Today is the Solemnity of Pentecost. We all come to this feast in the life of the Christian Church with images of the Holy Spirit as a bird, generally a dove, tongues of flame imposed on the heads of people, or experiencing a great wind. We will also hear the two familiar stories of Pentecost, John’s account of Pentecost coming on Easter Sunday in the Upper Room, or Luke’s Acts of the Apostles account with Pentecost coming much later with the disciples of Jesus, women included, in the upper room (it had to be quite the space) in which a mighty wind blew and tongues of fire appeared on the heads of all those in the room. From there, they went out into the streets, and without the aid of language study courses, could fearlessly begin to preach in many different languages to everyone in Jerusalem, converting thousands in one fell swoop. Nostalgically, I think we all long for that kind of event in our lives. As a matter of fact, I remember as I was taking my college Spanish language finals, I wished the Holy Spirit could give me the gift of speaking in many languages without the need to decline verbs and memorize sentence structures and vocabulary.

THE FELT NEED FOR OUR OWN ROAD TO DAMASCUS

We all desire our “Road to Damascus” moment in which the Divine is suddenly revealed to us and we know with all certainty that our faith and way of life is based on something very concrete and very real. This once for all kind of Divine epiphany is unlikely to happen. And if it did, and we began to speak about it publicly our message would be received with great suspicion and our mental health would be questioned and judged incompetent.

We like to think that ALL wisdom and ALL knowledge was passed on to the disciples on Pentecost, but we know from the pastoral letters of Paul and from the events in the Acts of the Apostles that that was NOT so. As we follow the accounts of Paul in his pastoral letters and the events that unfolded in the Acts of the Apostles, the disciples of Jesus fumbled and stumbled and fought with one another as they tried to figure out the mission given to them when Jesus ascended into Heaven. Much to our own consternation and exasperation, our various Christian institutions and theologies, continue to fumble, stumble and fight with one another today. We are like blind people trying to walk through a room with a good idea of where the furniture is, but find ourselves continuing to bump into chairs and other obstacles in the room. In the movie, Dogma, Rufus, the thirteenth apostle, tells Bethany, the heroine, that the definition of faith is not one of absolute certainty, but rather one of “having a Good Idea.” In my opinion, with all its inherent flaws and at times very harsh critique of Christian religious institutions, the one truth that the movie, Dogma, did get absolutely correct is the definition of faith being a good idea not fully fleshed out.

PENTECOST IS ONGOING

As we study the history of theology in the greater Christian Church, we will find an evolution of understanding. To use the metaphor of an onion as theology, our study of God, we find that just as people thought they had all the answers, the Holy Spirit comes along and peels off another layer of that onion, altering or questioning the answers we once thought absolute. Take the letters of Paul of Tarsus. In his letter to the Galatians he is stating a theological world view that will gradually evolve to something different when he finally writes his letter to the Romans. Paul’s understanding of Christ and the Christian community changed and deepened. The absolute “truth” that Christianity possesses is really quite limited to that which we say in the Creed. Our understanding of those absolutes is going to continue to change and alter as the Holy Spirit continues to peel that onion and increases our knowledge. This is the history of all the great ecumenical councils in Christian history leading up to and including the Second Vatican Council. Sister Joan Chittester, OSB, expressed this so succinctly in her definition of God when she wrote, “God is changing changelessness.” In other words, who God is never changes. How we understand who God is continues to change. (Heart of Flesh: A Feminist Spirituality for Women and Men, Joan Chittester, (c) 1998, Wm B Eerdmans Publishing Company, Grand Rapids, Michigan)

Pentecost was NOT a one time event. Rather in the history of the Christian Church, Pentecost is always ongoing. The full story has not been revealed but continues to be revealed to us. In the parlance of Rufus, the thirteenth apostle, our “good idea” continues to get better. This ongoing Pentecost is not isolated to religious institutions, but is a major part of our own daily lives.

PENTECOST AS A DAILY REVELATION OF THE HOLY SPIRIT

I have told this story before, but it is a good example of the ongoing revelation of the Holy Spirit in the daily life of people.

