Betrayal in Language

For the last several years, much has been made of "the insurgency." In the immediate aftermath of "combat operations" in Iraq, many were dismayed to see an insurgency develop, made up mostly (we were left to believe) of disaffected Iraqis unhappy with the erstwhile US Military occupation. Much ink was spilled comparing the insurgency to the American Revolution, where the US Military figured as a typically oppressive analogue to the Redcoats of legend. Incidents like Abu Ghraib contributed to the perspective of Revolution and freedom fighting versus tyrannical occupation. "The Surge," President George W. Bush's ambitious plan to stamp out the insurgency, was met with amazement and ridicule. How, the standard questioning went, could the solution to Iraq's collective wish for our occupation to end be to inject more US troops? Yet the evidence shows that the Surge worked, most notably the fact that only a few days ago US forces pulled out of Iraq's urban areas completely and left the security of that newly peaceful and marginally prosperous nation to indigenous units.

An insurgency is not a new problem, as I feel we have been led to believe. It is not some phenomenon that is attributable to US meddling in the affairs of other countries. The growing insurgency in Afghanistan is, likewise, not a new problem. The insurgents are a contemporary incarnation of a shameful historical institution. Such men (and women) have been called partisans, guerillas, and terrorists long before they were called insurgents. They are, as far as I know, a fixture of modern wars, the first of which is arguably the American Civil War. In that long and bitter struggle, small irregular bands of "bushwhackers" from one side or the other conducted a brutal campaign of rapine against the farms and homesteads of their enemies, which included burning dwellings and salting fields, lynching, horse thievery, and torture. Their aim was fairly straightforward: to break the Confederate (or Union) will to continue the struggle. Most of that activity was concentrated away from the large and famous military battles, in the western part of the then-United States, and is mainly responsible for the cultural tensions that still exist between states like Missouri and Kansas. Sherman's well-documented and ruinous march across the South to sack Atlanta was a classic Bushwhacker tactic, though it was of dubious effectiveness.

Americans (and Europeans) chiefly remember World War I for the pitched military warfare that dominated German, French, and English involvement. But insurgency existed in that war as well. In the fighting centered around Asia Minor bands of Christian Greek insurgents and bands of Islamic Turkish insurgents carried out parallel irregular warfare against settlements comprised of opposite nationalities. That kind of irregular warfare is the chief reality for those two involved nations. In World War II, similar insurgencies raged in occupied Europe as a "Resistance," while Nazi Germany conducted it's own appalling irregular fight with the Einsatzgruppen, who ravaged the Soviet countryside for Jews and other undesirables in order to murder them wholesale. On their side, Soviet "partisans" resisted the Nazi occupation of Czechoslovakia and the Balkans by torturing and murdering accused fascists and their families, with the aim of having those nations join the Soviet Bloc in the war's aftermath. Communist guerillas used the same tactics in Viet Nam, Central, and South America in the late 1960s. They continue to do so in Colombia and Bolivia today.

That insurgencies are often motivated by ideology (nationalism, communism, Islamic fundamentalism) makes them Romantic. Che Guevara, a Communist guerilla leader, is has often been romanticized. But insurgencies are uniformly brutal and destabilizing. Whatever they're called, insurgents promote their particular ideology by forcing a populace to submit through terror and humiliation. The will or desire of said populace for that ideology is not relevant. The insurgents in Iraq were motivated by a desire for a Sharia Law, Islamic theocracy, and the humiliation of America. To accomplish that end, they committed suicide with bombs designed to kill civilians, they ousted people from their homes to make strongholds, and they punished "collaborators" who assisted or worked with American troops. They often conflicted violently with US forces, and as often lost (like the Viet Namese before them). The Taliban insurgency springing up in Afghanistan will probably experience the same.

Yet despite their cowardly tactics, insurgents can be deadly to soldiers. That the enemy blends so well with a foreign society which is difficult to understand in the first place means an unbelievable strain as the soldiers must be constantly watchful. In urban environments, where insurgent conflict often takes place (and which may just as easily occur in a two-street village as a metropolis), the fighting is physical demanding and often very personal, with firefights occurring within the confines of a room. With a world-wide and well-stocked arms market, insurgents often have access to sophisticated and effective weapons, to include machine guns, mortars, propelled grenades, and nearly unlimited small arms. In a word, conflict with insurgents is just as much combat as more traditional combat between professional armies.

Which is why the drivel about a "counterinsurgency contingency operation" instead of something called a "war" makes me so angry. Whether a conflict is called a war, an operation, or whatever else is a political decision. It doesn't make much difference to the individual soldier or Marine except as regards the support he or she gets from America, measured in logistics and affirmation of the mission. To rename operations in Iraq and Afghanistan something that sounds less warlike is to demean the forces in theater from their status as the best we have to offer and our ambassadors of freedom (roles that US forces cherish and desire) to mere mercenaries, forgotten paid civil servants doing a dirty and difficult job. Defeating insurgents is a noble task, for insurgents are responsible for most of the non-military suffering from the many wars that have blighted our world. Why are we collectively so happy to deny our troops, born of our citizens and our society, even this justified satisfaction; why are we so eager to forget what is probably our only greatest contribution to the world so far this century?

Politics is often a war of words. Language shapes our thought because it is the architecture of our thought. Poetry and literature have long been considered among the greatest of artistic pursuits. Generally, we value language when it describes reality. But the sword cuts both ways: words can distort reality too. The reality is that our conflict in Iraq and Afghanistan is tough and dangerous armed fighting, against an evil and oppressive enemy who would force a specific and evil ideology (Islamic fundamentalist theocracy) upon the citizens of those countries. That does not appear to fit the ideology of our current zeitgeist. The language being applied to our troops and their effort steals the righteousness and nobility in arms they crave and for which they struggle their entire career under arms. They deserve far better of us. And if we aren't careful, our collective diminishment of them whom we admire will diminish our own selves.

1962 Latin versus 1965 Vernacular

For the entirety of my life, Catholic Mass has been said in the vernacular. I've heard it in English, Spanish, Italian, and Croatian. My first exposure into the great mysteries and ideas of the Catholic Faith occurred during those times I heard a priest intone the solemn, lucid, and impassioned rubric of the liturgy in a language I could easily understand. I have no doubt that it's the same all over the world. Yet recently the Holy See published a Motu Propio which allowed and encouraged the celebration of Mass according to ancient and traditional Latin Rite. I noted this decision and reflected on it a bit in an earlier post.

I don't very well understand the transition between the Tridentine Mass and the Novus Ordo which established new rubrics and directed the use of vernacular language. Accounts of it differ; I gather that various dioceses instituted the changes in different ways. As far as the timeline, I'm fairly sure that latest revision to the Tridentine Rite was published by Pope John XXIII in 1962, and the Novus Ordo of Pope Paul VI appeared in 1969. Therefore, beginning with the 1970s Catholics learned, adjusted, and grew into Mass celebrated generally in their native language. However, I understand (from the documents of the Second Vatican Council) that churches were expected to continue using Latin in the new liturgy for the Ordinary, or the portions of the Mass that are said exactly the same way every time the Mass is celebrated. In that manner, the fathers of Vatican II meant to marry the tradition of the church with it's opening into modernity.

Nonetheless, it seems that shortly after the appearance of the Novus Ordo Latin had all but disappeared from post-conciliar Catholicism. The occasional Agnus Dei is still sung or spoken in Latin in more traditional parishes, but I encounter this rarely. When I questioned this as a young Church History student in high school, I received some strongly-worded responses, which discouraged further questioning. That, combined with the near-total dearth of Latin in America's liturgical landscape (and the pressing concerns of adolescence), drove any thoughts or questions on the ancient language out of my mind. I unconsciously adopted the view that using Latin in Mass was the mark of a conservative parish, one which secretly yearned for the pre-conciliar worship. Such parishes, apparently, were part of a large but disorganized secret society that looked with hostility upon the Novus Ordo and the new Catholic Church. I say apparently because I don't ever remember hearing such words or prejudices outright, but somehow I came to believe them. It was, I guess, the character of the Church as a whole--or certainly the character of the Churches I attended. When in literature and in the occasional memory of either parent I heard about the old rite, I was struck by an attitude of "it's so much better now." I learned, aghast, that the old Catholics were crazy: no meat on any Friday instead of just during Lent; fasting for 12 hours before Mass, confession required prior to Mass in order to accept the Eucharist, and so on. Yet behind my sanctimonious and self-righteous rejection of that kind of strict faith, there burned a light of Romanticism--a desire for a faith that held its adherents to such high spiritual and intellectual standards. Shortly after college, in fact, while becoming acquainted with the strict rules of the Marine Corps, I began to explore the old Ordinary in Latin.

