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| question: does getting a hair cut and therefore looking younger cause people to act less mature? or am I irritable just because I have a cold?
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| Here at Reba Place, one of the things that I hope to clarify for myself is my postition on 'just war/violence' and pacifism. does physical force ever solve problems? are their some situations where deadly force is a necessary last resort? How do we reconcile the God who tells the isrealites to commit what, today, would be called genocide upon cananite nations, with Jesus who tells us 'blessed are the peacemakers' and to 'turn the other cheek'? these are some of the question I have, and this is an initial installment in what i hope can be a record of the thoughts, dialogues and decisions that take place in me with respect to this issue. I wrote this at the beginning of October, very late into a night in which I'd had too many ounces of caffeine and hours of napping to have a hope of falling asleep at the regular hour. your comments would of course be appreciated.
Reflections On Pacifism- against physical AND emotional violence?
As I move towards a position that evaluates and identifies the dangers inherent to the myth of redemptive violence, it strikes me that, in my life, the wounds that have cut me most deeply are not physical at all, but wounds of words. Looking back, for example, the times when I was bullied physically were not as traumatic as being told by some unknown kid, on the top of some playground that I, in his stated opinion, was "ugly".
another example: I have grown up as a big hockey fan- fist fights and all- and I've struggled against my sinful enjoyment of such senseless violence. But, I don't think it's unreasonable to suggest that watching/participating in two evenly matched hockey players trying face to face to physically injure each other is far less problematic or sinful than witnessing/participating in the emotional bludgeoning that vulnerable people recieve daily by uber-confident talk show hosts. So again, are the results of bad physical force to be distinguished from the missuse of other types of power- emotional, social, spiritual, etc- in which words strike like fists or bullets?
In these menonite circles, phyisical violence is attributed often to a lack of creativity or imagination within the conflict resolution process. But, if careless words are at least as damaging as careless fists, than doesn't this entire generation have to confess a gigantic lack of creativity whenever we use biting sarcasm as a pitiful excuse for genuine humour? And those sarcastic situations are often void of conflict to begin with!- how much deeper are the wounds we inflict when faced with serious dissagreements?
It should be noted that I am somewhat of a big person, physically. and so perhaps I haven't experienced the kind of powerlessness in the face of physical bullying that undoubtedly contricts the lives of many school yard social misfits. Still, I'd be very interested to see a study done of painful memories- comparing the damage done by physical abuse to that done by emotional abuse.
One final reflection strikes me: I think we must be cautious not to fall into the deep problem of shallow gender classifications whereupon physical violence is a male problem and emotional violence is a female problem. How many boys are void of confidence becuase of fathers who didn't encourage? how many high schools report more physical fights between females than between males. so be encouraged, we are all in this "fight" together. :)
May we all begin to realize the power of our words to tear down and to build up.
and may we the church stand against all violence and learn to avoid the abuse of all kinds of power.
thanks for reading,
peter
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| so Reba Place is not the Mennonite community of horse drawn buggies, hand made funiture, double digit family sizes, or outmoded dress codes in the wheat fields of the "Peace shall destroy many"-esque prairies. These people work in the city, with the down and outs, intertwined with the outside world rather than shunning it's influence. But yesterday the project I worked on was as close to a classic "barn raising" as I'll ever get:
A family that lives north of the city had their roof hit by lightning. most of what wasn't destroyed by fire and smoke needed to be torn out becuase of water damage. they were left with a shell- the frame, the foundation and some very nice landscaping. no insurence.but good friends- apparently the first weekend of reconstruction saw more than fifty people ripping out the wet stuff, reframing the roof, painting new siding and in four days of work it now has shingles on a large portion of the roof. some of which I was able to put up.
We got there at seven am, met the family, and the others who gradually showed up. My first real job was to assemble the fourth section of scaffolding against the house. thirty five feet up on a two foot plank with no handhold. maybe I'll join the circus :) but that was quickly over. the main job of the day was shingle-ing. I had been hoping on the drive over that it would be a nice single story with a low pitched roof. no luck. tallest house in the subdivision-with a roof as steep as your tilted moniter (ok- a little hyperbole there- but STEEP)
grab the eighty pound pack of shingles from below my feet, sling it up to my shoulder, and scramble up to the peak drop it-get the next one. then try to position them arrow straight and tack em in-- all the while trying to get used to the slow slide of one's feet from beneath one's body.
anyway- we got a lot done- and I learned how hard roofing is. and my legs and back aren't as sore today as I thought they'd be.
The owner of the house thanked god for the lightening as we prayed before dinner. pretty cool
after one week here in Chicago, things are good. God is good.
peter
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| here I am
trying to humbly learn from the acculmulated wisdom of a group of people who have lived and loved radically for more than twice my entire life's span.
today I will talk with my boss about how much my time might be worth, among other things. well, that puts it in more starkly economic terms than are deserved I'm sure, but somehow when you wake up at six thirty to make sticky oatmeal for a house of twelve, life seems more stark than usual. It is a strange thing to have dollar value attached so arbitrarily to the measure of one's days. perhaps if I believed more formatively in eternity I wouldn't have such a problem with it.
and now to go exploring my new neighbourhood with a new friend.
namaste
peter
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| Hossanna in the highest!
I must add the disclaimer however that I am a bit
relieved that christmas is over. like with birthdays I feel pressured
to have some deep meaningful experience. be blown away by the
surpassing greatness of God's love. which I should and do yearn to be.
it just feel weird to set a date to it. and that weirdness then becomes
an obstacle to resting in God's love. I dunno. another part of it is
that nothing feels the same this year. the new house the new church the
always new challenge of getting along with the same characteristics in
your sister that drove you nuts as a kid :) (which is going super well
by the way. hossanna in the highest for that!) the same music though.
that helps. but it always stikes me how very human my faith is. it's
more and I know that, but take it out of its warm comfy nook of the
world, and it shivers. but to be honest, this new nook is pretty warm
and comfy too. and I enjoy it and see God through it. like how my new
church is sort of accidentaly the most racially diverse place I've ever
been! It wasn't intentional like madison but man! it's cool. (it
strikes me that intentional problem solving strategies are somehow an
"american" thing. i don't know what I mean by that, except that things
like race and racism are dealt with differently here, more from the
bottom up it seems. I like it, but I'm not as good at it.) and dad is
super energized by his new surroundings. I have to be careful not to
challenge him to a wrestling match anymore unless I'm feeling pretty
energetic myself. or he wins. sorry that i'm not finishing my thoughts
very neatly. I'd make a horrible hebrew poet.
I'm reading "the last report on the miracles at little no horse." it's
about a woman who becomes a priest in secret. (ie. pretends to be male)
fascinating gender commentary. pretty sexual--but in a helpful healthy
way I think. Natalia reccomended it. I'm a bit frusterated by the
function of traditional gender norms in my family. It's particularly
evident in my grandparents. gma never stops cleaning and cooking (which
she enjoys it must be said) while gpa reads the latest "Calvinist
contact" (actually I think it's called "christian courier" now." if you
haven't seen it i'll just let you imagine what it's probably like :) on
the couch. in my parents, my dad is the one who has more trouble
relaxing, but the division of labour is still very much along classic
gender lines. I had a really good talk about it with mom and gma while
we washed dishes after dinner today. And then I had the distict
pleasure of hearing grandma spout some rather feminist rhetoric to
grandpa while they were trying to decide with mom how to celebrate
their fiftieth anniversary. so even though matriarchs in my family are
in the kitchen, they both definetly stand up for themselves, which I
think has contributed to my ability to envision gender equality. I
should remember to thank them for it. and thank god for it.
My mouth still feels filthy from the annual cigar I just smoked. it was
a good time though. wet snow falling, four of us walking down a wooded
path in the middle of the city. who woulda thunk that such a
distasteful habit forming little twist of dirty leaves could be a
community builder? If only the church smoked more cigars! (I don't
mean that!)
well I think that's all I want to ramble about for now.
pv
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