My father was a very skilled mathematician and mechanical engineer. He worked in that capacity all his life for Westinghouse Air Brake Company. At the times when there was a collision between a train and a vehicle, my father was often called into court as a professional witness to determine whether the collision was attributed to the failure of the air brakes to brake, the carelessness of the engineer of the train to apply the brakes, or the carelessness of the driver of the vehicle who tried to cross the railroad tracks. The mathematical formula at that time to judge whether the train could stop in time to avoid the accident was accurate to plus or minus 200 feet. Hardly accurate or adequate. My father sought out to come up with another mathematical formula that could give a more accurate answer. Part of the formula included the collective weight of the train engine and the number of cars it was pulling, the condition of the railroad tracks, e.g. rain, snow/ice covered, how far away the train was when the engineer saw the vehicle and applied the brakes, and so on. My father came up with a mathematical formula that, when tested in all sorts of weather conditions, terrains, and all the other factors considered, was found to be accurate plus or minus 5 feet. My father had the formula copyrighted and to this day, it is still the mathematical formula used in these lawsuits today. I asked my father whether he was receiving royalties for his formula. His reply was no. He said that formula was from the inspiration of the Holy Spirit, and because it originated in the Holy Spirit, it was meant to be shared freely with all of the world.

If we examine our lives, we will find an ongoing Pentecost occurring in our lives. We do not have to be blown about by a hurricane force wind, nor have tongues of flames settling on our forehead like a third eye to experience the Holy Spirit. Nor do we have to have winged creatures sitting on top of our heads or chasing us, like a cast member in Hitchcock’s film, The Birds, to feel influenced by the Holy Spirit. All those great recipes we created, all the good skills and knowledge we have acquired, all the gifts we have used to benefit others is the work of the Holy Spirit. Every time we feel compelled to act in a positive way, or seek a positive change in our lives, it is the work of the Holy Spirit. Every time we receive an insight into our lives, it is the work of the Holy Spirit. Every time we ask the important question, “Where is God in the events of my life?”, the Holy Spirit is there to inspire us.

CANTICLE IN PRAISE OF HER: MY HYMN TO THE HOLY SPIRIT

In 2021, I composed a collection of music honoring the heroic women of the Hebrew Testatment. The tenth and last song was dedicated to the Holy Spirit, Ruach (God’s breath), Sophia (God’s Wisdom). To conclude this Pentecost post, my poem and song dedicated to the Holy Spirit as God the Mother, is below.

CANTCILE IN PRAISE OF HER

I remember when first|
I identified your voice,
that early May morning
in two thousand and four,
the hermitage upon the shores
of Lake Elysian.
It is not like your voice
had been absent to me
those fifty-two years prior,
your voice always present,
whispering in my ear, guiding,
teaching, challenging,
pushing me along in my life.

What was it? What identified you?
Was it the sound of the wind
Blowing through the budding tree branches,
or, the quaking of ducks upon the water?
Was it in the melodious sound
of the Robins, and Wrens, and Cardinals
high up in the branches of the trees?
Or, was it the combination of all of nature
in full song that day along the shores?
I found it ironic that after years of theology,
in which Divine Mystery was dissected
by theologians, in the hallowed,
holy halls of seminaries,
or in the books gathering dust
in the darkened library stacks
that I identified your voice;
but rather, in the sound that you
created along the shores of Lake Elysian.

You have been known to many people
by different names:
Ruach, Breath of God,
in which you breathed upon the void,
your breath stirring the dark waters
from which all life began to evolve.
Or, Sophia, Wisdom of God,
the gift given to Solomon,
and that dearly sought after
by many philosophers and theologians.
Were you Lady Poverty,
with whom beloved Francis fell in love
and sold everything he had
in order to court you?
The name I heard that day
along the lake shore
Mother, my Divine Mother

As with all Mothers,
you love unconditionally,
whether we are stupid, or naughty,
obedient and complying.
By our side, you are always present,
your love and inspiration softly,
gently caressing our souls,
challenging us to grow,
to face our fears, to encounter
new experiences and open our eyes
to the splendor which you have created.
I have come to recognize your voice
in the voice of those most important to me,
my wife and children, my parents,
and in the voices of the poor, and
the homeless, the immigrants, and the suffering,
through them you have taught me so well.

