The Moment

I have previously written about this moment that took place in March of 1970; however, the moment has come back to me every Holy Week since.

From December, 1969, to March, 1970,as a fairly new army officer, I was assigned to the Military District of Washington (D.C.) while attending the Defense Language Institute at Anacostia Naval Station. In early March I received orders to go to Europe. According to the plan, I understood that this assignment was a two-year hiatus prior to being assigned to Vietnam. My feelings were mixed: my gung ho-ism low; my spirituality nonexistent.

I spent the day before I left Washington in the National Gallery of Art. As I wandered from room to room, my attention wasn’t really on the beauty surrounding me. As it has been today, my mind was centered on war in general and specifically on the meaninglessness of the Vietnam War. For weeks the evening news had centered on the courts martial of Lieutenant William Calley and the My Lai Massacre. The incident—the murders—was not something a young army officer like me wanted to consider as he looked down the road to his own involvement in that war.

As I wandered through the rooms of the National Gallery, I questioned my faith in God and my willingness to lead men into combat and, perhaps, to take human lives. I became more and more disheartened.I was about to leave the museum when I noticed a stairway to a lower level where I had never been. Like descending into the bowels of Hell, I started down the steps. On the lower level, I again wandered around, not really noticing the paintings or sculpture…until I turned and corner. There before me was a huge (5 ft 5 5/8 in x 8 ft 9 1/8 in) oil painting by Salvador Dali that almost covered the entire wall. I stared. I stood and gazed at this astounding painting until the guard told me the gallery was closing.

The Sacrament of the Last SupperSalvadore Dali

For me, in the lower level of the National Gallery, it was one of those mountain top experiences that come so rarely into our lives. Not one that immediately changed my life, but one that pointed me in a new direction, a new path. In those moments I truly began the journey of a seeker of shalom.

May you have a blessed and spiritual Maundy Thursday.

Shalom (in blue) and Salaam (in green) meaning Peace

 in Hebrew and Arabic respectively.

If you find Nick's Bytes interesting, enlightening, or simply fun to read, please consider click the button below and donating a smidgen to income of Sometimes Saintly Nick and his Kitty Kids. We really need the help. Thank you.

 

He Is Risen!

Rejoice!

Christ is risen!
Live in Peace to Love and Serve God
Christ is with you always,
even to the end of the age!

A story: the moment I began my journey as a seeker of shalom.

I have already written about this event that took place in March of 1970, but it all came back to me a few days ago and, besides, I think it makes a good story for Maundy Thursday.

From December, 1969, to March, 1970,as a fairly new army officer, I was assigned to the Military District of Washington (D.C.) while attending the Defense Language Institute at Anacostia Naval Station. In early March I received orders to go to Europe. According to the plan, I understood that this assignment was a two-year hiatus prior to being assigned to Vietnam. My feelings were mixed: my gung ho-ism low; my spirituality nonexistent.

I spent the day before I left Washington in the National Gallery of Art. As I wandered from room to room, my attention wasn’t really on the beauty surrounding me. As it has been today, my mind was centered on war in general and specifically on the meaninglessness of the Vietnam War. For weeks the evening news had centered on the courts martial of Lieutenant William Calley and the My Lai Massacre. The incident—the murders—was not something a young army officer like me wanted to consider as he looked down the road to his own involvement in that war.

As I wandered through the rooms of the National Gallery, I questioned my faith in God and my willingness to lead men into combat and, perhaps, to take human lives. I became more and more disheartened.I was about to leave the museum when I noticed a stairway to a lower level where I had never been. Like descending into the bowels of Hell, I started down the steps. On the lower level, I again wandered around, not really noticing the paintings or sculpture…until I turned and corner. There before me was a huge (5 ft 5 5/8 in x 8 ft 9 1/8 in) oil painting by Salvador Dali that almost covered the entire wall. I stared. I stood and gazed at this astounding painting until the guard told me the gallery was closing.

