Find the cost of freedom...

After returning from Brooklyn last night, I knew that my prepared Sunday message wasn't going to cut it.  And because I hate to waste other people's time - as well as my own - I spent the trip driving home rethinking what I was called to say.  Here's a summary...

The scriptures for today urge us to pay attention to what is life giving and loving.  There are a lot of crazy things we read in the Bible that just don't resonate any longer; it is not that they ARE actually crazy, they clearly had meaning in their time, but not so today.  Take the gospel lesson concerning passing a wife along to 7 brothers:  this once made some sense - it made certain that babies were born and that women had a home and shelter - but now it just strikes us as weird.  In fact, last Wednesday when we read this text I broke out in a giggle fit. The way Peterson has reworked emphasized the contemporary absurdity much like a Monty Python skit.  But in all the texts the message is the same:  sometimes we waste our time on things that are stupid and foolish and we can do better.  Much, much better.

Over the years, you see, I have learned a lot about NOT wasting time from some of the vets in my congregations.  Growing up in New England as part of an intellectual, middle class family I didn't have much experience with military matters, Yes, it was during the Vietnam War but at the time I didn't know any body being drafted.  And the vets in my family didn't talk about their experience (except with other vets.) That is a lot like today in our part of the world - we don't know too many vets and we rarely talk about the military experience - unless we are complaining about the wars.  But here's the thing: I have learned more about my own inadequacy as a pastor from the vets in my churches and also been privileged to journey with some men and women who are the essence of integrity, dedication and honor.  Today I want to tell you a little bit about how three different men changed my life and ministry:  Al Heimburger, Roger Brown and Michael Dremel. I love each of these men in a deep way.  I am indebted to all of them in ways I can never repay.  And I have learned how to be a better pastor because of their trust and faith. 

+ When I left Michigan for Cleveland, the chair of the search committee was Al Heimburger.  He was a machinist all his life who after graduating from high school was drafted to serve as a machinist in India during WW II. He saw a lot in that war - a lot that made him ache for peace - and a lot that made him question his faith.  One of the stupid things that made him turn away from Roman Catholicism was when a priest refused to bury and hear the prayers of a soldier who wasn't Catholic. When Heimburger returned from the war, he quit the Roman Catholic realm and became a Protestant.  He taught confirmation class for 20 years at Trinity United Church of Christ and served the congregation in every possible capacity.  

We used to have church picnics at the end of the summer, and once after about 9 years of ministry, we got talking about his service.  He told he'd been in India during WW II and saw a lot of things.  As I didn't really know what he meant, I asked him to say more.  And after walking around the lake a few times - and picking up a beer or two - he said he worked on fighter planes.  There was some more silence and then he said, "Pastor, when Eileen (his wife) and I went to Hawaii for our anniversary, we went to Pearl Harbor.  And all over the place taking pictures were Japanese tourists.  Now, I know in my head that most of them had NOTHING to do with the war, but it made me sick. I wanted to vomit - and do violence to them - and I had to get away." Then he said, "No matter how hard I try, I can't forgive them. I hate them for what they did... I know it is a sin but I can't help it."

We walked around in more silence.  What did I know about such hatred and fear? What could I say to this man who knew more about guilt and shame and honor than I could ever imagine.  But he wanted an answer; I was his pastor.  So after way too long, I said softly, "Al, I think you are right:  you can't forgive them.  Only God can do that... and God's time is not in our control. All I know for certain is that God's love and grace is bigger than our hatred and fear... and I have to trust that matters."  He thought about that for another pass around the lake in silence - and we never spoke about it again.

Heimburger made doubt and guilt REAL to me.  He made me listen carefully and respond with as much honesty and grace as I knew.  And his anguish - he was a man of deep faith - made me realize I had to do a better job of talking about God's grace and forgiveness than I knew how to do.  Today I give thanks to Al Heimburger who started me on the road of growing up as a minister.

+ The second vet who changed my life was Roger Brown - a hard smoking guitar player - who found himself in the jungles of Vietnam in 1968.  When I met Roger he was mostly holding his own, but still had horrible bouts of anxiety - and often woke up screaming.  We played a LOT of blues together and went to see John Lee Hooker and others when they came to town, too.  He was a sweet, gentle man but he was filled with demons.  One time he told me - and it was the only time he spoke about his combat - "When you are in the jungle at night and everybody is shooting at you, you do whatever you have to do to get fuck out. It is only later that you think about it..."

Roger trusted me enough to share that truth out loud - and it is a truth that is mostly only expressed with a therapist or other vets - so I cherished our connection.  He struggled with addictions and would slip away from the community for a time only to return when the worst was over.  He knew I was a Conscientious Objector during Vietnam and he STILL trusted me.  I think it was because we mostly played LOTS of blues and took the time to listen to one another.  But I never was sure why this wounded warrior and I hit it off.  I give thanks to God for Roger Brown for his sacrifice, his trust, his wrestling with his demons and his willingness to embrace me as a brother.

+ And the third vet who changed my life was Michael Dremel.  They arrived at Davis Monthan AFB in Tucson after a stint in Japan.  Their small family became members of our church and brought life, verve and dedication to everything they did.  I had the privilege of working with Michael and his son, Sean, on various God and Country Cub and Boy Scout badges and serving on different Open and Affirming projects. Michael was a willing participant in two different public programs we did to try to understand the movement towards war after September 11th. The first was a panel including an active duty service person, a peace activist and an executive from the defense industry talking about the upcoming war.  They later also critiqued the Presidential candidates' defense policies.

And then Mike got orders to deploy to Iraq.  He had been during the first Gulf War and served his nations twice during the current battle. He asked me to become the clergy contact with the base should he not return.  That is, I would be contacted to go with the military personnel to the home of his wife and child and bring them the news that he had died in the course of the war.  I was stunned.  I had never served a church with active duty military people and the thought of Michael dying - let alone bringing this news to his family - was beyond my experience. But as we talked I came to see it was one level of trust that helped him know his family would be cared for as well as possible.  It was a real blessing not an obligation and I agreed.

Thankfully I never had to act on my commitment because Mike came home one Sunday unexpectedly.  While he was deployed we would send emails and prayers and check in.  And I prayed for him every day. I finished up the Cub Scout badge with his son, too and presented it in abstentia.  And then one Sunday, Michael and Frances slipped into worship at the last minute and I hadn't noticed.  Just as I was about to invite the people to pass the peace of Christ I saw him.  I lost the ability to speak - I was so choked up and grateful to see him alive - that I ran and embraced him.  I was full to overflowing with tears (as I am right now.)  He told me this morning via email that it was a grateful and very needed home-coming.  We spoke often about his experiences in that war in the days and weeks that followed and I became more aware than ever of how important it is for civilians to be connected in love and respect with our service men and women.

Mike shared Christmas panetone with my family, we wrestled with how to live into our Open and Affirming commitment as a church (and what that meant for the gay airmen he knew and cared for) and we shared suppers and laughs and prayers and tears.  Michael Dremel and his family changed my life by opening their hearts to me and I will love them until I leave this earth.  

Each of these vets knew what was essential and important in living. They refused to be caught up in the foolishness that robs us of life. They rejected BS as much as they could.  And they embraced hope and peace-making because they knew the alternatives all too well. I learned to go deeper than I had been trained, to listen and ache with another brother in silent love and to be ready to stand and deliver with honor from these men.  (Then I invited to take a moment to give thanks to God for a vet they knew... while we played "Find the Cost of Freedom.")