And lastly, I hear you in music.
I remember that winter night,
driving home from the seminary,
along Mississippi River Boulevard,
the strains of Copland’s Appalachian Spring
accompanying me on my drive.
In that chord, that one chord,
I heard your beautiful voice
that touched my soul so deeply,
that I pulled over to the side of the road,
and I wept for a period of time.

I remember when first I began
to compose music in earnest.
Like Samuel, awakened
in the deep of the night,
within myself you revealed
my purpose in life;
to reveal your presence in music,
not for profit, nor for fame.
And, so, I gift this song to you,
in thanksgiving for all you have given to me,
in love, as a son to his Divine Mother.

(c) 2021, by Robert Charles Wagner. All rights reserved.

May 29, 1969 was the occasion of my first date with Ruth. It was a very stormy and rainy night when I arrived at her Uncle and Aunt’s house (where she lived while going to high school) on Marion Street, St Paul. We went downtown St Paul to see the movie, Charly. The way I remembered that night, I wrote in a poem back in 2011.

Pouring down rain drenching the night
as I climb the steps to your  home.
With one knock, light from within
greets me,
and there you stand,
the scent of herbal essence from your hair,
your brown eyes looking deep into my soul.
You bid farewell to your Aunt and Uncle,
open the screen door
and step outdoors.
The drenching rain suddenly
frozen in time
as your hand touches mine
and you laugh,|aware of the secret
I have hidden deep within.

“Our First Date” © 2011. The Book Of Ruth,  by Deacon Bob Wagner OFS. All rights reserved

Because Ruthie and I were students in a very strict Catholic School, St Bernard’s, Rice Street, St Paul, our first date was a very chaste occasion. Unlike the teen movies, Porky’s and/or American Pie, our first date was more like that depicted in the movie, Heaven Help Us, albeit Benedictines taught at St Bernard’s as opposed to the Franciscans in that movie.

In fact, it took a number more dates before I kissed Ruthie for the first time. Her response was more “what took you so long,” rather than “how dare you!” I think she was wondering if I was really serious about her. With teenage male hormones raging to the boiling point, little did she know how hard it was to restrain myself. I later expressed this in another little poem.

You wonder why
it took so long
for my lips to brush
against your lips.
Like a young child
searching for words,
I lack the vocabulary
to communicate
my feelings for you.
It is not because
you are not appealing
nor a question of
my sexual preference.
Rather, it was
respect for the dignity
embodied within
your womanhood
that makes me hesitate.
Aware of my lust for you,
who am I to sully
with my wanton desires
your beauty and integrity
knowing that once our lips touch
breached would be the dike
that long I took to build.
Little did I know
you were waiting
for that dike to crumble.

© 2011. The Book Of Ruth,  by Deacon Bob Wagner OFS. All rights reserved.

It was on that first date that I innately knew that Ruthie was my life companion. While she continued to date others, I was resolute in dating only Ruth. I had many good female friends over that time, but as good as the friendships I had with many other female students and colleagues, it was only Ruth who stirred within me the desire to be with her the rest of my life. In fact, I had one date with another girl, but it was more on the behest of my mother who wanted me to take the niece of a nun friend out to a movie while the niece was visiting her aunt. I had a nice time, but it was only Ruth who held my heart.

In many ways, May 29 is a more significant anniversary for me than is our wedding anniversary. It was May 29th that altered my life forever. It was May 29th that placed a focus in my life, a life I could only envision with Ruth by my side. Up to that time, I entertained a romantic notion of being the starving music composer, composing music and dying penniless in a garret somewhere, at which point, my music would be discovered and I and my music would be honored in the music community into perpetuity (sounds like the plot of a Puccini opera). However, with Ruth as a major part of my future, I got focused on somehow making a living with music, composing music on the side, more as a hobby rather than a vocation, and worked toward actually making a living and raising a family with Ruth.

Of course, I have composed many songs to Ruth over the years. This is the first I composed for her when I was in college studying Music Theory.