It was a half-forgotten hobby of mine, memorizing ecclesiastic Latin. I loved the difficult words and the powerful, defined romance syllables. The language of Caesars, medieval Kings, Crusaders, and Missionaries seemed to breathe majesty in a way even the most moving opening prayers and prefaces of my Sunday worship couldn't replicate. It seemed appropriate, somehow, to speak and pray to a God beyond us all and beyond the "vale of tears" in a language nobler than our own. In Mass, whenever the Agnus Dei dropped the thrice-repeated phrase "Lamb of God" for substitutes like "Bread of Life," I would quietly whisper "Agnus Dei, qui tollis peccata mundi" three times myself. So it was a subject of great interest to me when Pope Benedict XVI issued his Motu Propio Summorum Pontificum authorizing the celebration of old rite in full. And through I am maybe not quite prepared to enter into that formidable liturgy completely yet, I am eager to join in the submerged and fierce debate going on as to the worthiness of Pope John XXIII's 1962 liturgy.

For starters, I'll state that I understand the immediate appeal of Mass in a common language. The ceremony, which refers to and enacts the greatest mystery and event of the Catholic faith, the crucifixion, ought to be fully understood by all participants--especially the prayers that make up the Ordinary explicitly define the tenets of Catholic faith (the Kyrie, the Credo, and the Sanctus in particular). When the entire congregation can recite these parts and listen to the Canon in their native tongue, notably with their own faculty for understanding each word and interpreting it's context, they can theoretically participate more fully and comprehend their essential faith better. Additionally, the 1970 Missal (Novus Ordo) directs that the priest faces his congregation instead to facing the Altar (with his back to everyone else). This allows the priest to communicate directly to the congregation the mysteries he celebrates during the Mass. I think the intent of the changes was to make the Mass more personal and participatory, to more readily communicate via the structure of the liturgy a sense of community, of being a part of the body of Christ.

But it must be admitted that there have been some less-than-satisfactory effects of the Novus Ordo. The author Thomas Day memorably and amusingly catalogues some of them in his books Why Catholics Can't Sing: The Culture of Catholicism and the Triumph of Bad Taste and Where have you gone Michelangelo? The Loss of soul in Catholic culture. The hyperbolic titles betray his considerable passion for this topic, but his observations are generally correct. First, the awe and majesty that accompanied a dead and imperial language, and which was entirely appropriate to the celebration of Mass, was literally lost in translation to a clear, almost colloquial vernacular. Also, notably, I think congregations can tune out their own language in Mass just as easily as they might tune out a radio advertisement. Second, in facing the congregation, there is the temptation for the Priest to slip into the role of "entertainer," feeling pressure (real or not) from his congregation to "perform" the Mass up to their satisfaction. Unfortunately, this additional complication to the ceremony tends to distract from the central mystery being celebrated under the priest's hands, allowing the congregation to focus less on the sacrament and more on the presentation of the sacrament, which (of course) partially defeats the purpose of recasting the sacrament in a common tongue.

Mr. Day argues that the old 1962 rite bypassed these issues. The priest, gorgeously robed in archaic clothing (the cassock, stole, and mantle), nearly disappeared into the ceremony. For the period of time he celebrated the Mass, he wasn't a particular priest, he was The Celebrant (capitals intended). Moreover, he didn't sit center-stage. That was where the altar was. He sat inconspicuously off to one side. When in front of the altar, he faced it, reinforcing by the choreography of the liturgy not only that attention was to be focused on the tabernacle within and not on him, but that he was the "leader of the faithful," leading them in a worship directed at something external (Christ). The only time and place where the priest faced the congregation was during the homily, given from the Ambo, which is traditionally removed the farthest distance from the altar that the sanctuary allows so as to maintain the sacred space about the altar and tabernacle.

Celebrating in Latin, though it might have been the vernacular in "Early Church" days, also acquired a ritualistic significance. As early as the Dark Ages Latin was spoke nowhere the church existed except perhaps the wealthier parts of Rome itself. Yet in holding on to the dead, imperial language the Church impartially aligned itself with none of it's constituent ethnic members. Whether Catholics in a particular place knew Sicilian, Italian, Greek, French, Spanish, or Gaelic, they all worshipped in the same language, and that told a world torn apart with war and vandalism more than anything else that the Church of Christ was open to all peoples. During Mission work later on in her history, the Church could plausibly claim that Native American (Central, South, and North) worship was worth the same as European worship for that same reason. But if the choreography of the Tridentine Rite and the "universal" language of Latin graphically demonstrated the Church's universality and true faith, they also were also called a barrier to understanding the liturgy itself.

I don't entirely agree. A barrier to understanding the liturgy? Not if they are willing to do a little research. I recently purchased a 1962 Missal with a section in it that, with Latin on one page and English on the other, walks the Mass attendee through the all the liturgical steps of the Mass, to the extent of detailing the small though symbolic gestures the priest makes with each liturgical phase of the celebration. Not only is it easy to follow, but the raw beauty and spiritual power of the Tridentine Mass (translated into archaic, majestic English) takes my breath away. Yet such a celebration has admittedly limited appeal. Children, for example, will probably not be eager to follow the small text of a missal through Church each Sunday. Nor will people who don't enjoy reading. And the Catholic Church correctly desires to reach these types of people as well. My joy of the Tridentine Rite is NOT worth more to God than the faith of a child (in fact, it's worth much less, as Jesus says in Matthew 18) or the piety of an non-literary man or woman. A friend of mine once told me "in order to lead someone somewhere, you must first go to where they are now." And so I think the Church was right to craft a liturgy that was more accessible (the vernacular) and more personal (priest facing the congregation). Therein Catholics with little time or inclination to pursue the detailed scriptural underpinnings of liturgy--or put another way, Catholics whose faith does not demand the explanation and demonstration of Tridentine Mass--could find spiritual sustenance and growth. After all--and as I said before--hearing each Sunday liturgy in my own language was my first introduction to the magnificent spiritual depths of Catholicism, an introduction which I might never have experienced if I had been hearing uncomprehendingly the hushed latin of the 1962 Rite.

Which brings me back to the debate. Some argue that the Tridentine Mass more appropriate and reverent, and correctly identify it's influence on great Saints and how it sustained the central worship of Catholicism through schism, scandal, and attack for five hundred years. Others argue that it reduces the faith to a dead worship of unhealthy focus on personal faith, suffocating the "body of Christ" under an impersonal and obscure ceremony. What has the vernacular brought us but irreverence? What has the Latin to offer but a Mass beyond our comprehension. I think there is a very simple answer. Tridentine Mass has a place in contemporary worship. It is truly solemn and beautiful, and encourages a deeply personal relationship with Christ in the Eucharist. It is not surprising to me that such Masses newly offered in my own diocese are well-attended. The Novus Ordo, however, has the chief place in our worship. Correctly celebrated, it opens the words of scripture and the truths taught by the Magisterium to Catholics in a heartfelt, understandable, and exhortational way. And there is no reason why each can't inform the other. Certainly the parts of the Mass that are most familiar, like the Ordinary and the Elevation, could be easily spoken or sung in Latin. Such a practice would reinforce their extraordinary nature and the Church's universality without affecting the congregation's understanding of those parts of the liturgy. And opening the Tridentine Mass to more participation, such as allowing the congregation to recite parts of the Ordinary or the Lord's Prayer with the priest (in Latin, of course) would encourage more Catholics to enter that deeply spiritual rite.

Bringing back Tridentine Mass as an option cannot but help increase the spirituality of Catholics, which cannot but result in their opening up to God and becoming better disciples and witnesses here on earth. In fact, now that it exists I encourage all Catholics to attend a Tridentine Mass just once to see what it's like. It does not diminish the Novus Ordo but enhances it, for the old rite is the foundation of the new and and understanding the former may increase appreciation of the latter. Latin Mass isn't a shameful secret of our past, an example of overbearing religiosity and hypocritical piety; it is the fruit of Catholicism's long and grace-filled struggle against the temptation of worldly power, the attacks of enlightenment atheism and reductionism, and the deadly indifference of modernity. It will bear fruit for us, too, if we allow it: in our prayer life, in our public worship, and most importantly in our collective public ministry.

Notre Dame Commencement 2009

The news today has focused on Notre Dame's commencement, at which President Obama spoke. A contentious decision by the University Administration, the announcement over a month ago sparked angry reactions from many American Catholics, protests on campus, and a storm of analysis (mostly speculation, as is the way with such things) regarding what the Catholic Church really believes on abortion and what Notre Dame's own position should be. The University "stuck to it's guns" and went ahead with the invitation, and cited many good reasons for bringing the president, however pro-choice he might be, to campus--many of which I agree with. I think there's no question that the president brings with him the dignity of the office. I think it is important for a Catholic University to engage in dialogue with public figures regarding issues of mutual concern. I think it is Notre Dame's role to "lead the way" by remaining visible and vehement in considering Catholic values publicly. I think, however, this particular situation involving our current president is different.

