Coming to Grips with my Wealth

People my age [early 50s] are starting to tell me stories of the American war [we know it as the Vietnam war].

There was one time, 12 days in December of 1972, when we bombed this city every single day, without pause.  I'm hearing stories about that.  And as I listen, I feel horror and shame and so much more.  

I was only 12, so I know intellectually that I wasn't culpable.  Still, that knowledge doesn't release me from feeling responsible for the devastation we wrought on this people.  There is something here that I need to learn.

So, I listen.  And my friends share.  The juxtaposition of me climbing trees and playing kickball while my friends were hiding under stairwells and fearing for their lives is almost too much for me to bear.    

I think it is a sure sign of wealth that the many wars in which we have been engaged have been fought in someone else's home, while we live in total safety.  With the exception of 911 [which was one hellatious day], I can think of no other time in my life when the battle was waged on our soil.

It's hard to have the conversation regarding war without getting into the politics of it.  Allowing ourselves to go into that space, however, diminishes our humanity, for any bright person can conceive of entirely rationale and logical arguments for attacking another country and killing its people.  In fact, that's much of what makes warring against another people possible...the dehumanization of the country's people and the creation of fear among those living in the attacking country.  But, I want to step aside from all that because it negates our humanity even as it strips others of theirs.

If we were to courageously separate ourselves from the political rhetoric that creates this artificial boundary between us and others, what might we learn...about others...about ourselves...?

My favorite pastor once told a story for her sermon.  In it, there was a wealthy man and his family.  Each day, they would feast on succulent foods in a beautiful house, while just outside their door people were starving.  Never once did the man or his family come to the door...never once.  

The pastor stopped then and looked us squarely in the eye.  'We...Americans', she said, 'are the rich man and his family.  People in our own backyards and around the world are starving...not just for food, but for water and basic safety...'  In the silence that followed, she ended her sermon asking, 'Will we go to the door?'

And I wonder, if we dare to go to the door and open it, to sit with the people there, look them in eye, take their hand...  What will happen?

So, I am listening to the stories.  I am asking questions.  I am reading a book written by a famous Vietnamese author on the war.  I am trying to just be quiet and listen.  And, I am watching my own reactions.  There is something important here to learn...something about our humanity, about life and love and compassion and hope and forgiveness...  I am searching for that.