Witness for Peace

The Rev. Robert Drinan died yesterday, January 28, and when I read his obituary I was transported immediately back to the days when he was a Roman Catholic priest in Congress who was outspoken in his opposition to the war in Viet Nam. It is not hard to see in his life and witness something missing in our present Congress. Another priest and congressman was Senator John Danforth, an Episcopalian, who wrote a book last year, Faith and Politics, that grew out of his conviction that the church and particularly its leaders need to speak out on the issues confronting us. Although he does not have much (I think nothing) to say about the war in Iraq, he makes an eloquent case for Christians to engage the culture as reconcilers not dividers. It's a modest book, but it is also rare in being written by an Episcopalian. I don't hear Episcopalians in the public arena as often I do those from other traditions, such as Jim Wallis or Bob Edgar or, until his death last year, William Sloan Coffin. (Except of course for the Christian political right.)

When I read about Drinan's death, I thought I should write a lamentation about the silence of the Episcopal leadership on the issue of the war. I recalled William Stringfellow, an Episcopal layperson, writing that "the church of Christ is called as the advocate of every victim of the rulers of the age," and thought about our silence as tens of thousands of Iraqis die for our carelessness. I found myself recalling fondly the fire of Daniel Berrigan, Thich Nhat Hanh, Thomas Merton, and other religious leaders who were willing to take public stands against the war in Viet Nam. Yes, there was a statement from Christian leaders in November 2002 deploring the impending pre-emptive strike against Iraq; one of the leading speakers on behalf of that position, Bob Edgar, of the National Council of Churches, pointed out that the anti-war sentiment had coalesced quickly against Iraq compared to the slower growth of opposition to the war in Viet Nam. He saw that as hopeful, and I suppose it was. (There were no Episcopal signers of that statement, and as an Episcoplian that disturbed me.) There were protests against the war by Episcopalians and other Christians; in Boston, I helped to organize an interfaith witness for peace that drew 3000 people and took away some of the front page of the Boston Globe from Bush's State of the Union address just before the war began. But once the invasion was launched, it seems to me that there were fewer statements and even less action. The General Convention of the Episcopal Church last year approved a resolution calling for the withdrawal of American troops from Iraq, but again once the resolution was approved what happened then?

I was encouraged, however, as I sat down to write this piece, to learn that there is a Christian Witness for Peace planned for March 16 (http://www.sojo.net/images/action/cpw_flyer_8x11_color.pdf) in Lafayette Park across from the White House. The event begins with a worship service at the National Cathedral, which doesn't necessarily mean that the Episcopal Church officially supports the event. Most Episcopalians, in fact, are reacting, at least publicly, to the war with their normal butt-scratching indifference to anything that isn't about sex or the purity of the liturgy or the size of the church's pension accounts. Certainly, Episcopal leadership has been mostly silent on the war. The Episcopal Peace Fellowship is a sponsor of the witness scheduled for March 16, but EPF has been continuously active if somewhat invisible for years.

A couple of years ago, my wife and I went to a silent peace vigil at Rockefeller Center during rush hour. It was not especially well attended, but we were glad to be able to say by our presence that we did not approve. I wore my clerical collar, something I rarely do. We stood with the other silent witnesses for about an hour and then people began to disperse. As we left, I saw a priest I know from the Episcopal Church. We smiled wanly at each other. "Just the two of us, huh?" I said. "Well, at least we're here."

As the nation drifts through the war in Iraq toward confrontation with Iran and what will certainly be a debacle for us and the world, I wonder if Christians and other religious leaders really will sit by and watch it happen. Will we be as silent as the good protestant Germans were in the 1930s as the Jews were rounded up? Will we simply allow the greed and arrogance that drives this aggression and our culture to continue in order to protect what we call our life style? After the wars are over and the remnants are left wandering around in the ruins cursing us, we will not be able to say we didn't know. The fires next time are coming for everyone.

We need now the kind of statement of conscience, the Confessing Church, that was created by Bonhoeffer and others in opposition to the Nazi regime (I am not saying that the Bush administration is equivalent to the Nazis, but I am saying that the crisis of conscience and the challenge to faith is equally dire). There have been some efforts in this direction; perhaps this event in Washington will lead to the formation of such a voice of witness. I hope that Episcopal leaders will be there as part of the leadership. But of course it doesn't matter if the Episcopal Church remains on the sidelines. In the long run, no particular denomination matters. What matters is that the faithful from all parts of the Body of Christ will be there and will be witnesses to the peace that we profess.

