The Warrior in Me

Veteran’s Day is always a mixed bag for me.  Having served fifteen years in the United States Air Force, from 1980 to 1995, I am always honored when people recognize my service to the country.  Having served through the Cold War, Panama, and Desert Storm, I’ve seen the value of having a strong defense firsthand.  At the same time, as a Christian I’ve often wrestled with the warrior in me.  Don’t get me wrong, I would love to believe in a utopian ideal of mutual tolerance, respect, honor, and love for one another.  These things are a part of my Christian ethos.  Sadly, at this late stage of my life, I am not naïve enough to believe we will ever see it this side of the Lord’s return. 

I’m weary of our ability as a species to find horrendous ways to kill one another.  With one accidental slip of a test tube, we could unleash monstrous viral diseases that know no boundaries.  Radical, and fearful peoples are now able to construct nuclear weapons without concern for what they are unleashing upon themselves.  We’ve created chemical weapons so toxic, one drop could poison thousands. The reasons for creating these weapons are lost on me.  There is no justification.  With each new weapon, there is a new defense, with each new defense, there is a greater weapon, the cycle goes on and on.  Within our military, there are brave men and women who’ve decided to be at the front lines of defending us from these horrific weapons.  I love these people, but at the same time, my heart goes out to them. 

When I was stationed at Mountain Home Air Force Base in Idaho, I met a wonderful man of God who helped me deal with my inner conflict.  One night as my family and I were having dinner with him, he said; “God creates people to do all kinds of different things.  He creates healers, thinkers, tinkerers, policeman, firefighters, and warriors.  The man who God said was after His own heart, was a warrior king, named David. David was not a bully, he was not a tyrant, but he knew these people existed.  God makes warriors to defend those who can’t or won’t defend themselves from the cruel, and wicked.”

The king David I love, was a shepherd, and a musician before he was a warrior.  David didn’t like being a warrior, and that is why 30 men of valor protected him. They knew he was an honorable man, anointed by God to defend Israel.  Later in his life, David was weary of fighting, and let his son take the kingdom from him.  It was the worst thing a warrior could do.  An angry son trampled upon the peace purchased with the blood of his mighty men, and David was powerless to stop him.  When David desired to build a house of worship for the God he loved, God couldn’t let it happen. There is always the issue of blood spilled in battle, and in the course of our lives.

We ask our young men, and women to do terrible things, and we expect them to come back home to us unchanged.  While the weapons of warfare have changed, the same thing is true from generation to generation, killing another human being is a frightful thing.  I’ve seen the faraway look in a warrior’s eyes as the memory of his actions replay over, and over again. These are things I wish upon no one. My own son-in-law, David, is in the Army Reserves, and he is in an extremely dangerous job.  About a year ago, he was supposed to go to Afghanistan, and I had to pray that God’s will for his life would be done.  I didn’t fear for his life, I feared for his soul.  I didn’t want him going there, and coming back with the ghosts of war.   A warrior loves peace, but rarely finds it.  There are too many cruel, and wicked people out there. The things we have to do to stand up against them leaves men broken, and empty. I can’t say I wasn’t relieved when they cancelled his deployment.  I know he wanted to go, but obviously God knew better. 

So, for David, and those like him who have a warrior’s heart, I pray for you that you will live long enough to be weary with war.  I pray that our men and women who have placed their first  class citizenship on hold, and become 2^nd class citizens, will find a moment to be proud of being human, more than being warriors. The warrior in me knows the exhilaration of being part of a vast army, while the Christ/man in me knows the joy of being meek.  Still, I know that outside of this bright beacon of hope, and liberty, are despots, evil minded, and yes, even the mentally ill in positions of power, which do not hold to my ideal of a Utopian world where killing, and malice are banished.  God has made you warriors to stand against them for us. I salute you, as once others saluted me.  I wore my uniform with pride, and can point to the successes of my time in service, but I would rather point to the successes of the savior’s love at work within me.  I would rather go to Nicaragua, and hand a child a soccer ball than to lob a grenade at a young boy who only a few years ago would have gladly taken the ball from my hand.  I would rather fill a shoebox with trinkets, little toys, and necessary items and send them off through Operation Christmas Child, than to see one more bomb dropped from an aircraft. 

Therefore, I’ll pray for all of you who serve, that you come home safe, unchanged, and whole. 

God bless all of you who are now, who have been, and those who will someday be warriors. 

Happy Veteran’s Day.   

Awe and Wonder

I can still remember that magical (yes, it was magical) moment when I experienced awe, and wonder for the first time.  It was a mild fall evening in El Paso, Texas, in 1966.  I was lying on the grass looking at the moon through a 20x telescope I’d received as a gift that year.  For an eleven-year-old boy, that telescope was the invitation to worlds unknown.  Never mind that it wasn’t any better than a good pair of binoculars, or that it was almost impossible to hold it still without a tripod.  It was my ticket to the stars.  On that fateful October evening, my arms grew tired, forcing me to lay the telescope down to let the blood return to my arms once more.  The moon was just a sliver in the crisp desert night sky, and there were more stars that night than I’d ever seen before.  As I stared into the depths of space, I wondered where it all ended?  Where was the end to the vast field of stars that beckoned me?  What was beyond the end of the universe?. 