First of all, when you invite someone to speak at commencement, you are giving them a "bully pulpit." That is not dialogue, and does little to invite discussion--a forum is a much more seemly academic setting for a dialogue. Second of all, commencement speakers are usually chosen because they embody or represent values that the institution wishes to instill (or have instilled) in the graduates. Choosing a consistently pro-choice, pro-stem-cell-research politician implies somehow that those positions ("values") are reconcilable with Church teaching, or more specifically that you can hold that perspective and be perfectly in accord with the school and--by extension--the Church. Third of all, awarding a Juris Doctor (even honorary) indicates the awarding institution has somehow decided that the recipient is capable and prepared ethically to interpret law, which considering the Church's strong position on the illegality and horror of the current "holocaust" of abortions is clearly not the case with Obama.

Some have argued that abortion (or stem-cell research) should not be "the issue." I disagree. With the recent work on the Theology of the Body and the developing "spousal" imagery inherent in our understanding of Church-Laity relationships and self-Christ relationships, I think it is becoming more clear that the idea of the sanctity of life stands nearly equal with the gift of free will and the mysterious nature of Christ and the Trinity as a foundation of our Faith. In fact, respect for the sanctity of life has its roots in Christ's famous commandments "Love your neighbor as yourself" and "Love your neighbor as I have loved you," and is the subsequent foundation of all Catholic moral teaching--and the fountainhead of Catholic social teaching (on which President Obama and the Church indeed have much in common) As such, it is more important than social teaching or personal morals. This is why the Church teaches that abortion is the worst of sins and incurs automatic (latae sententiae) excommunication, a state which remains until the abortion is confessed and reparation is made to God in the form of penance.  So I think it is "the" issue. There is no person so helpless and so in need of charity as an infant; how much more so for the unborn infant.

This whole focus on the unborn infant is distasteful to some in our society, who argue that concern for the mother should also enter into an abortion decision. I sympathize with this perspective. A mother may be in physical danger from childbirth, bearing the fruit of rape, or unable to support a child, or simply unwilling to continue the pregnancy. On the far extreme of this side are those who regard abortion as a "health care choice" of a woman, a decision protected by her essential freedom (as if the fetus is merely an extension of her body which she could decide to have removed). I think there is a legitimate concern that anti-abortion legislation would take some control from women over their own bodies: they would be forced to deal with the consequences of sexual activity and possibly guard a life they didn't intend to create. Indeed, women unable or unwilling to handle the responsibility of rearing a child deserve our charity and support (and certainly not the kind of cruel social stigma that often attaches to pregnancies outside of a marriage). But my sympathy for women in this regard is limited, for in this country the selective service also takes control from young men over their bodies, and at any moment may expose them to the violent and painful death promised by war, or torture at the hands of our nation's enemies, or disfigurement. Furthermore, I think in both cases I think society has the right to protect all its citizens, either at the expense of women by disallowing their murder in the womb, or at the expense of men by using their bodies to provide for national defense.

Whatever your view on abortion or stem-cell research, however (and President Obama readily admitted there were two legitimate and probably irreconcilable sides to the issue), as a Catholic you must acknowledge that the Church brooks no compromise on this issue. According to the Magisterium, abortion is never allowed: not if the mother's life is in danger, not if the child is the progeny of a sex crime, not if the child is going to be mentally disabled, not ever. There are no ifs, ands, or buts. Catholics must abide by this teaching and understand it if they are to be "In Communion" with the Church. And such teaching does not allow for useful dialogue, since there is no compromise a Catholic apologist can make, nothing they can "give" to a pro-choice advocate in discussion. So while it is well that this issue remains in the public arena (both for Catholics and others), and it certainly does when a pro-choice politician speaks at the commencement of a Catholic University, it undermines the official position of the Church on it's sanctity of life teaching to honor that politician with a degree and a "bully pulpit." It implies that holding views on the sanctity of life heterodox to Church teaching is allowed. That is poor instruction and poor leadership. I expected better from Notre Dame.

Hate and Christianity in America

Six weeks ago I was filled with the anticipatory excitement of returning home. Six long months I'd traveled the (mostly) trackless skies over the Western Pacific, laboring to take a squadron of 12 old, expensive aircraft and nearly 200 people from north to south, in rain, snow, and unbearable heat, to learn, demonstrate and practice our considerable warfighting capacity. Actually, I wasn't responsible for all that, but I did participate, and it was a lot of work. It was both easier and harder, actually, that it all took place away from family and loved ones. The work was easier, of course, because there were few distractions. Well, I'm not doing anything Saturday, so I guess I can go in and study. It was harder also, however, because of the deep loneliness that set in in the down hours, when the squadron rested and the holidays slipped slowly by. And all six months my anticipation built for my return: a chance to enjoy the pleasures of San Diego, to enjoy the company of friends and family, and to have some time for hobbies and such like (I thought about learning how to surf). It was all sunlight and happiness, to my fantasies. What a different world it actually is back at home.

The recession hit when we were deployed, so we heard a lot about it. We didn't see much, for all US Servicemembers deployed overseas are employed, but we watched as the news anchors and commentators waxed poetic about the economic doom upon us. President Obama was elected when we were deployed, and we watched the jubilant news coverage and the partially media-fostered and quite spiteful relief that President Bush was out of office. And I don't know what we all expected to see in regards to these events, but I think I vaguely expected an optimistic America with a lot of closed stores and low prices.

Unfortunately, my distractions from work and the aforementioned pleasures of San Diego are bitter and acrimonious debate between ideologically-driving news talk shows. They also include actual hate towards congressmen, journalists, and others who question the quite questionable solutions offered by congress and the new administration toward the economic downturn and the continuing conflicts overseas. Recently, trivially, a Miss America contestant confessed to believing that marriage should be only between a man and a woman, and cruel attacks and indignant defenses followed. Even more recently, a student at a Christian school was threatened with suspension for breaking school rules against certain kinds of dancing and music after he declared his intent to take his public-school girlfriend to her Prom. Rhetorically I ask, whence all this hate? and when did we collectively lose both our perspective and our backbone?

On the issue of same-sex marriage, I will practically and reasonably point out that believing marriage is excluded to a union between a man and a woman is hardly an unpopular view. Noted luminaries like our current, liberal President and Secretary of State, along with a majority of California voters (to judge first by the passed referendum to define marriage as between a man and a woman, followed by the passed proposition to change the state constitution to so define marriage), hold that view. That doesn't make it right, however, for our democracy protects the hypothetical minority from the hypothetically harmful tyranny of the majority. But reserving marriage to heterosexual couples hardly qualifies as "harmful" or "tyrannous." Gay couples are not put in jail. They are not prevented from being together. Under "Civil Union" laws they are even mostly afforded the same preferential tax treatment as married couples, despite their offering society no natural way to procreate.

But the poor Miss America contestant has been quite persecuted for her view, though it was expressed in as inoffensive manner as possible. She has been vilified, called a "homophobe" and a bigot, excoriated in network broadcasts. Semi-nude photographs taken when she was younger were leaked to the public in an apparent attempt to take from her the "Miss California" crown. This is is spiteful. This is hateful. She makes a handy target, sure--being beautiful, her and her travails are titillating. Misogynists everywhere can insinuate that she's a whore and call her a hypocrite. It only makes it better that she's a self-professed evangelical Christian. Everybody likes to call those people hypocrites.

Which brings me to the little renegade who wants to take his girlfriend to the forbidden Prom. Call me old-fashioned, but the rules are the rules. They are not illegal rules because (as is the case with disallowing same-sex marriage) they are not hurting anyone. There is no right to listen to rock'n'roll, nor to attend prom, nor even to marry (if it comes to that). For the latter, you have to obtain a license. And back in the bad old days before sex, drugs, or rock'n'roll, the marriage license was there to prevent people from marrying minors, or family members, or marrying without proper preparation. What an infringement upon freedom! Of course, we all give up a little freedom for a functioning society--we can't drive however we want, for one thing (you have to get a government license to do that, too), nor can we take stuff without paying for it. But I digress. Because after all, the young man in question attends the Christian School, and while he is still enrolled there he is subject to their rules. End of discussion. Yet instead of holding that young man responsible for his obligations, and telling him to either conform to the rules and not bother us any more, or leave his school and not bother us any more, the entire media is decrying indignantly the abusive Christian school that would prevent this boy from attending the Prom. They're an easy target because, again, they are Christian. Like the Miss America contestant. Like me.

One thing that has become evident in these disparate discussions is the amount of judgment occurring. Journalists and interviewees snicker at the backwards Christians and their wrong-headed views, or else call them bigots and dividers. How dare, the collective culture asks, how dare these other people oppose our zeitgeist? How dare, the question follows, how dare they judge me or my lifestyle? Well the thing is, really, that unless "they" are Anne Coulter or Bill O'Reilly, often they are not judging anyone. They are stating their values. And perhaps their disagreement with a certain piece of legislation. And they are probably content to let their statement stand, because if they are really a Christian, then they believe that as part of our creation God endowed humanity with Freedom (the capital f is no accident). Furthermore (if they are really Christian), they also believe that they are not perfect and need Christ to redeem them. So while it might be reprehensible that they, oh, I don't know, posed semi-nude for photographs, or something like that, it doesn't make them a hypocrite. It just means they are in more need of God's grace, and it ought to make them more humble. I simply don't understand why Christianity is the subject of so much contempt and hatred.

Yet whether or not you think Christianity a good or bad thing, if you live in this country you should at least acknowledge that it belongs. One of our rights is the freedom of religion, defined as the government's absolute limitation from "prohibiting the free exercise thereof." And nobody can deny that conservatives--including the Miss America contestant and the authorities at that Christian school--are Americans like all the rest, and their opinion counts. And while there is no governmental "thought police" (freedom of speech still exists, thank God), the vociferous entities which have so inappropriately attacked their fellow citizens through the media (conservative, Christian, liberal, or gay) ought to have some decency and respect and stop their thought vigilante-ism. For though they certainly have the right to say whatever they want, often what they say is cruel and useless, by which I mean it doesn't contribute much to our culture, our society, or our nation.

The state of Notre Dame in April 2009

The controversy regarding Notre Dame's selection of an aggressively pro-choice politician as the commencement speaker for the 2009 ceremonies has raged for several months now. I have read many opinion pieces supporting and condemning the decision, and I have read some weak defenses and affirmations of the same decision from university officials. So far I have avoided writing about it, if only because the staggering magnitude of Notre Dame's betrayal has been too painful to examine. So I have contented myself with explaining (as patiently as possible) why the invitation of such a speaker, who enthusiastically supports the availability of abortion and stem-cell research, and who has threatened the very mission of ministry and service of the Church by calling for removal of the "freedom-of-conscience clause" from regulations governing the disbursement of federal funds to charities and hospitals, effectively denying such institutions that are Catholic-affiliated needed operating funds if they comply with the dictates of their conscience and refuse to support stem-cell research or refuse to provide or procure abortions, is opposed by so many in the University and the larger American Catholic Community as a whole.

Recently, however, two things happened. I read the text of a speech given at the Notre Dame Center for Ethics and Culture, which admonished the University for its decision to host this politician so opposed to Catholic teaching on the sanctity of life and called for students, faculty, and alumni alike to stand up and provide a witness for the pro-life cause; the next day, I watched the movie Rudy.

The speech, given by William McGurn (text here), was truly inspiring. Calling attention to a recent advertising campaign of the University with the tagline "What would you fight for?" which references the school mascot of the "Fighting Irish" and shows students working for social justice or making advancements in science or medicine, the speech asks why the wealthiest and most successful Catholic university in America--and perhaps in the world--won't use its resources and national visibility to defend the unborn. Recalling ND's sometimes prominent role in the Civil-Rights movement, when the University President at the time, Father Hesburgh, linked arms with Martin Luther King, Jr. at a demonstration, Mr. McGurn called the pro-life movement "the defining civil rights issue of our age," and urged the school as a whole to bear witness as Father Hesburgh once did. The speech reminded all present (and all who read it) that Father Sorin's dream was to raise a University dedicated to Mary, the universal God-Bearer, in the wilderness of northern Indiana to be, literally, a "light unto the nation," illuminating by the truth of Catholic teaching from a dome of gold.

The movie Rudy, though it has more to do with football than it does with the University's mission or the issues at stake, is a story of a time when Notre Dame was chiefly known for its football program. As a Catholic University that supposedly taught chiefly basic theology and vocational skills, it was excluded contemptuously from the club of premier American universities (the "Ivy League") and from lesser, "pretender" universities alike. Yet the excellence of its football team made it impossible to be ignored. And so the University made it's presence and Catholic identity felt across the nation, and thereby served as a beacon to Catholic immigrant communities, mostly blue-collar, who lived and worked in every major city of the nation. That is the reason why still today, despite the continuous, incredulous and condescending surprise of sports broadcasters, Notre Dame football draws supporters from many places outside Indiana.

The excellence of Notre Dame football in those days also served as an inspiration to the students and the faculty present at the university, and by the 1950s and 1960s Father Sorin's dream had perhaps come close to fruition. The University's academic curriculum had made great advancements and stood above all but the very best in the land. The struggle of "Rudy" Ruettiger to attend Notre Dame (and play football there) resonates with thousands of high-schoolers from Catholic schools who dreamed of attending that University. It represented, essentially, the best that Catholic America had to offer: strong faith and moral foundations, the pursuit of excellence in all facets of university life, and a constant exa ple of Catholic truthto what was (and still is) a largely Protestant nation. That is why it represented such an achievement to Rudy and his family, and why Rudy worked so hard to become a part of it.

I discovered the stature of Notre Dame when I was seventeen. Almost carelessly, I chose to attend Notre Dame after deciding that the medical waiver required for attendance at the Naval Academy was too unsure a thing upon which to risk my college acceptance. I was totally unprepared for the overwhelming and positive response from my Catholic family (and the larger Catholic community). To them, I had been selected by the best for the best, and was clearly on the road to greatness--I was not only to be well-educated, I was to be formed as a good Catholic. Their reaction mirrored the reaction of Rudy's father and brothers, the former of whom called a stop to production at the steel mill he managed to make the announcement: "my son's going to Notre Dame!" The pressure only mounted when I arrived on campus, for I felt there a vague but palpable conviction among the students--or at least the best of them, the ones everyone admired--that we all were being formed for something special that required the utmost commitment. The disappointment from my peers when I inadequately completed an assignment, or when I failed to discharge the minimal duties of my stated and claimed Catholicism, was much worse than the admonishments of my professors and mentors. That pressure, when I finally let it inspire me, shaped me into a better person, and contributed to my decision to pursue a career serving others in the Marine Corps.

It is the loss of this consciousness of being elite that hurts me so much about Notre Dame's commencement speaker selection. When the university publically acts against the explicit direction of it's own Bishop and the U.S. Bishop's council at large and provides a "bully pulpit" to a figure who has so prominently contradicted and denied essential truths--which are no less true for being Catholic-taught--it abdicates it's hard-earned role as this nation's foremost example and defender of truth and morals. I suspect that no longer will so many Catholic teenagers dream of attending Notre Dame to "fight the good fight" or more deeply form their faith; I doubt now that any non-Catholic teenagers will seek admission to Notre Dame out of curiosity or a desire to be as good, as righteous, or as unashamedly committed to truth as true Catholicism is. Notre Dame has ceased to be unique and has joined ranks with so many of the "academically rigorous" but softly relativistic universities (among which are some who call themselves Catholic) that make up the fabric of American higher learning. Graduating from Notre Dame now merely reflects on my academic ability. It says nothing at all about my moral character.

Yet the true tragedy here is found in the prospective and current students of Notre Dame who will see in this invitation that the university condones ideas contrary to Catholicism. These young men and women are told by nearly every facet of society that abortion is not wrong, and those who oppose it are ignorant, bigoted, or worse; to a lesser extent they are given to understand that the Church is irrelevant and historical rather than present and alive. They are in the formative stage of their life when they most greatly feel pressure to conform to with the ideas and actions of the rest of the nation and "fit in." These teenagers and young adults need to hear a strong voice for truth. They need to see and hear a vigorous defense of the sanctity of life, which informs all other Catholic teaching. They need to know that abortion isn't merely one issue among many on which the Church opposes mainstream society, but the central issue on which no compromise is possible. Above all, as prospective Catholic witnesses and apologists, these young adults need to understand that in this case the fundamental, inalienable right of our most defenseless citizens to live is not some archaic and obsolete idea of the Church, but rather a practical cornerstone of society (which cannot survive if it allows citizens to kill other citizens for convenience). In that it has this effect, Notre Dame's selection of a pro-life commencement speaker makes it part and promulgator of what Pope John Paul II called "the culture of death."

My condemnation of my Alma Mater is harsh, but I believe justified, and it is certainly not final. Even now the University could rectify matters by rescinding their invitation in order to witness the sanctity of human life so clearly unshared by their original intended speaker. It could "clean house" and remove those officials and faculty who are so out of touch with the truth proclaimed by the Church that they would consider such a selection. In doing so, the University even might put some integrity and conviction into the otherwise good Catholics within the University community who stood timidly by and let this invitation happen, knowing (one hopes) within the depths of their uneasy hearts that such an action would contradict all the university aspires to stand for. Better yet, such action would provide an unashamed and unequivocal example of right to Catholics young and old across the nation it was founded to serve. Only then will Notre Dame will reclaim as reality the image so stirringly and imaginatively proclaimed by its architecture: a university dedicated to Our Lady, the immortal presenter of God to the broken human race, preaching truth to Americans just as her image gleams in gold across the heart-land of our country.

The Military-Industrial Complex and the Cost of Nationhood

That humans need to live in community is indisputable. A family is the smallest human community, and the biological facts that drive division of labor within the family indicate the biological need for a community in the first place. In order for the family to survive, it needs to be protected and sustained. Happily, a grown male is tailored specifically toward doing this. In order for the family to be sustainable and continue surviving, it needs to procreate and that it's young are nurtured. Happily, a grown female is tailored specifically toward these tasks. Yet a single family is vulnerable, so communities exist of multiple families where the division of labor is expanded. Large communities can even support practically useless labors, such as art and religious worship, which sustain a metaphysical need in humans. The largest such communities are nations, which ideally comprise a State--defined as an entity with a monopoly on violence (to protect, deter, and punish)--and a culture, which yields collective values and ambitions for citizens.

A much more lucid way to to define nationhood, or at least the purpose thereof, is found in C.S. Lewis' writings:

[W]e must say that the sun looks down on nothing half so good as a household laughing together over a meal, or two friends talking over a pint of beer, or a man alone reading a book that interests him; and that all economies, politics, laws, armies, and institutions, save insofar as they prolong and multiply such scenes, are a mere plowing of the sand and sowing the ocean, a meaningless vanity and vexation of spirit.

We know intuitively that in order for people to be happy, they need to satisfy other needs first. Maslow's Hierarchy categorizes them nicely: first physiological needs like food and shelter, then personal needs like companionship and belonging, then finally metaphysical needs like self-actualization and morality. That final set of needs is what C.S. Lewis correctly identifies as the pinnacle of human life, from whence spring the drive to create great works of art and music, the drive to dare great deeds and perform feats of service and compassion. And tellingly we tend to judge cultures (including our own) by such achievements. We Americans, for example, take pride in our achievements in the Second World War, where at great sacrifice and individual risk we helped defeat ruthless, unjust, and evil totalitarian states. Other cultures take justifiable pride in their own art, science, or historical achievements.

Yet with C.S. Lewis we must also acknowledge that we can only reach our pinnacle if lower-order needs are met: personal safety and sustenance, for example. Sadly, humans and the communities they form can be selfish, which usually results in someone taking an item of value from another, often by violence. Whether it is a schoolyard bully exhorting lunch money or Nazi Germany's desire for liebensraum at the expense of the Soviet Union, it is the same ugly story. Furthermore, there is a darkness to the human heart that defies normal comprehension, a darkness manifested in events like the Holocaust, or the genocide in Rwanda, or (on a smaller level) the rampage of a serial killer or school shooter. In communities which are constantly living at the mercy of threatening or violent neighboring communities, fulfilling those "high-order needs" is prevented by the struggle to survive and protect loved ones and important possessions, like homes and businesses. So within our communities and nations we have developed governments and institutions for preventing intimidation and violence. One such institution is the Military.

The chief purpose of a Military is to protect the sovereign land and people of a nation. It does so by providing a credible threat of violence to those who would violate the nation, and if necessary by executing violence on those who threaten it. Because threats in this modern age come in sophisticated and flexible forms, and threaten from all environments (land, sea, and air), we must maintain at least a comprable level of sophistication and flexibility in our own Military, which requires a lot of support.

A military term much in vogue is "force-multiplier," which is a label applied to anything that increases the combat power of a unit beyond its "nominal" amount. It's a vague term, because the "nominal" combat power of a platoon might simply be the combined strength, aggressiveness, and will to win of 42 young men. In that case, rifles are a combat multiplier. However, the term is often applied to things like esprit de corps and advanced weapons. The former is a combat multiplier that is been used by Militaries since war began. It refers to tangible and proven professionalism, discipline, loyalty, and a belief in the purpose of the unit. The success of Roman Legionaries has been historically attributed to their unit cohesion, experience, and dedication to warfare--they had more esprit de corps than any other Military they fought. Modern militaries develop esprit de corps through challenging training designed to force members to work together and rely on each other (e.g. "boot camp"), rigorous training in the actual conduct of fighting (e.g. marksmanship and "war games" training) and demanding adherence to "core values" such as the Navy and Marine Corps' honor, courage, and commitment. But alone esprit de corps cannot guarantee a military can fulfill its mission, as was demonstrated in 1939 by the utter defeat of superbly trained and motivated Polish Cavalry in the face of Nazi Panzers. The technological gap was too wide. No matter how motivated or skilled he is, a man who proverbially brings a knife to a gun fight will probably be killed.

Technology is simply a subset of the support structure which enables a military to fight. Obviously, if a nation expects their military to fight well for them, the nation must provide it simple things like sustenance, recompense for the service, and ideological support. In addition to those things, the nation must also provide weapons. In the middle ages, those weapons were swords and spears provided by blacksmiths, who were in turn furnished with iron ore provided by miners. But today the threat is sophisticated and flexible, and consists of advanced weapons systems like tanks, cruise missiles, and airplanes--which must be countered with like weaponry. Therefore, a to ensure its protection a nation must commit the industrial resources to provide and maintain a modern military. This requires steel, rubber, and other industrial supplies for the building of military equipment, electronics to operate and control advanced weapons (such as the AEGIS missile defense system), money to operate and maintain the equipment for training purposes, and provision for research and development. This conglomeration of industrial, financial, and military resources is called "The Military-Industrial Complex."

Certainly the necessity of creating a Military capable of presenting a sufficiently credible threat has made the Military-Industrial Complex a comparatively large percentage of our own national endeavor. As such, the parties involved (from corporations to the Military organizations themselves) have been able to wield increasing amounts of influence in the halls of our Government. There are some segments of society that have resented and still resent this trend since the first great rise in influence of the Military-Industrial Complex in the aftermath of World War II, questioning whether the national resources devoted to supporting our large modern military might not be excessive, and better used in bettering the fabric of society, such as by offering better education or more medical care. In his 1960 Farewell Speech, President Eisenhower uttered a warning: "[W]e must guard against the acquisition of unwarranted influence, whether sought or unsought, by the military-industrial complex. The potential for the disastrous rise of misplaced power exists and will persist."

There are many examples, both apocryphal and documented, of such "misplaced power." The congressmen who control military spending, the contractors who befriend such congressmen to ensure that defense dollars are paid to their corporations, and the Military services themselves have all at times irresponsibly used our national resources. This justifiably angers those who see a need for better infrastructure such as schools and hospitals, or simply for a government that demands less from its citizens. "Misplaced Power" in the hands of the Military-Industrial Complex is particularly frustrating in times of financial difficulty.

Yet though instances of "misplaced power" demand renewed focus on Military oversight (after all, our forefathers subjected the Miltary establishment to civilian masters for a reason), they should not result in the drastic cuts so often proposed. While our society might benefit greatly from diverting resources from the Military and associated industries toward endeavors like education and medical care, it cannot be denied that such endeavors are higher-order needs, and a nation cannot focus on them if it is occupied with survival. The cure for cancer is not much of a concern when people more often die from bullets.

Now manifestly our nation is not under much of a threat--but the possibility of such a threat exists. There are other powerful nations in the world with vibrant, advanced technology and industry and sufficient population to logistically and realistically engage in total war. While such nations exist, there is an imperative to have a Military capable of handling the threat they could pose. To do anything less is to gamble very survival on convenience. A similar criticism is that too many resources are dedicated to supporting the Military when in a time of peace. In such times, the argument goes, a less robust military is required, and the resources thereby saved might be put to a nobler use. But again it is an imprudent nation that gambles its safety on the whim of its neighbors, for they may suddenly decide for expediency rather than peace or morality and simply take what they want, if they can.

There is yet another reason besides current safety that a significant military draw-down is unwise. For just as the skills required to make swords were perishable if not taught to succeeding blacksmiths on down the generations (along with the skills required for mining), the vast and intricate knowledge required to produce today's advanced weapons is perishable. That knowledge can only be maintained fully through execution, or namely in the continued production of such weapons ("book-learning" alone leaves proven gaps). Industrial production is the result of much labor and planning: the very manufacturing machines and processes that produce advanced weaponry at any kind of scale must themselves be designed and built. The supply lines and economic relationships that provide the steel, manufacture the rubber and fiberglass, and supply the electrical components and computer chips to the actual assembly lines must be established and negotiated. Above all, the resident intelligence in the defense industry that spends its time designing the best equipment for the Military and constantly improving it to meet advances from threat militaries is something that grows organically as systems are built, tested, and utilized. To halt even a large portion of that cold is to lose it forever--it will never be recovered as it was, and if the nation has need of it in the future (such as war might require), it must rebuild all that engineering prowess, all those business relationships, and all that industrial capability from scratch, and at ruinous cost. An example of this was found during the rapid American mobilization following her entrance into the First World War, when for a while there were so few rifles that entire Army units were sent to France without ever having been trained.

While it is indeed a gamble to withdraw a nation's support for it's Military, it also has a negative effect on the fabric of the nation as a whole. The economic and industrial relationships begotten by the Military-Industrial Complex employ many civilians. The process of developing and building advanced military equipment begets advanced technologies with civilian (commercial and industrial) applications. And in no small way do the members of a Military so supported and maintained contribute to society.

In the first place, they fight and will die for it. They will risk grave danger for the opportunity to fight and die for it. Seafaring and Aviation remain profoundly dangerous occupations, as seen by the recent crash of a F/A-18 Hornet into a neighborhood of San Diego or the recent shipboard fire on the USS George Washington. Yet the members of our military volunteer for such danger. They serve in hostile environments, work long hours in substandard spaces, and endure training hardships that cannot be legally wrought upon prisoners. They do all of this for mediocre pay, at best, and a lifestyle that all but denies them the abilitity to start or participate in a family. Their spouses, often left alone for months at a time, must raise children and keep house alone, all while perhaps worrying for the safety of their loved one. All this is chiefly the result of esprit de corps, and it is sad but virtuous. The men and women a Military produces are more often diligent, thrifty, and honorable than average. They are no strangers to hard work and tough jobs, and participate in the processes of democracy in greater percentages than the rest of the population. They learn not only the difficult skills of their Military trade, but also the social skills required for a close community. They learn teamwork and self-discipline. And in their conspicuous display of these virtues in their communities, the members of the military may inspire their fellow citizens.

These virtues (these virtuous men and women) a Military gives its nation are arguably the result more of esprit de corps than national resource support. But it is not so. Without the aircraft, ships, tanks, rifles, ammunition, ordnance and host of other gear meant solely for training at it's disposal--namely, the equipment provided by the Military-Industrial Complex--the institution of the Military could not make the sacrifices necessary in times of peace possible. When an infantryman leaves his home and family for a week in the woods, training, that builds esprit de corps and military virtue. When a ship goes underway for a month, training, its crew suffers a similar sacrifice. When an aviation squadron deploys halfway around the world simply to demonstrate its own nation's commitment to an allied country, the sacrifice is proportionally greater. Yet without actual war to execute, this is the only adversity a Military can create to achieve esprit de corps. And it is therefore necessary. Even in times of peace, the Military-Industrial Complex helps support everything positive a Military can provide it's citizenry.

There are few former soldiers who become great artists or writers or engineers (though they do exist). But a Military, and the support structure required for it's maintenance, is necessary to the survival, growth, and essential fabric--social and economic--of a nation. However expensive this all may be, it must not be neglected at the risk of becoming the victim of some more powerful neighbor. While it is reasonable to scale back the military to a certain degree, it must be done cautiously and in the full knowledge that the support of engineering and industry are essential. Inasmuch as we wish to remain a great nation, we cannot afford to let languish an institution that contributes so much positive to our society.

A Laetare Sunday Story

So it was last Tuesday that I left my erstwhile home in Iwakuni, Japan for the long-awaited trip back across the Pacific. I was returning to my real home in San Diego, and let me tell you that I'd been looking forward very forward to it. I was supposed to arrive three days ago, but due to the intervention of a little misfortune and happenstance, I was unavoidably detained elsewhere (not that it's all bad, I promise). At this point, I've been traveling for five days - or rather six, since I went from Wednesday back into Tuesday while crossing the International Date Line. Which is a bit strange, I think, the whole having to set the date on your watch back. It makes the concept of continuous and linear time seem kinda silly. In any case, these past six days have brought me up short on Laetare Sunday.

Appropriately enough, it was St. Patrick's Day that I lived through twice, commonly one of revelry in the United States. Now I like St. Patrick quite a bit (being part Irish by birth and all Irish by attendance at Notre Dame), and I'm not averse to raising the odd glass or two in his memory, especially on his dedicated feast day, but sadly this day always occurs during Lent, when I make the habit (or have for several years) of jumping back on the wagon as a form of fasting. That being a big part of Lent and all. So this year, despite having two feast days instead of one, I honored him soberly. I don't think he'll mind--after all, as a Saint the old boy probably did some fasting of his own.

Anyway, it's appropriate that we got St. Patrick's Day twice because the feasting and imbibery therein associated fits quite nicely with the general theme of our recent WestPac. I've mentioned this before, but for a crew of young, healthy, and motivated men and women, taken lately from their loved ones and accustomed society, there's little to do but try to make the best of a new situation the easy way. And that's done primarily with alcohol, with Western Pacific watering holes like Tokyo, Korea, Okinawa, and Australia having in abundance. So without divulging anything too incriminating, I can say only that we made plenty of fun over the course of the deployment, with some parties perhaps even welcoming that particular type of enjoyment all the more for certain stateside restrictions that didn't apply overseas (though of course I personally cannot recall any such individual myself). So though we greeted our impending return home with considerable joy and eager anticipation, we were a bit nostalgic for our happy WestPac fraternity, forged by the trials and drinking games of WestPac, which would soon be broken by the presence of loved ones and the inevitable march of the Marine Corps, and therefore set forth from Iwakuni with the honest intent of making the most of our last days on deployment.

Our chief excitement in this regard was reserved for Hawaii, which by a glorious and unexpected grace the powers-that-be had designated as the site of our "catch-up" day--firstly, for to fix any broken aircraft and allow tardy ones to catch up, and secondly to allow us fragile aircrew to "readjust our internal clocks" and "reset our Circadian Rhythms," because apparently such things were knocked off kilter during the course of transiting seven time zones in two days. Wouldn't want the men with $40 million of high-tech, deadly government property to be tired or jet-lagged. No, sir, that wouldn't do at all. A positively careless gamble with the public purse. So in the interests of prudence and fiscal discipline we gleefully landed at Honolulu International and rushed headlong to the relaxation of Waikiki beach. Not but what the ongoing spring break didn't motivate us a little bit too.

What a fitting end to WestPac! we thought (and gushed to one another). A free evening out on the town, with no required wakeup the next morning, and a whole free day after that--well! what an opportunity for celebration (and perhaps other things as well). It was a perfect situation, really. One final big push, one final memorable night, then at long last, home. And I did make the most of it, soaking up the ambiance and scenery of a popular local restaurant that first night, then visiting the USS Arizona Memorial the next morning (which, I tell you, makes a man right solemn and pondersome), then hiking up the local volcano Diamondhead that afternoon for some famous Hawaiian scenery and a mighty pretty view of the city.

The next morning, my pilot and I started up our aircraft just fine until we realized it required a little extra servicing before it could fly. So we settled ourselves in for a bit of a wait, knowing that we would miss the first launch but certainly would make the second -- no big deal at all. A small hiccup, totally canceled by a timely substitution. Shortly, we taxied out and took off, and finally were on our way!

Now the tanker assigned to us for this final leg was of the KC-10 variety, and it was set up to dispense fuel from two wing-mounted pods. The reason being that some fifty-pound brains (i.e. nerds) had determined that when out around the middle of our route from Hawaii to the US (and some one thousand miles from land in any direction), cycling any more than three jets on a hose could result in a situation where players might not have enough gas to reach terra firma at all, which would be bad, all things considered. Ejection over the middle of the ocean is not conducive to rescue or survival, given that the ejectees are relying on a mere chance that some boat is at hand to pull them out. So the two-hose configuration of our Tanker was required in order to safely nurse all six aircraft home. Unfortunately, said wing-mounted hoses are not altogether reliable. But more on that in a second.

So we had ourselves a plan. And it seemed to be working, too. The first aircraft hooked up to his basket just fine. The second one, however... well, the second aircraft barely got his probe into the other basket when, to our united horror and dismay, the hose bowed ominously. To quick to be countered (but to our wondering eyes seeming quite slow) a wave flicked along the length of the hose, then rebounded from the Tanker's wing and ripped the probe right off our jet. There was suddenly a lot of fuel spraying from the now useless hose, or at least there was for the very long couple seconds it took the tanker guys to shut off the flow. And suddenly we were down to one hose.

So there was to be no homecoming that day for that aircraft, nor (as it turns out) for my pilot or me neither, because The Rules Governing Military Aviation clearly state that all fighter aircraft must travel with mutual support (i.e. another aircraft), and we were lucky enough to be chosen as the escorting aircraft. It was a turn back to Hawaii for our two jets, to await the fixing of one broken probe and the irritating whimsy of the Air Force, from whom we now needed another Tanker.

As you might expect, I use the phrase "lucky enough" with some sarcasm, because after six long months home had started looking pretty nice. Especially the part about not living out of a suitcase. In fact, I'd worked myself up into a considerable state of excitement over the whole homecoming, and well to turn around like that was frankly a disappointment. By the time we touched back down at Honolulu I had worked myself back up into a right foul mood. However, being (still somewhat) young and resilient, and being unable to ignore the increasingly excited company of my fellows (nor the good weather neither), I gradually simmered down and began to enjoy the prospect of some more days on vacation.

And the next couple days exceeded my expectations. We did plenty of sightseeing and even caught some nice Waikiki nightlife -- especially as two of those "couple days" were Friday and Saturday. But wouldn't you know that Sunday always follows quick on the heels of the weekend, and with it the inevitable obligation of Sunday Mass. Of course, by phrasing it that way I don't mean to indicate that I dislike Sunday Mass, but ] after the late weekend of unmitigated Spring Break, it was a little bit more of a transition than usual. Required reorganizing the mind, like.

Fortunately, there was an easily identifiable church not 10 minutes (walking distanc) from my hotel, which looked like one of those rigidly beautiful structures built for worship in the 1950s and 60s. Triangular in structure, with triangular side windows of stained glass, it is aggressively simple and points aggressively upwards. It has a new, modern, and severe feeling--all of which enhances and makes conspicuous the soft, beautiful scenes depicted in the stained glass. The side windows each illustrate episodes of the Gospel, and the entire front of the church is a giant stained-glass picture of the Church's patron, St. Augustine. It was cool and dim inside. It was also relatively full, which I found surprising in a parish that caters mainly to tourists.

Now, like any good Catholic I understand intellectually that Mass is something in which I participate, but which does not require my participation. I've been instructed that the Mass is essentially whole and complete whether or not a congregation is present at all. Likewise, a Mass is not less valuable for the absence of music (or the use of substandard music) nor even for quality of homily preached. All that notwithstanding, I (like many fellow Irishmen) personally hold some rather strong opinions about the whole affair, especially during special season like Lent. Consequently I prepared to cock a rather jaundiced and cynical eye on this event.

But my first impression was one of humility, as I realized I had forgotten what day it was: Laetare Sunday, when in the midst of Lent the Catholic Church calls upon it's members to be joyful in remembrance that past the fasting and penance lies the hope of Easter. More humility was dished up later on when I found my mind wandering during the Gospel reading. Before you go getting all judgmental on me, however, you should know that it was the optional reading provided for integration with an RCIA class, and it was a long one -- but still, that's a pretty poor excuse. It wasn't even boring or anything; it told the (remarkable) story of Jesus curing the blind man on the Sabbath. Perhaps I was a bit petulant in my sub-conscience, given that I am used to (and sort of expect) nice short easily digestible readings. Not that that's any better an excuse, however. I mean, the Gospel is the most important text there is when it comes to Church, and it's pretty sad if I can't pay attention for fifteen minutes instead of five.

In consequence of all that humility, I was pretty sullen when I sat down to hear the homily. My mood was not improved by the fact that the priest has a strong accent. It wasn't that he spoke poor English, mind -- his grammar was correct, his sentences eloquent, and his ideas coherent -- it was that deciphering his actual words required just a little extra concentration. Concentration I'd rather have used berating myself, what with me being the inordinately proud Catholic that I am. So with a barely audible sigh of frustration, I swung my arm back over the pew and and settled in grumpily to listen.

What I heard was surprising. The priest directed our attention to the many references to "sight" or "seeing" in the Gospel, and reminded us that the quick, commercialized modern world offers us an overwhelming stream of images --advertisements, television programs, magazines, movies, music, and books -- all which may conflict with or distract from the image of God. He asked if we were choosing to see the right images, and explained how "the Jews" of the Gospel reading (which occupy the role of Jesus' own people , which essentially means us) had chosen blindness by refusing to see the right image, the sign he worked for them in the curing. There is no blindness, he admonished, like the blindness of those who either refuse to see what they are looking at or who refuse to look at all. He concluded with a twofold mandate: first, that we reject images that distract or detract from God, and second that we actively participate in sacrament and prayer -- thus we might not be blind to God.

Now I was brought up respectful and more often than not will address an older gentleman or lady by "sir" or "ma'am," respectively. It therefore stands to reason that I generally hold priests in esteem as well. But there was something extra worthy about that priest in Waikiki: it took some intestinal fortitude to stand in front of a church full of Spring Breaker and tell them they are looking at the wrong images. I mean, it's a well-known fact that the images of Hawaii are pretty spectacular, whether you're into the natural beauty of the islands themselves or the possibly natural beauty of Hawaiians and/or other tourists. Furthermore, nobody on vacation wants to hear a lecture, especially one that implicitly questions their very reason for being there. Yet I knew as I heard him speak that I needed to hear each word he said, as as far as I could tell the entire congregation had the same reaction: there seemed to be a lot humility and inspiration going around. I guess hearing the truth has that kind of effect on people.

So there's nothing like a bit of good bit of preaching to get you to think about your priorities, and I was painfully aware that I had been a just a mite too caught up in having fun, and rather reprehensibly unconcerned with spiritual and filial duties. And that had been my condition since starting the deployment. There, at the end, it was time to turn around and start working on meaningful relationships like family and old friends, and actually enter spirit of Lent. Which is, after all, partially about fasting and serving others; two things that I pretty much ignored throughout WestPac.

So, Laetare indeed! Our delay, such a disappointment to me at first, has turned out providential. The headlong rush of deployment carried me in some ways far from my values, but inside that stern beautiful church the illusions I had been chasing were exposed and melted, briefly, in the face of holier images. So I will begin both penance and fasting in cheerful earnest -- fasting from the excesses I'd grown used to and penance to correct my previous spiritual lassitude, all in the joyful hope of Easter, when Christ will rise again before me and renew the great promise of heaven.

Limbo (and thereafter)

Limbo occurs every so often. You know, when you aren't really anywhere? In this itinerant life I lead, it happens every so often that I just go and leave my life behind and end up in limbo, or the other way around. Recently it was the latter--my life just picked on up and left, and here I am in nowhere. Nowhere called Iwakuni, Japan. Lately my home.

This happened after college, too, except that it was me leaving then. I walked out of Commencement and suddenly my home wasn't my home anymore. My stadium, my dome, my dorm, my quads and classrooms, all were then suddenly someone else's. I felt like a guest where before I'd been family. I suppose it was my sense of propriety. After all, it was the occasion of an hour-long ceremony that changed my status. But with a diploma in hand I was officially a part of the work force, and no longer a college student. It was kind of sad, really - not in the least "bittersweet." I'd been happy at college. I didn't know if I'd be happy in "real life." Nothing to do, however, but move on out. It's nice to be single, I guess. It makes you mobile. It makes dealing with limbo easier.

This latest movement is kind of sad, too. Iwakuni used to be kind of a special place. Both good and bad, to be sure. But special nonetheless. I mean, here you could really be a part of something unique. Not many people get a second crack at their high school or college years. You know, when your only social prospects are a short walk away from your door? besides your discrete responsibilities, all you have to do is play sports or party together or sight-see, which are pretty much the best three things in the worlds anyway (besides relationships). It's all the more care-free because it happens in a foreign country. You don't have the pressing weight of social conventions all around you to keep you down. You can be just as rude or wild as you want. But it's even better than it was back when you were a teenager, because you can enjoy it more. You can be juvenile AND laugh at your own juvenility.

Sure, I won't miss the weather (though today is restless and breezy, with some fast-moving puffy clouds playing games with the sun). I won't miss the repetetive radio station, or the limited TV channels, or the five fast-food restaurants that make up your choices for dinner. I won't miss the lack of female companionship or the lack of freedom. That all gets kind of wearing after a while. It makes you yearn to drive a car, or crave a particular food (fish tacos, in my case). It makes you suddenly appreciative of the little pleasures of living in the States. But it also highlights what you're missing back in the States.

You see, six months is a long time to be gone. Time for people to get used to not having you around. Time for your friends to get new friends, or new romances. Time for existing relationships to grow fonder from the absence, which is great if you are in one of those relationships but not so much if you aren't. Because the net effect of all this is that you're not just in limbo when your life moves away from you, you move back into limbo when you catch it up. So I guess I'm not that much in a hurry to get out of here. At least now I have time to do those things I miss in a normal work-week, like write emails (blogs?), work out, or eat normal meals.