Flutes in Brooklyn

People like me who live in Manhattan think of Brooklyn (or almost anywhere else in the world) as a lesser place, requiring a visa. Going there seems like an adventure, requiring careful advance planning. I had to go there this morning for a shakuhachi (traditional Japanese bamboo flute) lesson with a visiting master from Kyoto, Japan, Yoshio Kurahashi. A friend asked where in Brooklyn I was going. I said, "Brooklyn, Brooklyn." She rolled her eyes. Ok, I went to Brooklyn Heights, a nice part of the city. I knew that.

This morning's temperature as I set out was 18 degrees without the wind-chill, which took the thermometer below zero. My wife, Connie, who is from Sioux Falls, told me that New Yorkers (like me) don't understand midwestern cold and can die without proper protection. I put on leg warmers (which I usually wear when I cycle in cold weather; standing in the bedroom wearing only the black warmers and underwear made me look like an exotic dancer). I put on two layers on top--silk against the skin and a sweater--then a parka, wool cap, gloves, heavy socks and boots, scarf. I went out feeling like a child heading into the snow. Pray that I don't fall over.

The apartment where we were having our lesson is small, cozy, appealing with actual tatami mats covering half of the living room floor. Kurahashi was there, he had flown in from Osaka last night, looking just as he did last summer when I was in Kyoto and played the flute with him at his home. The weather then was hot and rainy. There were six of us in Brooklyn today to study with him a piece called Tamagawa, which honors six rivers of that name in Japan. It is a classical piece usually played with a koto accompaniment. Afterwards, I had a private lesson with Kurahashi reviewing a piece I already know, Shin Takasago. One of my problems as a shakuhachi player (never having studied music before) is timing, rhythem, counting. (These are sometimes problems in my life as well. Hmmm.) Playing this piece with Kurahashi was intended to help me with my sense of musical rhythm. Usually I'm nervous when I play with him; today I wasn't. It was a good lesson.

Today is a Friday and until two weeks ago I would have been at work in the morning. At some point during the lesson today, playing a nineteenth-century Japanese composition on an ancient instrument in Brooklyn, I realized that at the same moment the company I ran until two weeks ago was having a board meeting. Board meetings were always stressful, as they are supposed to be. I was fired two weeks ago and therefore didn't have to attend today's board meeting. Undoubtedly, one of the topics of conversation was me and my departure, perhaps even how I had caused the company grief. Who knows. I didn't have to worry about it. I was wearing blue jeans and playing a bamboo flute. I was not dressed in a blue pin-striped suit and yellow tie decorated with elephants. I was not defending any decision I had made. I was playing music and not too badly either.

When I walked back into the street, the freezing wind was blowing off of the river. I pulled my wool cap over my ears and walked along in the sun, whose cold rays made me happy. Imagine playing music on such a winter's day and walking freely through Brooklyn Heights. Exactly there, knowing exactly where.

First Time

The first post to my new blog. It feels like it ought to mean something, but it doesn't mean much. I managed to get the thing up and running. I am in New York City and from the window in front of my desk I look down into Times Square at 47th Street. Huge images of human beings marketing television shows or movies or Jewish Dating Services loom a block away, just beyond the W Hotel, which houses one of our favorite restaurants, Blue Fin. Morgan Stanley's office building is just to the left of Times Square. We used to be able to see TKTS down there, but it's moved. On Thanksgiving we can see the Macy's Parade as it passes. It's especially fun when the big floats pass between the buildings like UFOs. On New Year's Eve the roar of the city was strangely comforting, like the background hum of the universe magnified. At midnight the sky outside filled with confetti drifting up the way snow does (we're on the seventeenth floor). Of course, we watched the ball drop on television. No way we were going out there in the midst of all those people. Two years ago we went down to the harbor and stayed at a hotel. From our room we could watch fireworks on the harbor. There was almost no one watching. It was as if no one knew you could go down to the harbor and see fireworks on New Year's Eve and be practically alone. This year the street cleaners came out before all of the people were gone, around 12:30, and began sweeping as the rain started to fall. By morning everything was gone, litter, people, the old year. It's the way we prefer the city: quiet and empty on holiday mornings when the midwesterners are still eating breakfast and the New Yorkers are sleeping.