The next song I compose for Ruthie was a song that was sung at our wedding in 1974. Over the years, I lost the score for that song, but remembered the melody (modeled in the style of the love aria from Henry Purcell’s opera, Dido and Aeneas … for all the music geeks out there). In 2016, I refashioned that melody into a piano song, with the melody stated in the beginning and end of the piece, and composing a whole new section for the middle of the piece.

I think over our lifetime together, I have composed 7 songs for Ruth. For our tenth wedding anniversary, Ruthie pregnant with Beth, who would be born 16 days later, I composed a song in the manner of Aaron Copland, my attempt at an “Appalachian Spring” a la a fugue.

Yesterday, to commemorate our first date, Ruthie and I went out for a steak dinner. We traveled out of town to a celebrated steak house only to find that it would be quite a while before we could even get a table. So instead, we drove back to New Prague and had the same wonderful meal at our normal restaurant, The Fishtale Grill, where we got a table immediately and were served promptly.

While we waited for our meal, Ruthie asked me what was my favorite time with her. My initial response was,”When we were making babies.” (C’mon, there may be snow on the roof but there is still fire in the furnace … well, given my hair situation, there’s not a lot of snow on the roof, but the fire is still in the furnace). Ruth gave me an amused look as a response.

Tango in F Minor for Ruth, Music for the Celestial Dance, Opus 14, (c) 2020 by Robert Charles Wagner. All rights reserved.

However, I quickly added, “There is not just one moment with you that is my favorite. ALL our moments together are my favorite.” The reason I courted her, the reason I married her, was to spend all my time with her. In my universe, she is the sun around which all creation revolves. With Ruth working all those night shifts as a nurse, and with me working the insane hours of church ministry, we didn’t have many “moments” together. When she would get a Friday night off (twice a month), she often would sit in her chair and sleep. I far preferred sitting next to her sleeping in that chair than in doing anything else. With both of our mobility issues these days, we are spending all sorts of time together now … I would have it no other way.

Of all the music I have composed for Ruth, this one, composed in 2018, remains my favorite. It is the song that reveals my love for her the most.

Every morning, in the prayers of thanksgiving that I pray, I thank God first for Ruth, who is the greatest incarnation of God’s love for me. As I once expressed in another poem much later,

To  walk with you,
is to see the
world with different
eyes, colors bursting
through the greys,
warmth on the
coldest of days, your
voice floating, playing
delightfully in the air
alongside until the
sound settles gently,
gracefully in my ears.

We have walked many
steps together in life,
my gait now not as steady,
these days of uncertain
limbs, joints and cane.
In walking with you,
new discoveries never
end, new beginnings
abound, and that
with you, the first
and the finest of
all teachers, learning
to walk is never
fully learned.

“Learning How To Walk” © 2015. Deacon Bob Wagner OFS. All rights reserved.

To commemorate that first date, when I was in college and penniless, I bought Ruth a simple emerald (the emerald is the birthstone for May, signifying the birth of our love) ring. It was not an expensive ring. I don’t even know whether the emerald was real or synthetic. That ring, over the years, has gotten lost. So this year, I bought for Ruth another ring with a real emerald and three diamonds on each side of the emerald on a white gold band, much in the style of the first. It is a simple ring, but elegant likeRuth.

The first great day of my life was when she agreed to go out with me. The second great day of my life was when she said yes, when I asked her to marry me. The third great day in my life was when we got married. From that time onward, every day with Ruth is a great day.

On American currency, the words, “In God We Trust” is emblazoned. The Founding Fathers of the United States were anything but religious, many of them, including George Washington, agnostics or Deists. The Founding Fathers also deliberately set up the United States as a secular nation in which there is plurality of religion with no one religion controlling government precisely because of the oppression and slaughter of people by religion in Europe, Hence, the Founding Fathers insisted on setting up a society in which Church and State were permanently separated. All religions, whether they be Christian, Judaism, Islam, Hindu, Buddhism, New Age, Agnosticism, Atheism, Satanism are ALL equal in the laws of the United States. With the huge number of people, mostly young in age, fleeing organized religion in droves, the issue of religion may soon be very moot in the United States, and, the Founding Fathers would probably nod their heads in approval.

I find it ironic that the most rabid of those who pound their Bibles and decry the secularism of the United States, are also some of the greatest idolators in the United States. While they may worship in a church building on Sundays, the God they really worship is the gun. This is evident in all that they say and do. There are those who send out Christmas cards with their family pictured holding AR 15s, and other automatic weapons. What a travesty! The God that they really adore is not the Prince of Peace pictured as a baby lying in the manger. The God they really adore is the weapon they cradle in their arms meant to kill life. If they did more than just pound their Bibles, but actually opened up the Bibles to the Gospels, they would find that Jesus condemned the use of weapons and violence (read the Gospel accounts of the Passions in all four Gospels).

And so with the massacre of 19 school children and two educators at Robb Elementary in the State of Texas, we see once more the sacrifice of innocent life to the pagan god, the GUN. We love to condemn those religions that sacrificed children to a false god, e.g. Baal, but fail to see that the number of United States children sacrificed to the false god of Guns far exceeds the number of children sacrifice to the pagan gods in the ancient world.

Below are two songs I have composed as a response to gun violence in the United States: one composed following the slaughter of Philando Castile by Jeronimo Yanez of the St Anthony police department in July of 2016. Ironically, the next day, a shooter shot to death a great number of police of the Dallas police department. The second song was composed in response to the slaughter of high school children at Parkland High School, Florida in February, 2018.

THE FIRST SONG, Psalm Offering 1, Opus 7 (for the victims of gun violence)

This song is not a pretty song. The opening is harsh and discordant with loud cluster chords reflecting the violent death of an innocent person by gun shot. The loud discordant, upsetting opening segues into a sad, mournful melody reflecting the grief of Philando’s girlfriend and her daughter, who witnessed his violent murder by the police officer. This segues into a dramatic interchange between the loud harsh chords of the first part of the song with the mournful song of grief, with the mournful song dominating for the rest of the song. However, at the very end of the song, the cluster chords at the beginning of the song are very quietly come back.

The Second Song: Psalm Offering 3, Opus 9

This second song was composed in response to the slaughter of high school children at Parkland High School in Florida, in February 2018. Sadly, we know the story far too well. A lone gunman, armed with an AR 15 automatic weapon walks unimpeded into a school and begins to open fire on innocent lives, killing many children and adults before either 1) getting arrested, 2) getting shot to death by responding police, or 3) turning his own weapon on himself and killing himself.

This song, the longest in length (10 minutes), begins with a melody reflecting the sad walk of family to the gravesite of their child who was murdered by a gunman. This melody segues into a melody meant to represent the confusion and horror felt by the child in the midst of the gunfire that would eventually kill him/her. This segues back into the first melody of the family visiting the grave of their child. The song ends with a beautiful melody that begins softly and swells in violence reflecting the child’s peaceful rest in the arms of God.

Let us not just remember in our hearts and prayers, the lives of so many innocent people sacrificed in the United States to the false god of the Gun. Let us work for effective gun control, voting out of office those politicians taking bribes from the gun lobby and the NRA, and voting into office politicians who will pass legislation ending the worship of the Gun in the United States.

The poem “Pieta” is a wonderful poem composed by Madeleine L’Engle on how much Jesus had transformed because of his resurrection. This is noticed most importantly by his mother, Mary, who in encountering her Risen Son, that he was not the same baby to whom she gave birth, nursed, cradled in her arms, raised, and saw executed. He had changed, and his change is a source of grief for her and a source of wonderment, as she once more, lets go of him when his mission is fulfilled.

This is a powerful, very powerful poem.

PIETA

The other Marys radiated joy.
The disciples found the truth hard to believe.
There had to be breaking bread, eating fish,
before they, too, even Thomas, were lit with
joyfulness. Not much was said about me.
I said good-bye to the son I carried within me
for nine months, nursed, fed, taught to walk.
On Friday when they took him down from the cross,
I held the son I knew,
recognizing him in my arms,
and never saw him again,
not my body’s child. How could I laugh, weep tears
of joy?
Like the others, I failed to recognize him;
the Christ who rose was not Bethlehem’s babe…
And it was right. For this was meant to be.
Here in my head I would not have had it otherwise.
But empty arms still longed for familiar flesh.
My joy, a sword that pierced through my heart.
I understood, more, perhaps, than the others
when he said that he could not stay with us—
that it was better if he went away,
was one again with God, his Father.
And when the Spirit came
I once again could love my son
and know my Lord. If Easter came later for me than
for the others,
its brilliance was as poignant and bright.

L’Engle, Madeleine. The Ordering of Love

One of the most moving poems to read and upon which to reflect is this poem composed by Denise Levertov, whose poetry is so wonderful, she has surpassed my love of William Butler Yeats. This poem is her reflection on Chapter 20 from Julian of Norwich’s vision of Jesus. It is powerful, so very powerful, and moving.

On a theme from Julian’s Chapter XX

Six hours outstretched in the sun, yes,
hot wood, the nails, blood trickling
into the eyes, yes –
but the thieves on their neighbor crosses
survived till after the soldiers
had come to fracture their legs, or longer.
Why single out this agony? What’s
a mere six hours?
Torture then, torture now,
the same, the pain’s the same,
immemorial branding iron,
electric prod.
Hasn’t a child
dazed in the hospital ward they reserve
for the most abused, known worse?
This air we’re breathing,
these very clouds, ephemeral billows
languid upon the sky’s
moody ocean, we share
with women and men who’ve held out
days and weeks on the rack –
and in the ancient dust of the world
what particles
of the long tormented,
what ashes.(1)

But Julian’s lucid spirit leapt
to the difference:
perceived why no awe could measure
that brief day’s endless length,
why among all the tortured
One only is ‘King of Grief’.
The onening, she saw, the onening
with the Godhead opened Him utterly
to the pain of all minds, all bodies
– sands of the sea, of the desert –
from first beginning
to last day. The great wonder is
that the human cells of His flesh and bone
didn’t explode
when utmost Imagination rose
in that flood of knowledge. Unique
in agony, infinite strength, Incarnate,
empowered Him to endure
inside of history,
through those hours when He took Himself
the sum total of anguish and drank
even the lees of that cup:

within the mesh of the web, Himself
woven within it, yet seeing it,
seeing it whole, Every sorrow and desolation
He saw, and sorrowed in kinship.

(c) 1984, 1985, 1986, 1987 by Denise Levertov (New Horizon Books)

---

[1] ‘On a Theme from Julian’s Chapter XX.’ This is from the longer text of Julian of Norwich’s Showings ( or Revelations ). The quoted lines follow the Grace Warrack transcription ( 1901). Warrack uses the work ‘kinship’ in her title-heading for the chapter, though in the text itself she says ‘kindness,’ thus – as in her Glossary – reminding one of the roots common to both words.

Here is part three of my Holy Week reflection on the Songs of the Servant.

SONG 4: Is 49:1-3

Hear me, O islands,
            listen, O distant peoples.
The Lord called me from birth,
            from my mother’s womb he gave me my name.
He made of me a sharp-edged sword
            and concealed me in the shadow of his arm.
He made me a polished arrow,
            in his quiver he hid me.
You are my servant, he said to me,
            Israel, through whom I show my glory.

POEM

My vision is lifted to great heights
To behold all that which
Is beyond the horizon.
In the distance my eyes
Look upon that great tribes
And nations that populate the earth.
I call out to them, and though
So very far away, they hear me
As clear as if they were by my side,
For it is not my voice they hear,
But that of the voice of I AM within me.

It is Your voice, I AM,
Your gentle voice that coaxed me
Out of the womb of the earth;
Your voice, warm and sonorous,
That bestowed upon me my name.
Your voice dwells within me,
Like a beautiful melody from
Which I will never tire.

It is You, I AM, who raised me,
Taught me, hid me
And protected me,
And honed and sharpened my skills,
Like that of the finest sword,
Fashioned from the metal in the earth.
Placed in Your quiver,
I await, like that of a polished arrow,
Ready to be launched
From the archer’s bow,
To bring Your glory to
All nations and all tribes of the earth.

(c) 2022, by Robert C Wagner. All rights reserved.

I have placed two fragments of Isaiah’s Suffering Servant with a poem reflection here. The first is the second part of that which I posted on Monday, Isaiah 50: 7-9. The second song is from Isaiah 42: 1-7. Like I had on Monday, I will post the scripture passage and follow it with the poem reflection.

SONG 2: Is 50: 7-9

The Lord GOD is my help,
            therefore I am not disgraced;
I have set my face like flint,
            knowing that I shall not be put to shame.
He is near who upholds my right;
            if anyone wishes to oppose me,
            let us appear together.
Who disputes my right?
            Let him confront me.
See, the Lord GOD is my help;
            who will prove me wrong?

POEM REFLECTION

Like stones, rebukes are hurled at me
From the mouths of those oppose me,
Their vitriolic words hang in the air
Like a poisoned cloud.
Yet, I remain unharmed, no sign
Of their mark appears on me.
It is You, I AM, who is my help,
Who at my right side shields me from harm.
They dare not confront me,
Nor attempt to wrong me,
For You stand with me in all things.

SONG 3: Is 42:1-7

Here is my servant whom I uphold,
Upon whom I have put my Spirit;
            he shall bring forth justice to the nations,
Not crying out, not shouting,
            not making his voice heard in the street.
A bruised reed he shall not break,
            and a smoldering wick he shall not quench,
Until he establishes justice on the earth;
            the coastlands will wait for his teaching.

Thus says God, the LORD,
            who created the heavens and stretched them out,
            who spreads out the earth with its crops,
Who gives breath to its people
            and spirit to those who walk on it:
I, the LORD, have called you for the victory of justice,
            I have grasped you by the hand;
I formed you, and set you
            as a covenant of the people,
            a light for the nations,
To open the eyes of the blind,
            to bring out prisoners from confinement,
            and from the dungeon, those who live in darkness.

POEM REFLECTION

You are not my servant,
Rather, you are my beloved,
The one who is as close to me as breath,
Whose very presence bestows life.
It is in you that I have placed
The breath of the Universe,
With all its secrets and wisdom;
So that justice will reign over the chaos,
A justice that will reign
Not by force of might,
But through the compassion of your words
Which will bring light of the stars
To shine in lives starved by Darkness.

As with a wave of my hand,
I placed the stars in the heavens,
And brought forth life and crops
From the nothingness of soil,
My breath stirring within
Stilled bodies, life.
So will I form and shape you
Into my image, my beloved;
The broken, stony hearts
Of my people, will, by your words,
Be transformed Into hearts of flesh.
You will breathe into them
The light of my wisdom,
Which will free their blinded eyes
From the darkness of injustice,
And open the doors
of their self-imposed prisons,
from their cells of darkness and sin.

(both poems (c) 2022, Robert C Wagner. All rights reserved.)

In Catholic liturgies throughout Holy Week, we hear Isaiah’s Songs of the Suffering Servant. As part of a Holy Week observation this week, I will be spending times with the images that Isaiah has presented to us, and write a poem reflection on each song.

SONG 1:  Is 50:4-7

The Lord GOD has given me
            a well-trained tongue,
that I might know how to speak to the weary
            a word that will rouse them.
Morning after morning
            he opens my ear that I may hear;
and I have not rebelled,
            have not turned back.
I gave my back to those who beat me,
            my cheeks to those who plucked my beard;
my face I did not shield
            from buffets and spitting.

The Lord GOD is my help,
            therefore I am not disgraced;
I have set my face like flint,
            knowing that I shall not be put to shame. (NAB)

MY POEM REFLECTION ON THE PSALM

Oh my people,
As a mother hears the cries
Of her children, so have I
Heard your cries of pain.
Your misery, upon which
My gaze has seen, moves
My heart with compassion.
The despair of being forgotten,
Forsaken by the One
From whom you were created,
Swells within you, but
I have not forgotten you,
Nor will I leave you forsaken.
I wear your image, and,
In total solidarity with you,
Have put on your pain
Like one putting on a coat.
Its heavy weight of shame
Hangs from my shoulders,
Memories of the blows from abuse
Rain on my back
Like the lash of a whip.
My words to you are a balm,
Like that gently wiped
On the angry welts
Raised upon the skin;
A source of hope to lift
Your beaten spirits from the dust.
For I do not count you
Among the disgraced,
But among my most beloved.
And hold you as close to me
As my breath.

(c) 2022 by Robert C Wagner, all rights reserved.

As the War in Ukraine continues to escalate, my heart breaks for those involved in this war. Every day, 24/7, we hear the news and see the video footage of the carnage that is taking place in the nation of Ukraine. It matters not whether it is Russians raining death on the civilian population of Ukraine, or Ukrainians destroying the Russian military in combat, every time a person fires a rocket, throws an explosive and fires a weapon that kills human life, a piece of that person’s soul breaks off. There comes a time when the person’s soul is so broken and missing that there is hardly a semblance of soul left.

KILLING ANOTHER HUMAN BEING BREAKS THE SOUL

Whether the death of another person occurs accidentally, or if the death of another person occurs intentionally, killing leaves a lasting impression upon the soul of the one who caused the death of another person. You can see in their eyes that there is a wound that never will ever heal. Some may read this with incredulity and disbelief, but it remains to be a truth. As much as the violence of human history may indicate otherwise, the human soul bears the image of God, whom Jesus revealed as unconditional love. The action of causing the death of another human being goes against the will of God to love; killing alters the human person and wounds the soul.

This is why my heart breaks for the Ukrainian people who are now forced by the invading army of Russia to kill Russians. I can say the same for those in the Russian army who are now commanded to kill Ukrainians. The damage being done to the souls of Ukrainians forced to fight, and the souls of Russian ordered to kill is irreparable and the lives of these people will never be the same again. The spectres of the deaths for which they have been responsible will follow them and cling to them the rest of their living days.

THE EFFECT OF KILLING ON THE SOULS OF COMBAT VETERANS

In the time I was the parish life administrator of St Stephen’s Catholic Church in South Minneapolis, many of the forty-one men who slept in the homeless shelter at the church were Vietnam War veterans. What they were ordered to do, saw, and experienced in combat caused such anguish in their lives that their PTSD was off the scale. They could not readjust to civilian life after the war. They could not escape the nightmares of the war that possessed their lives. Many sought to escape through alcohol and street drugs. Many ended up dying on the streets and under the bridge overpasses they called home.

As we examine the lives of returning war veterans of the United States, those who knew them prior to them going into combat speak about how they have drastically changed because of combat. The rate of divorce of returning war veterans is over sixty percent according to the Veterans Administration. In the post-9/11 wars alone, close to 31,000 war veterans have died by suicide as contrasted with the @ 7,000 deaths of those who died in combat. When you ask war veterans to open up about their war experiences, they refuse to share. I had a friend whose uncle refused to travel by airplane. Why? He was a tail gunner in a B-17 Flying Fortress in World War II, in which the life expectancy of a B-17 crew was less than 50 percent. He saw too many of his friends in other B-17’s die in fiery crashes during that war. He refused to say anything about his war experience, even to his closest family members.

THE BLACK AND TAN WAR

As the War of Ukraine has unfolded on television and social media, I am reminded of the wars of occupation in Ireland. For over seven hundred years, the British engaged in war in Ireland. The level of brutality, the level of inhumanity of the British, including starving to death over a million Irish men, women, and children during The Great Hunger of the 19^th century, was the cause of many violent rebellions by the Irish against the British. One of the most brutal wars in modern Irish history occurred between the years of 1920 and 1922, called the Black and Tan Wars. Ten thousand of those recruited by the British into the Royal Irish Constabulary were unemployed soldiers returning from World War I. Many of these men were uneducated, unmarried Protestants from London, Wales, and Scotland. The British government unleashed these men, whose souls had been damaged by the carnage of World War I, on the Irish populace. They were called “Black and Tans” by the Irish because they uniform they wore consisted of khaki trousers and dark green tunics, belts, and caps.

The Black and Tans were known for their brutality. In response to the guerilla warfare of the Irish Republican Army, the Black and Tans carried out reprisals against civilians. