes. Others will get high because they just don't want to visit home and have to deal with drunken, abusive parents.

I hate being half a world away. This was a lousy time for a vacation.

Wednesday, December 2, 2009

When I give food to the poor, they call me a saint. When I ask why the poor have no food, they call me a communist.

-Dom Helder Camara,
former Archbishop of Olinda and Recife, Brazil

Monday, November 30, 2009

new lil guy.

A few photos of the new baby. He was born early in the morning on November 7.

I snapped a photo of momma just hours before he arrived... She's super cute, eh?



At the hospital...




Visiting the family a couple days later...



Dad is super proud. He's just not in any of the photos. Oops.

Saturday, October 31, 2009

what happened thursday...

I know some people think I'm crazy for bringing street kids back to my house, but I'm so glad they knew where to find me and that I'd come running to help early Thursday morning when Moises hanged himself at the bridge.

Around 4am, my doorbell rang, and the dogs started freaking out. I ran outside and found two of the girls from the bridge at my door frantically sobbing. Through the tears they told me that Moises had died and that I need to come quickly to the bridge. They had a taxi waiting outside, so I changed out of pajamas and ran out the door.

On the way to the bridge, the girls told me that Moises had had a fight with his girlfriend a few hours earlier. He was depressed, got high, and hung himself from a tree near the bridge.

I asked the taxi driver to call the police while I ran up to check on Moises. When the kids saw me, they came running, hollering that he was still breathing a little. And so without wanting to waste a precious minute, I had the kids carry Moises to the taxi and we sped to emergency at the main hospital here in town with three of the kids from the bridge.

When we go there, the doctors came out with a machine to check his vitals and told us that he was gone and there was nothing they could do. They looked at me and said, "So what do we do?" It was almost like they were washing their hands of the whole thing. I asked if they had someone who could help us with his body that was still laying in the back seat of the taxi, but they said that they couldn't accept it. The said to drive him over to the morgue.

The driver took us over to the morgue, which was closed because it was the middle of the night. There was no bell or number to call, so I called the police and told them the situation. They assured me somebody would be there shortly.

Twenty minutes later, I called dispatch back to see where the police were, and they didn't seem to know what I was talking about. So once again, I told them the situation and requested that someone come help us get into the morgue.

Another twenty minutes later, I called back because the police still hadn't shown up. This time they knew who I was and assured me that they were near by. So finally, after waiting almost an hour outside the morgue with Moises' body in the back seat of the taxi, the homicide police arrived and opened the doors.

They questioned the three kids and me about what happened, then they told us to go up to the bridge and wait for investigators to come by. So the same taxi driver drove us back.

I broke the news to the kids that Moises had really died, and they cried for a while until the glue took affect and numbed their pain. I was sitting in the canal with kids, waiting for the police to arrive when the oldest guy there, and the leader at the bridge, started speaking with demons.

For several months, he had been away from the bridge working at a garden center but was recently fired. He had gotten in a fight with a co-worker and cut the other kids' stomach up and down in an obvious attempt to kill him. Thank God, the boy survived and is recovering in the hospital right now.

So now he's back at the bridge using drugs, which turn him into a monster and open a door to hell.

So while we were waiting for the police to arrive, I sat three feet away from this boy and watched him speaking clearly to something he saw standing directly in front of him. He was undeniably having a conversation and saying things like, "You know they're going to blame you for this..." Then, he started manifesting, speaking in an inhuman language, and he appeared to be oblivious to the kids around him who were calling his name. I was praying silently in my mind without speaking words out loud, and at one point, the boy stopped talking and turned to look me in the eye as if he could every word I was praying.

Some police came by just minutes later and chatted with the kids and me. When the left, the kids went back to their glue bottles and passed out because none of them had slept during the night. So I went home and started making phone calls, trying to locate his family...

Thankfully, there are some very capable people here to help sort out these kinds of emergencies. Oscar and the folks from Casa Azul, a project that works with street kids, helped locate family so we could inform them about Moises. I had never had to do that before, and I was almost speechless. They also ran around doing all the necessary paperwork to get him buried.

Everything eventually got sorted out, and we gathered money together to pay for Moises' casket because the family didn't have the funds. After an all night vigil at the mother's house, we buried Moises yesterday around 4:30...

Please be praying for the kids. The spiritual battle going on for their souls is escalating, and they need protection. They do, and so do those of us who are trying to minster to them.

Thursday, October 29, 2009

r.i.p. moises



How many dying must there be?
So many untold memories
Who really cares, so many stares
People fade away everyday

Empty bottles tell sad stories
Filthy photos fumbled through
Grubby fingers buy a few
Sick finds for the creep

I can almost hear you breathing
Are you really out there crying?
I can almost feel you dying
Are you . . . Dead?

Parking lots of trash and treasures
Bags and piles of sinful pleasures
Discarded frightful secrets
Jaded eyes dig so deep

How many voices,
How many children,
How many choices,
How many lies,
How many deaths,
How many victims,
How many addictions,
How many loved ones,
How many lost ones,
How many searching,
How many barely holding on . . . .?

Did she find the answer?
Does anybody know her?
Does anybody hold her?
Does anybody love her?

We keep walking over corpses
Retiring our own feeble voices
Disillusioned in her volition
We can see the end


Headnoise, Haunting Enigma

Tuesday, October 27, 2009

trees.

One of my favorite things about Cochabamba is that they don't tear down big, old trees when they build roads.

This is one of the better ones...


Thursday, October 22, 2009

8:00am at the bridge


I brought the kids breakfast this morning and snapped a few shots of the kids and the pups...






Wednesday, October 21, 2009

r.i.p. vladi

The funeral is over. Another horrifically sad event. I can't begin to imagine how much God cries over these kids because my pathetically human heart is broken. We brought a truckload of kids from the street to the cemetery, and I watched them bury another friend for the second time in 3 months. The way I see it, the devil is trying to kill off the kids one-by-one. Marcos was stabbed in the heart and died in July. Vladimir's stomach was cut open 2 weeks ago, but he was recovering at the hospital when the demons convinced him to throw himself out of a 3rd story window. That's how he died, and it just makes me sick. He was one the kids that I knew really well, and I saw so much good in him. I know how tormented he was, but I always had hope. I can't believe his life ended this way.

R.I.P. Vladi.

someone to devour.


Humble yourselves, therefore, under the mighty hand of God so that at the proper time he may exalt you, casting all your anxieties on him, because he cares for you.

Be sober-minded; be watchful. Your adversary the devil prowls around like a roaring lion, seeking someone to devour. Resist him, firm in your faith, knowing that the same kinds of suffering are being experienced by your brotherhood throughout the world.

And after you have suffered a little while, the God of all grace, who has called you to his eternal glory in Christ, will himself restore, confirm, strengthen, and establish you.

To him be the dominion forever and ever. Amen.

1 Peter 5:6-11 (ESV)




Like a roaring lion, he's seeking someone to devour.
And he did devour...this time.
But God has dominion, and He will restore us.



Tuesday, October 20, 2009

john 10:10

ὁ κλέπτης οὐκ ἔρχεται εἰ μὴ ἵνα κλέψῃ καὶ θύσῃ καὶ ἀπολέσῃ ἐγὼ ἦλθον ἵνα ζωὴν ἔχωσιν καὶ περισσὸν ἔχωσιν

Sunday, October 11, 2009

psalm 146.

Praise the LORD!
Praise the LORD, O my soul!
I will praise the LORD while I live;
I will sing praises to my God while I have my being.

Do not trust in princes,
In mortal man, in whom there is no salvation.

His spirit departs, he returns to the earth;
In that very day his thoughts perish.

How blessed is he whose help is the God of Jacob,
Whose hope is in the LORD his God,

Who made heaven and earth,
The sea and all that is in them;
Who keeps faith forever;

Who executes justice for the oppressed;
Who gives food to the hungry.
The LORD sets the prisoners free.

The LORD opens the eyes of the blind;
The LORD raises up those who are bowed down;
The LORD loves the righteous;

The LORD protects the strangers;
He supports the fatherless and the widow,
But He thwarts the way of the wicked.

The LORD will reign forever,
Your God, O Zion, to all generations.
Praise the LORD!

Saturday, October 10, 2009

this week.

This week started off on Sunday afternoon with a phone call from one of the boys telling me that another boy had been stabbed. I spent Monday morning searching for him at the hospital. When I couldn't locate him through the information desk or via the emergency room records or with the police connected to the emergency room, I did what seemed like the obvious thing to do based on the past few months: I went to the morgue. Thankfully, he hadn't been through there and is actually in recovery under a different name. So that was good news...

I wish I lived in a world that didn't include morgue visits. I could probably stomach the morgue in the US, but the one here is just unbearable. It's not temperature-controlled, and the bodies aren't kept refrigerated. When I was in there helping sort out the situation with the baby girl in June, I remember looking around and seeing bodies laying around on gurneys and tables, wrapped in the bedding that their families had brought them in. One guy was laying there uncovered and bloody, and it was obvious that he had been stabbed in the stomach. It's a very unpleasant place, and I'll never be able to forget the smell.

With all that in mind, I was so thankful that one of my girlfriends offered to go running around with me that afternoon so I wouldn't have to go alone.

That same day, I rescued a little Boxer puppy that showed up right outside my door...literally. She was nothing but bones, just 3 or 4 months old, and really, really sick. We took her to my vet's office where they did some tests and found out that she had Distemper (terribly contagious and deadly) and that it was already in her brain and nervous system. It was really sad and obviously really painful, so we ended up just being merciful and putting her to sleep.

The rest of the week was less eventful, thankfully. I did the regular visits to the bridge and to the night shelter, chatted with the boys washing windows on the street a few times, and hung out with the girls. I also hunted around the market for a daycare for the woman I wrote about last week. That was a huge, useless waste of time, although, thanks to Kimber, I have a good lead to follow up with next week.

One of the girls, who's boyfriend has been working at Nate's shop, is pregnant and about to burst. On Thursday, we went into a hospital to get her all set up for the baby's birth but were told we need to go to the local health center closer to where she's going to be living. The shop is in the process of moving to a new location up the hill a ways, and this couple is looking for a room in the same area. Hopefully, we'll get the hospital and the room all sorted out on Monday.

Since the hospital trip on Thursday was a bust, the girl and her little boy spent most of the day at my house...


Snacks


Sharing the snacks with Lily


Playing with the magnets on my new mini-fridge (cheaper than a regular-sized used fridge but less colorful)


Romping around in the grass

Saturday, October 3, 2009

from tacalomas.

I have some friends who live up and out of the city a bit, above Cocha's electricity and water. It's a simple life that I'd be happy to live...to leave behind all the chaos of the city. And really, who needs running water?




But there's a fine line between simplicity and poverty, and for the folks up there, the simple life isn't an option. It's the only thing they can afford.

They're good people, and I love spending time with them. I try to stop in every week or so, and I've built good friendships with 4 of the families. They give me potatoes from their farms, and I give them figs from my tree. I normally sit and chat with the ladies while they cook, or I play with kids with the kids. Occasionally, I hike up the hill with Dona Maria to graze her sheep.

One of the families that I'm friends with is a single mom with two boys and a newborn baby. She's young and struggling to make a living selling carrot juice for 1 Boliviano a glass in the market for about 10 hours a day.

Her oldest boy has become the man of the house and takes care of his younger brother. He gets up early and goes to a school up the hill on the other side of the valley. It's a daily journey that requires taking 2 buses and hiking a bit. After school, he either makes his way home, or he goes into the market to hangout with his mom. The 3 year old boy will go with his mom into the market somedays, but other days, he'll stay at home by himself until his older brother makes it home from school.

And now there's a one month old baby in the picture. And to make matters even more complicated, the mom doesn't really speak Spanish, just Quechua. So her kids are our little translators.

This coming week, we're going to enroll the 3 year old in a daycare near where his mom works. It'll only be for part of the day, but it's better than him sitting around in the market or being left home alone for 5 or 6 hours. I'm trying to help with one situation at a time.

Friday, October 2, 2009

a random photo post.


Lily's normal face (all bundled up for winter in July)...

Lily's swollen face after being stung by a scorpion...

Swelling going down...

A few of the guys from the bridge playing futbol on Sunday...

Lunch after church...

Afternoon snack at a food court on Wednesday...

Toys!

My thorn bush is growing fuzzy, yellow pom-poms...

Saturday, September 26, 2009

busted.

My laptop is busted. Well, it's fixable, but because I live in Bolivia instead of the US the fixing process is taking weeks instead of hours. I'm really trying to not be grumpy about it. I'm not a big fan of internet cafes, and so I've not been getting online too often. I've checked my email 3 times from internet cafes. Once, the guy next to me was looking at porn, and the other two times I was surrounded by loud teenagers playing video games and cursing. I'm currently sitting next to a guy who is smoking and stinking up the whole room.

So a week ago, my pup Lily got stung by a scorpion and almost died. It's been crazy, but she should be fine.

I also found out that my landlord needs her fridge back, so I have to go buy one. Not something I've wanted to do, but one has to eat, and food has to be refridgerated. I'm on my way into the market to check out my options. I'm hoping for something old, cheap, and colorful.

I have lots of ministry updates, but they'll have to wait until I have more time, patience, and grace for internet cafe-goers.

Saturday, September 12, 2009

close to the bottom.

The only way to live in any true security is to live so close to the bottom that when you fall you do not have far to drop, you do not have much to lose.

- Dorothy Day

Friday, September 4, 2009

dr. feelgood

Trying to blog more frequently about regular, daily activities...

I took a 14 year old boy to the doctor yesterday because he had had blood coming out of his ear for 3 days and a lot of pain. He went by himself down to the clinic in the market that treats kids from the streets for free, and they gave him a shot and some medication that really didn't help him at all. So when I ran into him yesterday and saw that he wasn't any better, I took him up to a doctor I know not too far from the bridge.

This doctor is a great find... I know I could take the kids down to the free clinic, but it takes half a day to get a check-up and the care is lousy. So, thanks to faithful financial supporters, I've been taking the kids to a doctor who has an office just about 4 blocks from the bridge. He's stitched up the kids, treated them (and me) for scabies, pulled splinters out of their eyes, cut open puss-filled and infected lips (twice), and cared for any number of colds and infections. He's good because he's not the least bit put-off by the kids from the street, and he treats them with respect. He chats with them about basic hygiene and the dangers of street life, and we've never had to wait more than 5 minutes! (That's priceless in Bolivia!)

I try to approach everything I do with the kids in a way that will give them back their dignity and boost their self-esteem. And so not taking them places where they're going to be lumped into a group and labeled "street kid" seems worthwhile, even if it means forking out a little cash.

The boy I brought yesterday ended up needing drops and more medication for his ear, but hopefully he'll be fine in a few days. The whole thing cost about $10. Not too shabby.

As for the title of this post, well, I've been listening to lots of 80s rock at the gym...

Thursday, September 3, 2009

christmas...?

I'm planning a trip home for Christmas this year. By then, it will have been a year and a half since I was last home, and I'm really excited about. Christmas in Bolivia is actually kind of fun and different... It's hot and rainy. The palm trees are wrapped up in singing lights that make the plazas sound like they've been invaded by locusts. And there are fireworks, of course.

Last Christmas, I had a lovely Christmas plant in lieu of a Christmas tree.



Had some friends over... Big pancake breakfast, huge Mexican food lunch, Bing Crosby, and Christmas movies.

And it rained. A lot. And my roof leaked. A lot. So we had a special Christmas waterfall on the staircase.

Good times.

But this year, I'm going to be in Ohio with the family and Josh and Oki. And I'm already dreaming of a white Christmas.... in September.

Monday, August 24, 2009

sunny sunday morning.

Sitting on the median of America Ave. bright and early on a Sunday morning




Monday, August 10, 2009

we could use some creative ideas.

I took the couple who lost their baby back in June out to lunch today to catch up. They live at a park on the other side of town, so I don't see them everyday like I see the kids from the bridge. This time, almost 3 weeks had passed between visits, and when we met up at the park, I was greeted with big, bear hugs from both him and her. :)




It's hard to know how to help these two. She's from a very poor, very dysfunctional family, and he grew up on the streets with his family. They've been together for 8 years, and have had 4 babies... One's been adopted out of a home, and the other 3 are buried in the cemetery.

She told me today that she thinks she's pregnant again, but she got a pregnancy test at a clinic which came back negative. We had a chat about the dangers of having another baby on the streets, and I offered to take her to get the shot, but she won't do it. She's afraid of needles and (ironically) doesn't want to be all drugged up on the pills. So I tried to talk to them about condoms, but they just giggled... It's an incredibly frustrating situation, and even more so because there just aren't very many options for them. They're adults, over 20 years old, and they've been in and out of homes too many times... The home for couples won't take them back, and they won't split up. In their eyes, they're married.

Tuesday, August 4, 2009

new guy.

After several unsuccessful attempts with 4 boys from the bridge, we have a new kid working at the shop, and it seems like it's gonna work out this time. He has a girlfriend with a son, and they have a baby on the way. They've been on and off the streets for years, but have been doing really well for a long time (with the exception of January, when they were living at the bridge).

With the help of Javier's SUV, we got them set up in a nice, little room not too far from the shop. The boy started work first thing Monday morning, and he actually got to the shop before Nate!

I've been thinking and praying about bringing him to work there for a while, and when it finally came down to it, everything just fell into place. Up until Friday, he had been working at a garden center where he was making very little money and getting treated pretty badly. And so I'm really excited to have him working with Nate and Javier, where he won't just make some money and learn a trade in a good environment... He'll also hear about the Lord on a daily basis and learn from Javier and Nate's examples how to live as a godly man.

Here are some photos:


Friday - packing up the truck



The little fella


At the new house. Their room is one of the two upstairs.


Prayer & devotions at the shop


Hard at work on Monday.

Monday, August 3, 2009

r.i.p. manchas

Another sad day. Manchas got hit by a car yesterday afternoon and died. The kids and I dug a hole and buried him by the bridge. He was somewhere between 3 and 6 years old and had lived with the kids at the bridge all his life.


Manchas
died 8/2/09

R.I.P




Sunday, August 2, 2009

blessing the bomb.

I just came across this speech in a book I'm currently reading (Jesus for President) and thought it was worth posting on here.

...

Father George Zabelka, a Catholic chaplain with the U.S. Air Force, served as a priest for the airmen who dropped the atomic bombs on Hiroshima and Nagasaki in August 1945, and gave them his blessing. Over the next twenty years, he gradually came to believe that he had been terribly wrong, that he had denied the very foundations of his faith by lending moral and religious support to the bombing. Zabelka, who died in 1992, gave this speech on the 40th anniversary of the bombings.

The destruction of civilians in war was always forbidden by the Church, and if a soldier came to me and asked if he could put a bullet through a child's head, I would have told him, absolutely not. That would be mortally sinful. But in 1945 Tinian Island was the largest airfield in the world. Three planes a minute could take off from it around the clock. Many of these planes went to Japan with the express purpose of killing not one child or one civilian but of slaughtering hundreds and thousands and tens of thousands of children and civilians – and I said nothing.

As a Catholic chaplain I watched as the Boxcar, piloted by a good Irish Catholic pilot, dropped the bomb on Urakami Cathedral in Nagasaki, the center of Catholicism in Japan.

I never preached a single sermon against killing civilians to the men who were doing it. I was brainwashed! It never entered my mind to protest publicly the consequences of these massive air raids. I was told it was necessary – told openly by the military and told implicitly by my Church's leadership. (To the best of my knowledge no American cardinals or bishops were opposing these mass air raids. Silence in such matters is a stamp of approval.)

I worked with Martin Luther King, Jr., during the Civil Rights struggle in Flint, Michigan. His example and his words of nonviolent action, choosing love instead of hate, truth instead of lies, and nonviolence instead of violence stirred me deeply. This brought me face to face with pacifism – active nonviolent resistance to evil. I recall his words after he was jailed in Montgomery, and this blew my mind. He said, "Blood may flow in the streets of Montgomery before we gain our freedom, but it must be our blood that flows, and not that of the white man. We must not harm a single hair on the head of our white brothers."

I struggled. I argued. But yes, there it was in the Sermon on the Mount, very clear: "Love your enemies. Return good for evil." I went through a crisis of faith. Either accept what Christ said, as unpassable and silly as it may seem, or deny him completely.

For the last 1700 years the Church has not only been making war respectable: it has been inducing people to believe it is an honorable profession, an honorable Christian profession. This is not true. We have been brainwashed. This is a lie.

War is now, always has been, and always will be bad, bad news. I was there. I saw real war. Those who have seen real war will bear me out. I assure you, it is not of Christ. It is not Christ's way. There is no way to conduct real war in conformity with the teachings of Jesus. There is no way to train people for real war in conformity with the teachings of Jesus.

The morality of the balance of terrorism is a morality that Christ never taught. The ethics of mass butchery cannot be found in the teachings of Jesus. In Just War ethics, Jesus Christ, who is supposed to be all in the Christian life, is irrelevant. He might as well never have existed. In Just War ethics, no appeal is made to him or his teaching, because no appeal can be made to him or his teaching, for neither he nor his teaching gives standards for Christians to follow in order to determine what level of slaughter is acceptable.

So the world is watching today. Ethical hairsplitting over the morality of various types of instruments and structures of mass slaughter is not what the world needs from the Church, although it is what the world has come to expect from the followers of Christ. What the world needs is a grouping of Christians that will stand up and pay up with Jesus Christ. What the world needs is Christians who, in language that the simplest soul could understand, will proclaim: the follower of Christ cannot participate in mass slaughter. He or she must love as Christ loved, live as Christ lived, and, if necessary, die as Christ died, loving ones enemies.

For the 300 years immediately following Jesus' resurrection, the Church universally saw Christ and his teaching as nonviolent. Remember that the Church taught this ethic in the face of at least three serious attempts by the state to liquidate her. It was subject to horrendous and ongoing torture and death. If ever there was an occasion for justified retaliation and defensive slaughter, whether in form of a just war or a just revolution, this was it. The economic and political elite of the Roman state and their military had turned the citizens of the state against Christians and were embarked on a murderous public policy of exterminating the Christian community.

Yet the Church, in the face of the heinous crimes committed against her members, insisted without reservation that when Christ disarmed Peter he disarmed all Christians.

Christians continued to believe that Christ was, to use the words of an ancient liturgy, their fortress, their refuge, and their strength, and that if Christ was all they needed for security and defense, then Christ was all they should have. Indeed, this was a new security ethic. Christians understood that if they would only follow Christ and his teaching, they couldn't fail. When opportunities were given for Christians to appease the state by joining the fighting Roman army, these opportunities were rejected, because the early Church saw a complete and an obvious incompatibility between loving as Christ loved and killing. It was Christ, not Mars, who gave security and peace.

Today the world is on the brink of ruin because the Church refuses to be the Church, because we Christians have been deceiving ourselves and the non-Christian world about the truth of Christ. There is no way to follow Christ, to love as Christ loved, and simultaneously to kill other people. It is a lie to say that the spirit that moves the trigger of a flamethrower is the Holy Spirit. It is a lie to say that learning to kill is learning to be Christ-like. It is a lie to say that learning to drive a bayonet into the heart of another is motivated from having put on the mind of Christ. Militarized Christianity is a lie. It is radically out of conformity with the teaching, life, and spirit of Jesus.

Now, brothers and sisters, on the anniversary of this terrible atrocity carried out by Christians, I must be the first to say that I made a terrible mistake. I was had by the father of lies. I participated in the big ecumenical lie of the Catholic, Protestant, and Orthodox churches. I wore the uniform. I was part of the system. When I said Mass over there I put on those beautiful vestments over my uniform. (When Father Dave Becker left the Trident submarine base in 1982 and resigned as Catholic chaplain there, he said, "Every time I went to Mass in my uniform and put the vestments on over my uniform, I couldn't help but think of the words of Christ applying to me: Beware of wolves in sheep's clothing.")

As an Air Force chaplain I painted a machine gun in the loving hands of the nonviolent Jesus, and then handed this perverse picture to the world as truth. I sang "Praise the Lord" and passed the ammunition. As Catholic chaplain for the 509th Composite Group, I was the final channel that communicated this fraudulent image of Christ to the crews of the Enola Gay and the Boxcar.

All I can say today is that I was wrong. Christ would not be the instrument to unleash such horror on his people. Therefore no follower of Christ can legitimately unleash the horror of war on God's people. Excuses and self-justifying explanations are without merit. All I can say is: I was wrong! But, if this is all I can say, this I must do, feeble as it is. For to do otherwise would be to bypass the first and absolutely essential step in the process of repentance and reconciliation: admission of error, admission of guilt.

There is no way to conduct real war in conformity with the teachings of Jesus.

I was there, and I was wrong. Yes, war is Hell, and Christ did not come to justify the creation of Hell on earth by his disciples. The justification of war may be compatible with some religions and philosophies, but it is not compatible with the nonviolent teaching of Jesus. I was wrong. And to those of whatever nationality or religion who have been hurt because I fell under the influence of the father of lies, I say with my whole heart and soul I am sorry. I beg forgiveness.

I asked forgiveness from the Hibakushas (the Japanese survivors of the atomic bombings) in Japan last year, in a pilgrimage that I made with a group from Tokyo to Hiroshima. I fell on my face there at the peace shrine after offering flowers, and I prayed for forgiveness – for myself, for my country, for my Church. Both Nagasaki and Hiroshima. This year in Toronto, I again asked forgiveness from the Hibakushas present. I asked forgiveness, and they asked forgiveness for Pearl Harbor and some of the horrible deeds of the Japanese military, and there were some, and I knew of them. We embraced. We cried. Tears flowed. That is the first step of reconciliation – admission of guilt and forgiveness. Pray to God that others will find this way to peace.

All religions have taught brotherhood. All people want peace. It is only the governments and war departments that promote war and slaughter. So today again I call upon people to make their voices heard. We can no longer just leave this to our leaders, both political and religious. They will move when we make them move. They represent us. Let us tell them that they must think and act for the safety and security of all the people in our world, not just for the safety and security of one country. All countries are interdependent. We all need one another. It is no longer possible for individual countries to think only of themselves. We can all live together as brothers and sisters or we are doomed to die together as fools in a world holocaust.

Each one of us becomes responsible for the crime of war by cooperating in its preparation and in its execution. This includes the military. This includes the making of weapons. And it includes paying for the weapons. There's no question about that. We've got to realize we all become responsible. Silence, doing nothing, can be one of the greatest sins.

The bombing of Nagasaki means even more to me than the bombing of Hiroshima. By August 9, 1945, we knew what that bomb would do, but we still dropped it. We knew that agonies and sufferings would ensue, and we also knew – at least our leaders knew – that it was not necessary. The Japanese were already defeated. They were already suing for peace. But we insisted on unconditional surrender, and this is even against the Just War theory. Once the enemy is defeated, once the enemy is not able to hurt you, you must make peace.

Militarized Christianity is a lie. It is radically out of conformity with the teaching, life, and spirit of Jesus.

As a Catholic chaplain I watched as the Boxcar, piloted by a good Irish Catholic pilot, dropped the bomb on Urakami Cathedral in Nagasaki, the center of Catholicism in Japan. I knew that St. Francis Xavier, centuries before, had brought the Catholic faith to Japan. I knew that schools, churches, and religious orders were annihilated. And yet I said nothing.

Thank God that I'm able to stand here today and speak out against war, all war. The prophets of the Old Testament spoke out against all false gods of gold, silver, and metal. Today we are worshipping the gods of metal, the bomb. We are putting our trust in physical power, militarism, and nationalism. The bomb, not God, is our security and our strength. The prophets of the Old Testament said simply: Do not put your trust in chariots and weapons, but put your trust in God. Their message was simple, and so is mine.

We must all become prophets. I really mean that. We must all do something for peace. We must stop this insanity of worshipping the gods of metal. We must take a stand against evil and idolatry. This is our destiny at the most critical time of human history. But it's also the greatest opportunity ever offered to any group of people in the history of our world – to save our world from complete annihilation.


- Father Zabelka, August 1985

Wednesday, July 29, 2009

acquire no more here than what is absolutely necessary.

You who are God's servants are living in a foreign country, for your own city-state is far away from this city-state. Knowing which is yours, why do you acquire fields, costly furnishings, buildings, and frail dwellings here? Anyone who acquires things for himself in this city cannot expect to find the way home to his own City. Do you not realize that all these things here do not belong to you, that they are under a power alien to your nature? The ruler will say you do not obey my laws, either observe my laws or get out of my country. Take care lest it prove fatal to you to repudiate your own laws. Acquire no more here than what is absolutely necessary. Instead, of fields, buy for yourself people in distress in accordance with your means.

- Hermas, 140 AD

Saturday, July 25, 2009

hope.

This lovely, little lady is coming to my house for a few hours every other morning for breakfast and devotions.




Of everything I've done with the kids in past year, this is my favorite. I've known this girl since February, and the things I've loved about her from the beginning are her caring spirit and her sincere desire to know God more. She's 2 and a half months pregnant, so we're talking a lot about the future. And little by little, she's starting to dream again.

I'm not pushing her into a home because, at best, she'll finish high school and learn baking or craft-making. It's a future, but not the future she wants. The other day, she smiled and told me she'd like to go to university to study computer technology. What a beautiful dream for a girl who was born on the streets and has lived a life full of poverty and abuse. As of right now, she's only finished 6th grade and is sleeping at the night shelter, but she has hope for the future!

This morning, in the context of a totally different conversation about India, she said to me how she would love to be the one to bring the good news of Jesus to people who had never heard about Him before... Beautiful! God has such incredible plans for her life, and I'm not going to let her get lost in some big program or fancy-shmancy center... My prayer is to find some people in the Body of Christ who are willing to look beyond the class divides and love this girl enough to reach out a hand and help pull her out of the dark world of the streets.