The Sacrament of the Last SupperSalvadore Dali

For me, in the lower level of the National Gallery, it was one of those mountain top experiences that come so rarely into our lives. Not one that immediately changed my life, but one that pointed me in a new direction, a new path. In those moments I truly began the journey of a seeker of shalom.

May you have a blessed and spiritual Maundy Thursday.

Shalom (in blue) and Salaam (in green) meaning Peace

 in Hebrew and Arabic respectively.

If you find Nick's Bytes interesting, enlightening, or simply fun to read, please considering donating to the small income of Sometimes Saintly Nick and his Kitty Kids.

 

Sharing v. Greed

This morning I awakened to view this film on Facebook:

I love the work of Shel Silverstein. I dore this little film and the book from which it was made, The Giving Tree.

I have thought about the message of this book (altruistic giving) for many years. I think I have tried to live an altruistic life. Sharing what I have has always been important to me. At risk of making an unfair judgment, I believe that those who do not share are the greatest danger we face today.

The opposite of giving/sharing is greed.

Greed is a bottomless pit which exhausts the person in an endless effort to satisfy the need without ever reaching satisfaction. ~  Erich Fromm 

In our daily life, we encounter people who are angry, deceitful, intent only on satisfying their own needs. There is so much anger, distrust, greed, and pettiness that we are losing our capacity to work well together. ~ Margaret J. Wheatley 

It is so simple and so obvious to me that the major quandary—the driving problem—facing our world today is greed. The problem is not new: greed has been with us ever since humans came together to form cities. And it has been a major force, not in building societies, but in destroying them. It was a primary cause of the fall of the Roman Republic and, then, just less than a thousand years afterward, the fall of the Roman Empire.

As I comprehend it, greed and the unwillingness to share can—and are—destroying us. Plato, in The Republic, recognized this:

"Do we then still doubt," I said, "that the stingy, money-making man, in virtue of his likeness, corresponds to the oligarchic city?"

"Not at all," he said.

"Then, democracy, must, as it seems, be considered next—in what way it comes into being and, once come into being, what it is like— so that when we know the character of such a man in his turn, we can bring him forward for judgment." ~ Plato, The Republic

The salvation of our nation—democracy and our way of life—is dependent upon our willingness to share our resources with one another. That this sharing is exactly what the contemporary Republican Party opposes is what is destroying our nation and the world. But that’s another story.

In my next related post, I shall reference the Hebrew Scriptures and  the Year of Jubilee.   

We look to the day when sharing by all will mean scarcity for none.

For further reading, I recommend:

REDUX: The Cat Tied to the Altar

I published this post on 29 June 2007:

 

This tale came into my repertoire of sermon stories more than twenty years ago, while I was still a student at Eden Theological Seminary in St. Louis. It is from a book (sorry—I can’t remember which one) by a Jesuit priest named Father Anthony de Mello, who was, until his untimely death in 1987, the director of the Sadhana Institute of Pastoral Counseling near Poona, India. I met Father de Mello at a conference in St. Louis a year or two before he died.

I have used the story of The Cat Tied to the Altar both in sermons I have preached and in classes I have taught. Thus, I tell it in my words, which as not necessarily the words of Father de Mello. Of course, that is the way of the oral tradition from which we get most of our good tales.

Many centuries ago there lived a holy man who became famous for his wisdom and mystical teachings. Students and spiritual seekers gathered around him, forming a community of disciples. Eventually they built a monasterial center where the community lived, studied, and worshiped.

Part of the center was a sanctuary where the holy man led worship each day. His students and disciples would gather there and their master would stand before the central altar from which he led the liturgical ritual.

Now the holy man owned a cat to whom he was greatly attached—possibly in the manner I am attached to Alex. Unfortunately, the holy man’s cat, being a cat, was self-serving and, much as with Alex, beyond anyone’s control. Thus, when the community gathered for worship, the cat would meander around the sanctuary, greatly disturbing the mediation and spiritual disciplines of the worshipers.

The holy man did not know what to do, especially since he had no influence on his cat’s behavior—just as I have no influence on Alex’s behavior. He did not want to put the cat out of the sanctuary because, being a cat, he would wail and meow and screech and scratch, thus being even more disturbing of the mediation and spiritual disciplines of the worshipers.

Finally, mediating with all of the wisdom and sagely expertise he possessed, the holy man came upon a solution. Before the next gathering of the community for worship, the holy man attached a rope to the cat’s collar and tied it securely around one of the legs of the altar. At first the cat cried and tested the rope. However, finally he accepted his karma and, with his master standing beside the altar, the cat simply curled up and napped throughout the service, which is as normal for cats when they are bored as it is for people. This worked well and the holy man continued to lead worship services with his beloved cat napping beside him, tied to the altar.

Several years later the holy man died a peaceful death. And the community elected a new holy man to lead and teach them. Then the cat died. And the community found a new cat to tie to the altar. And through the centuries prayers were developed to pray to the cat tied to the altar. And thousands of the pages of theological books were written explaining the significance and sacred meaning of having a cat tied to the altar.

And that’s the way it is with all religions. The original import and purpose of an act or belief become lost and redefined through the generations. And what was clear and simple becomes complex; the cat tied to the altar becomes what the act never was: sacred, ritual, and, eventually, dogma.

Let those who have ears to hear, hear.

Boxing Day Possibilities

I perceive wonderful possibilities in celebrating Boxing Day, a day we here in the United States basically do not observe.

No one really seems to know the origin of Boxing Day, a holiday celebrated on the Day after Christmas primarily in nations with a link to Great Britain:

The best clue to Boxing Day's origins can be found in the song, "Good King Wenceslas." According to the Christmas carol, Wenceslas, who was Duke of Bohemia in the early 10th century, was surveying his land on St. Stephen's Day — Dec. 26 — when he saw a poor man gathering wood in the middle of a snow storm. Moved, the king gathered up surplus food and wine and carried them through the blizzard to the peasant's door.

The alms-giving tradition has always been closely associated with the Christmas season — hence the canned food drives and Salvation Army Santas that pepper our neighborhoods during the winter — but King Wenceslas's good deed came the day after Christmas, when the English poor received most of their charity.


King Wencelas didn't start Boxing Day, but the Church of England might have. During Advent, Anglican parishes displayed a box into which churchgoers donated money. On the day after Christmas, the boxes were broken open and their contents distributed among the poor, thus giving rise to the term "Boxing Day." Maybe.


But wait: there's another possible story about the holiday's origin. The day after Christmas was also the traditional day on which the aristocracy distributed presents (boxes) to servants and employees — a sort of institutionalized Christmas bonus party. The servents returned home, opened their boxes, and had a second Christmas on what became known as Boxing Day.

Read more: http://www.time.com/time/world/article/0,8599,1868711,00.html#ixzz0apjX85Jr

I have celebrated Boxing Day in small ways over the past ten or so years. For me, as the legend of  Good King Wenceslas implies, it is a day to share my Christmas good fortune with the less fortunate than I.

I wonder at the possibilities of doing the same every day of the year: Boxing Day Everyday. What a wonderful way to serve humanity in accordance to God's will:

• When you help the poor you are lending to the Lord--and he pays wonderful interest on your loan!  ( Prov. 19:17)
•  But if someone who is supposed to be a Christian has money enough to live well, and sees a brother in need, and won't help him--how can God's love be within him ? (1 John 3:17)
• Little children, let us stop just saying we love people; let us really love them, and show it by our actions. (1 John 3:18 )
• Anyone who oppresses the poor is insulting God who made them. To help the poor is to honor God. (Prov. 14:31)
• The Christian who is pure and without fault, from God the Father's point of view, is the one who takes care of orphans and widows, and who remains true to the Lord--not soiled and dirtied by his contacts with the world. (James 1:27)
• Give fair judgment to the poor man, the afflicted, the fatherless, the destitute. Rescue the poor and helpless from the grasp of evil men. (Ps. 82:3-4)
• He who shuts his ears to the cries of the poor will be ignored in his own time of need. (Prov. 21:13
• If you give to the poor, your needs will be supplied! But a curse upon those who close their eyes to poverty. (Prov. 28:27)
• Happy is the generous man, the one who feeds the poor. (Prov. 22:9)
• Tell those who are rich not to be proud and not to trust in their money, which will soon be gone, but their pride and trust should be in the living God who always richly gives us all we need for our enjoyment. Tell them to use their money to do good. They should be rich in good works and should give happily to those in need, always being ready to share with others whatever God has given them. By doing this they will be storing up real treasure for themselves in heaven--it is the only safe investment for eternity! And they will be living a fruitful Christian life down here as well. (1 Tim. 6:17-19)
• It is God himself who has made us what we are and given us new lives from Christ Jesus; and long ages ago he planned that we should spend these lives in helping others. (Eph 2:10)
• The axe of his judgment is poised over you, ready to sever your roots and cut you down. Yes, every tree that does not produce good fruit will be chopped down and thrown into the fire." The crowd replied, "What do you want us to do?" "If you have two coats," he replied, "give one to the poor. If you have extra food, give it away to those who are hungry." (Luke 3:9-11)
• Dear brothers, what's the use of saying that you have faith and are Christians if you aren't proving it by helping others? Will that kind of faith save anyone? If you have a friend who is in need of food and clothing, and you say to him, "Well, good-bye and God bless you; stay warm and eat hearty," and then don't give him clothes or food, what good does that do? So you see, it isn't enough just to have faith. You must also do good to prove that you have it. Faith that doesn't show itself by good works is no faith at all--it is dead and useless. But someone may well argue, "You say the way to God is by faith alone, plus nothing; well, I say that good works are important too, for without good works you can't prove whether you have faith or not; but anyone can see that I have faith by the way I act." James there still some among you who hold that "only believing" is enough? Believing in one God? Well, remember that the demons believe this too--so strongly that they tremble in terror! Fool! When will you ever learn that "believing" is useless without doing what God wants you to? Faith that does not result in good deeds is not real faith. (James 2:14-20)
  
• "Then I, the King, shall say to those at my right, 'Come, blessed of my Father, into the Kingdom prepared for you from the founding of the world.  For I was hungry and you fed me; I was thirsty and you gave me water; I was a stranger and you invited me into your homes; naked and you clothed me; sick and in prison, and you visited me.'  "Then these righteous ones will reply, 'Sir, when did we ever see you hungry and feed you? Or thirsty and give you anything to drink? Or a stranger, and help you? Or naked, and clothe you? When did we ever see you sick or in prison, and visit you?' "And I, the King, will tell them, 'When you did it to these my brothers you were doing it to me!' Mat. Then I will turn to those on my left and say, 'Away with you, you cursed ones, into the eternal fire prepared for the devil and his demons. For I was hungry and you wouldn't feed me; thirsty, and you wouldn't give me anything to drink;  a stranger, and you refused me hospitality; naked, and you wouldn't clothe me; sick, and in prison, and you didn't visit me.' "Then they will reply, 'Lord, when did we ever see you hungry or thirsty or a stranger or naked or sick or in prison, and not help you?'  "And I will answer, 'When you refused to help the least of these my brothers, you were refusing help to me.'"And they shall go away into eternal punishment; but the righteous into everlasting life." (Matt 25:34-46)
• The second most important is similar: 'Love your neighbor as much as you love yourself.' (Mat. 22:39) 

Remembering Washington, D.C., March, 1970

National Gallery of Art
Washington, D.C.

I have already about this event that took place in March of 1970, but it all came back to me yesterday and, besides, I think it makes a good story for Maundy Thursday.

From December, 1969, to March, 1970,as a fairly new army officer, I was assigned to the Military District of Washington (D.C.) while attending the Defense Language Institute at Anacostia Naval Station. In early March I received orders to go to Europe. According to the plan, I understood that this assignment was a two-year hiatus prior to being assigned to Vietnam. My feelings were mixed: my gung ho-ism low; my spirituality nonexistent.

I spent the day before I left Washington in the National Gallery of Art. As I wandered from room to room, my attention wasn’t really on the beauty surrounding me. As it has been today, my mind was centered on war in general and specifically on the meaninglessness of the Vietnam War. For weeks the evening news had centered on the courts martial of Lieutenant William Calley and the My Lai Massacre. The incident—the murders—was not something a young army officer like me wanted to consider as he looked down the road to his own involvement in that war.

As I wandered through the rooms of the National Gallery, I questioned my faith in God and my willingness to lead men into combat and, perhaps, to take human lives. I became more and more disheartened.

I was about to leave the museum when I noticed a stairway to a lower level where I had never been. Like descending into the bowels of Hell, I started down the steps. On the lower level, I again wandered around, not really noticing the paintings or sculpture…until I turned and corner. There before me was a painting by Salvador Dali that almost covered the entire wall. I stared. I stood and gazed at this astounding painting until the guard told me the gallery was closing.

The Sacrament of the Last Supper
Salvadore Dali

For me, in the lower level of the National Gallery, it was one of those mountain top experiences that come so rarely into our lives. Not one that immediately changed my life, but one that pointed me in a new direction, a new path. In those moments I truly began the journey of a seeker of shalom.

May you have a blessed and spiritual Maundy Thursday.

Dilbert Teaches Me a New Word…

…but you’ll not see it in next Saturday’s comics.

Ohio Snapping Turtle

While reading the entertaining blog of Scott Adams, the creator of the comic strip Dilbert, I learned a new, uh, slang word. Adams used it in a one panel of the strip that will appear on October 6^th. Unfortunately, Adam’s editors nixed the use of the word, even though Adams had, as he wrote “thought (he) could get away with (it) because the naughty meaning isn’t universally known.”

I must admit that I was unaware of the word's impish meaning. And I suspect that perhaps one of the few people whom I know who would be aware of the definition is the witty, rascally mischievous, (sometimes, uh, often) anally fixated Bucky Four-Eyes.

Anyway, the word is turtlehead (or, turtle head) and you can find it’s, uh, off color definition HERE.

And, if you want to see the context in which Dilbert (Scott Adams) uses it that won’t appear in next Saturday’s comic, click HERE to go to The Dilbert Blog.

Free Burma Coalition

Sunday Song

Joe Wise’s wonderful song, Lord, Teach Us to Pray, is the one that I have probably placed in liturgies I've written and sung as a solo, accompanied by my guitar, more often in worship services during my years of ministry than any other. With my mobility rather restricted today, I took my guitar out of its case and began playing and singing. Suddenly I found myself so drawn to the message and music of Lord, Teach Us to Pray that I must have played and sung it a dozen times in a row.

Joe Wise lived in Louisville for about 55 years, most of the time not too far from where I now live. He is a folk singer of my generation, song writer, artist (painter) and one of the first Catholic writers and singers of “contemporary” Christian music. He has earned four degrees in Philosophy, Theology, Education, and Counseling and Guidance. About 12 or so years ago he relocated to Arizona, where he now lives. I urge you to visit Joe at his web site and learn more about this most remarkable man.

During those dozen or so times I played and sang Lord, Teach Us to Pray, I recorded myself using the handy built in microphone on my notebook computer. I actually didn’t sound to bad after all these years of not playing and singing in public. So I thought about sharing the recording of me in this blog post; however, I can’t figure out how to do so!

Still, I want to share with you the message of this moving song, so here are the lyrics:

Lord, Teach Us to Pray

Lyrics & Music

by

Joseph Wise

Refrain:

Lord, teach us to pray,

It's been a long and cold December kind of day,

with our hearts and hands all busy in our private little wars.

We stand and watch each other now from separate shores;

we lose the way.

I need to know today the way things should be in my head;

I need to know for once now the things that should be said.

I've got to learn to walk around as if I were not dead;

I've got to find a way to learn to live.

(Refrain)

I still get so distracted by the color of my skin;

I still get so upset now when I find that I don't win.

I meet so many strangers; I'm so slow to take them in

I've got to find a way to really live.

(Refrain)

I stand so safe and sterile as I watch someone fall flat;

I'm silent with a person who'd like to know just where I'm at.

With the aged and the lonely I can barely tip my hat;

I need to see the sin in "I don't care."

(Refrain)

I stand so smug and sure before the people I've out-guessed;

to let them all be who they are I still see as a test.

And when it all comes down to "must," I'm sure my way is best.

I've got to find what "room" means in my heart.

(Refrain)

I walk and fall, myself alone, can't tolerate a guide.

And when the camps split up I'm sure to put you on my side

and dare someone to challenge me and swear I will not hide.

I've got to find a better way to live.

(Refrain)

I mouth so many things, take so little time to weigh;

I've let it all slip by in the sweep of yesterday.

I can't believe you mean it all to grace me on my way;

I've got to find a way to really live.

Lord, teach us to pray.

We still believe that we can find a better way.

Teach us to pray.

We lose the way.

Teach us to pray.

You can listen to or down Joe singing at least a portion of Lord, Teach Us to Pray and some of his other songs here.

"For the Greatest Possible Good" Reprise

Sunrise [Photo by Steve Locke]

Eighteen months or so ago I posted a blog entitled For the Greatest Possible Good. In it I wrote about a prayer that I encountered many years ago that I have used to replace those short prayers that most people utter at times of stress or when they feel violated—you know, small prayers such as Damn you, you S.O.B. and the like.

Since I have recently been “flamed”—is that still a concept as it was years ago when I was involved in one of the news groups?—based upon a comment I made on a blog, I believe again mentioning this positive little prayer is worth the effort.

No, I wasn’t attacked by the author of the blog; in fact, the same flamer regularly attacks her. I probably wouldn’t even have known that I was assaulted had another reader not emailed me out of concern for my possible hurt feelings. It was that email that reminded me of the Light Prayer and so I responded:

Many years ago I encountered a little prayer that it was suggested one pray rather than reacting with road rage when some driver cuts one off or otherwise irritates one. It goes something like this: "May the Light of God shine upon __________ for the greatest possible good." So I pray it not only when I am driving but also when I encounter the _____s of this world, leaving the definition of "the greatest possible good" up to God. Then I wipe the memory from my mind until the next time the person attacks or flames me.

I suppose that’s a good lesson for me to remember on a Sunday morning. And since I was reminded of it, I thought I’d again blog about it as sort of a reprise of my previous blog post.

Blessings and much shalom to all of you on this fine Sunday morning!

Growing Up in Urban America

One of the things I like about Jonathan Kellerman’s novels is that inevitably they get me thinking. For example, the following is excerpted from his 2006 novel, Gone. The narrator is the central character, psychologist Alex Delaware.

Back when I treated children, I routinely took histories from parents and learned what family life could be like in L.A. People packing up and moving every year or two, the surrender to impulse, the death of domestic ritual.

Many of the parents I saw lived in sun-baked tracts with no other kids nearby and spent hours each day being bused to and from beige corrals that claimed to be schools. Long electronic nights were bleached by cathode and dump-thumped by the current angry music. Bedroom windows looked out to hazy miles of neighborhoods that couldn’t really be called that.

Lots of imaginary friends in L.A. That, I supposed, was inevitable. It’s a company town and the product is fantasy.

The city kills grass with red carpets, worships fame for its own sake, demolishes landmarks with glee because the high-stakes game is reinvention. Show up at your favorite restaurant and you’re likely to find a sign trumpeting failure and the windows covered with brown paper. Phone a friend and get a disconnected number.

No Forwarding. It could be the municipal motto.

You can be gone in L.A. for a long time before anyone considers it a problem.

~Jonathan Kellerman, Gone, 2006 pp. 5-6.

After I read those lines, I reread them. Then I started thinking.

Even though Kellerman’s protagonist, Alex Delaware, is focusing on life in Los Angeles, the situation isn’t much different in other U.S. cities. Lots of children live in neighborhoods where there are no other kids nearby. My street is one of those. Other than a couple of us old foggies, most of the residents here are relatively young and, if they have children, the children are also very young. That means that in the neighborhood there are perhaps a half-dozen kids who are school age—and that includes kindergarten. When school is not in session, I have no idea where these children go to find other kids.

Of course, maybe the kids don’t seek other kids. Perhaps they spend the days and nights watching TV or playing video games or surfing the net. Perhaps their friends are all somewhere in cyberspace, which is a down-side to our Internet technology for both children and many adults.

Go to favorite restaurant and find a sign trumpeting failure—or, as I did, just am empty lot? It happens all the time, even in mid-sized cities such as Louisville. But I have already written about that, at least about the disappearing fast food joints.

When Alex Delaware reflects that L.A. is a “company town,” I must admit that I never thought about that. Lots of cities are “company towns.” Sometimes the power is shared between two or more companies, but often the nature of the city and its residents is set by the largest employer in town.

And what about calling a friend and finding that they no longer exist? I have done that more than once and in more than one city. I’ll admit that moving around a lot has added to that losing contact with friends. But, then, our increasing mobility is one of our society’s strongpoints, too. Right?

Back to kids growing up in urban American society. I am most happy my sons are grown. I am less happy that my grandchildren are experiencing life in this rat-race of a society. I am most concerned about future generations as we seem to become less and less stable and more and more strangers to each other.

“The Wall” on My Wall

It was while I was in Germany that I began collecting art, mostly prints. The first two were a limited edition of two German peasants, male and female. Through the years I would window shop print galleries. If I saw a print that interested me, I would save the money to eventually purchase it.

The last print that I purchased hangs in my living room along with four others. This is one that I did not encounter while browsing print galleries; I first saw it in an attorney’s office and then set out to find it. It took quite a while to locate and the price, including framing, was at the high end of my budget. However, I finally was able to obtain it:

The Wall by Lee Teter

The graphic above is not a photo of the one I own. I attempted several photos, but couldn’t get a suitable one. So I located this via a Google search. It isn’t of the best quality, but it is better than the photos that I attempted.

I’m sharing The Wall with you as part of my continuing reflections this Memorial Day weekend. As I wrote on Friday, I did not serve in Vietnam. However, I knew many who did and several who returned either in flag draped coffins or with parts of their bodies missing. I remember them this weekend, men such as:

• Billy, who attended Sunday school with me, flunked out of college, was drafted, and was one of the earliest U.S. casualties in Vietnam.

• William, who was one of my fellow officers in the Armor battalion in which I served in Germany: he left the battalion for Vietnam where he was fragged (killed) by one of the soldiers he commanded.

• Chuck, an officer who attended the USAEUR Intelligence School in Oberammergau with me. As of the last information I had, he remains one of the U.S. military “missing in action” in Vietnam.

• Jim, a fraternity brother who was also with me in ROTC at the University of Kentucky. He is a Japanese-American who returned from Vietnam minus a leg.

I often look at that print The Wall that hangs on my living room wall. I remember Billy, William, Chuck, and Jim—and others. I realize that the pendulum of our nation’s politics is presently swinging away from its recent militarism. However, I also realize that in out protestation against the military adventurism of the Bush administration, we need not blame the solders. They are victims of war, not perpetrators of the conflict.

During my three years in Vietnam, I certainly heard plenty of last words by dying American footsoldiers. Not one of them, however, had illusions that he had somehow accomplished something worthwhile in the process of making the Supreme Sacrifice. ~ Kurt Vonnegut (1922 - 2007)