I couldn’t imagine an end.

As I peered upward, and outward, I experienced awe for the first time in my life. My heart rate went up, and seemed to suddenly stop.  The air left my lungs in a long slow breath as my infantile, finite mind tried to cope with the infinite.  The harder I tried to comprehend the vastness of the universe, the more awestruck I became.  In that instant, I became fascinated with all things ‘space’.  It was a good time for it.  The ‘space race’ was at its peak, and it seemed every day was a new leap forward to the cosmos.  I had tons of questions, and an insatiable curiosity.  Even as I became enthralled with science, astronomy, and rockets, I was also coming to know the creator of the universe in a much smaller space, my heart.  At first, the two seemed to be worlds apart.  It seemed as if science was trying to dispel the notion of God, while at the same time, religion as I experienced it, was at odds with science.  I wrestled many long nights with doubt, and disbelief. I knew within my heart, and spirit, that I was experiencing the presence of God through faith in Christ, but at the same time I knew what I was learning in the classroom didn’t allow for the idea of God.  The awe, and wonder of that magical fall evening slipped into a dull ache for the truth.  For a few years, I enjoyed the rapture of science as I became increasingly interested in visiting worlds beyond this rock we call home.  Science Fiction novels were a daily diet. Scientific American magazines littered my room.  My favorite atomic particle was the neutrino, and a paper I wrote in the 9^th grade on it, won me a trip to a science symposium at the University of New Mexico.  This was heady stuff for a wide-eyed teenager.  The tug of war between science, and faith went back and forth  throughout my school years.

I couldn’t imagine an end to the conflict. 

 A great sadness followed me for many years as I wrestled with my faith in God, and my love of science.  After High School, I became less concerned with science, and followed my faith.  When I was amongst Christians, I would never discuss science for fear of being revealed as a closet scientist.  I wouldn’t talk with anyone about the way I’d come to peace with both aspects of my being.  I didn’t want to be labeled a heretic, or unbeliever, when actually the opposite was the truth.  I’d raged war with myself, the tough stuff was over, and I was  believer in more than a savior.  I’d fallen in love with more than a cold, judgmental God.  I’d pushed past the dogma of both science, and faith,  into an intensely personal relationship with the One I know created the infinite.  It didn’t matter what others thought about my beliefs, I knew I loved the savior of my soul, His creation, and even the people on both sides who demanded absolute obeisance to their dogma.  I could talk with, walk with, touch, and feel the creator of this physical vale. 

I couldn’t imagine an end to this relationship with the Creator. 

Fast forward forty-seven years to a cold October morning where I came face to face with that same feeling of awe and wonder, and it came from the strangest of places.  I was reading an article on the internet concerning the Higgs-Boson, and its implications for the universe.  The article was this vast exploration of the different theories surrounding this elusive particle.  Almost every model created for studying the existence of the Higgs, ended in a catastrophic end to the universe.  The vast reaches of the universe had an end to it.  The Big Bang would end in a big entropic collapse.  Bummer!  Most particle physicists, and those who report on them embrace the end of the universe with the same religious fervor of fundamentalist Christians.  It becomes all they can talk about.  Particle physics becomes like the book of Revelation, a foretelling of impending doom.  Unified theories are just as elusive as proof of God’s existence.  String theory, superstrings, dark matter, gravity lensing,  everything we can think of comes to an eventual end.  Suddenly as I thought of all the struggle these scientists were facing in dealing with ‘how’ this universe works, I came face to face with my own struggle once more.  The men and women who obsess over what makes this universe work, and those who obsess over the One who makes it work, all have bills to pay, families to support, spouses to love, and children to nurture.  This universe goes on as it has for eons, and will go on for more time than we will live.  The profound things of the spiritual, or scientific are only profound to those who share in its intricacies.  At either end of the spectrum of faith, the zealots will beat their drums, and call for the death of the non-believers.  Somewhere in the middle of this silly debate, people like me, see the beauty of the Creator written in a little child’s giggle, or in the dance of sunbeams over orange, and fire laced clouds.  Life is more than what you can see in an equation, or in a spiritual icon.  This moment, this instant is infinitely more precious than infinity.   Whether you believe in God, or not, the question isn’t ‘what’ you loved, but ‘who’ you loved.  Throughout the world, cemeteries are filled with heretics, agnostics, fanatics, and scientists.  Parked next door to them are evangelists, pastors, prophets, and lay people of all creeds.  These things seem to get lost when the fires of passion rage among the faithful in either camp.  As I sat there considering the forecasted lifespan of our universe, it happened again, nearly forty-seven years after that fateful October night, I had another moment where my heart took off like a rocket, and my lungs emptied themselves in a slow exhale.  I know the answer to the problem, but it isn’t something I can put to numbers.  In the word of God, it says that in the end, God will roll up the universe like a scroll.  The prophets are right, and the scientists are right.  Both sides say it will all end, someday.  

Problem is, I still can’t imagine an end.   Therefore, I lean back in my chair, close my eyes, put my hands behind my head, and smile smugly. I experience the awe, and wonder once more, feeling the familiar presence of God more than ever before.