The problem is that vacation isn't really all that fun. I thrive on stress, apparently, because I get kind of bored after a day of doing nothing. And a routine is boring too. So here I am, stuck on Iwakuni with all it's opportunities available, and I find that even if I avail myself of all of them I still have too many extra hours in the day. So despite the potential limbo waiting in San Diego, I really do want to leave here on timeline. At least it gives me something to do.

It also gives me something to look forward to, of course. I mean, my old life might not be so far gone. With a little grace and effort I might re-integrate rather easily. But that will require growth. When in limbo, with time to be scared, growth seems kind of intimidating. More so than when things are busy, because you only really realize that you've grown after the fact. Like right now, obviously, I am realizing all the ways I grew during WestPac, but I sure didn't realize that I was growing in the moment. I was working too hard or getting yelled at or trying to survive another drinking bout. THAT was easy.

But life moves on. Everyone knows that. It's probably better to jump on board. I'd like to do so, but I have to wait in limbo for a couple of days yet. It seems kind of useless to cling to the "good ol' days" of this now-mostly-past WestPac, but maybe that will make this limbo go by faster. It'll be good when it ends, on the whole. Whatever that brings.

The progress of springtime and the path to Calvary

The nights can be cold in Iwakuni, Japan. I know this well because I often walk home long past sunset. Over the months I have spent out here, I have enjoyed on these occasions only the company of remote and wintry stars, sleet or snow, freezing rain, or occasionally the roar of jets overhead, invisible in the clouds. This nightly walk has become so much of a habit for me that I have come to expect the feel of my leather jacket heavy on my shoulders and close around my waist, the fur collar either cold and wet or warm and comfortable, and the familiar solitary shortcuts through parking lots. Such has been the substance of my nightly relaxation before I reach my room, my bed, and the challenges of tomorrow.

Tonight was different. Though cool, it lacked its wonted bitterness. It seemed young and pleasant, with the full moon rising large and golden in the hazy air and the northern sky perceptibly lighter than I could ever remember. As I passed a drainage ditch, usually silent but for the sound of cold running water, I heard a cheerful cacophany of birds amongst the bushes. Abruptly I realized that springtime had arrived.

There had been other harbingers. Certain days were inexplicably sunny after weeks of freezing rain, only to then disappear behind the frigid clouds. Today, at work, I noticed unconsciously the warmish sunlight and aching clarity of the air. And recently we switched from the green uniforms we wear in wintertime to the tan ones we wear from spring through fall. So I knew it was coming. But I am tonight nevertheless surprised and suddenly excited at the palpable approach of springtime.

It has been a long winter in many respects. The constant movement of the first months of the deployment made for busy days and changing scenery, which partially distracted from homesickness and stress. However, once we moved back to Iwakuni the days became indistinguishable. They all had the same long hours, the same bad weather, the same (now irritating) sights, and a heavy, growing desire to go home. So deep was the winter, in fact, that Ash Wednesday arrived with no warning and I found myself, bewildered and flailing, on the road to Cavalry when seemingly just weeks ago I was rejoicing at Christ's birth.

Plain wisdom tells us that God waits for no man. The cycle and myriad responsibilities of work are absolutely engaging, whether they involve flying, studying, or administrative tasks. But so invested had I become in their accomplishment that I'd nearly forgotten the dues owed to my God and to my soul. Somewhere between the weekly Masses and the occasional Confession I had let the winter and my imposed obligations dominate my life. The first step towards achieving temperance is the weary acquiescence to the demands of Lent, and the second this exciting arrival of springtime.

Lent requires discipline and sacrifice, for both are necessary to break bad habits. It forces me out of my spiritual complacence and pulls my mind away from the trivial things that make up my physical life. The arrival of springtime is, in the context of Christianity, the anticipation and foreshadowing of God's promise; in the context of Lent it is a metaphor promising that our purpose is not to fast and suffer, but eventually to be joyful (in the presence of God). The fasting enables that by weaning us from those false gods that tempt us from happiness: ambition, excess guilt, excess affection, depression, and lust. The fruit borne by our Lenten discipline is mimicked in nature by the process of spring.

It has happened before and it will happen again. Suddenly tonight I am light of heart and optimistic; I have transitioned gratefully from darkness into a brighter world. I have, no doubt, experienced many such transitions and no doubt will experience many more, but nothing can dilute the immediacy of the visceral and sensuous reaction I have to the signs of spring tonight. There is joy ahead. Winter will end. But in order to find that end, I must, like everyone else, purge from their dark thrones the vices and distractions that have grown upon me. The path to summer always lies through Calvary.

My Mistress the Sky

I used to see clouds chiefly from the ground up. In Seattle, that meant mostly looking at a matte gray ceiling, broken up (prettily enough) by tall firs. On clear days, the unexciting clouds were replaced by very exciting mountains and some pretty incredible views. The Pacific Northwest has been described before as "God's Country."

Once, just into my second decade of life, I had an opportunity to see thunderheads. On a week-long canoe camping trip through the Bowron Lakes, I remember one afternoon distinctly when the slanting sunlight of northern climes illuminated large pillars of clouds building over the mountains. I found it (and the fantastically loud and relentless storm that followed) both impressive and exotic. All too soon, however, I returned to mild Seattle and continued my somewhat uninterested relationship with this particular natural phenomenon.

I subsequently spent all but the summers of the next four years in the midwest, followed by one autumn/winter period in Virginia, and found little to change my perspective. But in Pensacola, however, I developed a new appreciation for clouds. There were early winter mornings when I would drive in bad-temperedly for a 5:30 flight brief, only to be stopped in my tracks by the sight of delicate, lacy wisps floating unimaginably high, softly luminous in the approaching dawn. There were tense flights among dark walls of cloud, where my instructor and I would follow the sunlight as best we could, hoping that the field was clear. In late summertime, the evenings were ever heralded by storms arrayed in line-of-battle formation, steadily marching from west to east across the town. Yet I paid but cursory attention to those wonders, for they had much to compete with. My senses were too often busy with the sugary white sand, the unpredictable spring/autumn surf, or the placid and dolphin-graced bayous to contemplate the sky.

San Diego has very little to offer. The desert haze and southern California smog combine to make a pristine blue sky rare even when there are no clouds, and when the sky is obscured it is by a dense and oppressively gray "Marine Layer" of fog that sits about 2000' above the water. The air is clearer in the mountains and over the small airfields I routinely fly through in El Centro and Creech, but it is desert country. There are no clouds there.

But the skies over the western Pacific are a wonderland. Many sunset hours I have spent on long navigation legs, quietly traversing the hundreds of miles between the mainland and Okinawa and contemplating the multi-colored ranges that tower from a mere twenty thousand feet over the water to over sixty thousand, or the broken layers that look like blasted landscapes below the aircraft. On many approaches into MCAS Iwakuni I have seen thick fog lap against the volcanic slopes of Japan's home islands, secretively obscuring coasts, towns, and valley floors. Many evenings in Australia I stood in the entrance tunnel to our operations bunker, watching vast thunderstorms gather the dying sunlight in the distance or watching their fury lash the unsheltered Outback. Occasionally, I had the fortune to fly (warily) in the vicinity of such storms, marvelling at their sheer bulk, the violence of their lightning, and the astonishing density of the rain they visited on the ground.

All in all, I find that I appreciate weather much more than I used to. In all likelihood this is as much to do with the places I've lived or visited as it is with the fact that weather is an actual threat to those in my profession. Recently I had my first experience of "the leans," a sort of vertigo or disorientation wherein what aircrew feels as "straight and level" flight is in fact frighteningly skewed. In my case, I felt that my airplane was tilted up on a wingtip--90 degree angle-of-bank, for the aviation-minded--and dropping like a rock, despite the attitude indications in the cockpit showing me that we were in fact flying as straight and level as possible. More than a source of disorientation, weather in the form of clouds can so thoroughly obscure the ground that an airplane cannot safely descend low enough to see a runway...which makes landing impossible. Certain weather phenomena can actually damage the airplane, such as hail or the ice which forms sometimes when flying through precipitation (built-up ice will actually change the shape of the wing and in extreme cases cause the airplane to lose aerodynamic lift). So it is not surprising that I focus more on things like clouds, given that they can pose a serious threat.

I suppose in some ways I probably view the skies in some wise as sailors view the sea: something to love, something to respect, and at times something to fear. And then the common-sense warnings of innumerable military safety posters emerge from my memory. After all, knowing to fear the sky makes me a safer aviator.

But even at it's most dangerous the sky is a beautiful place.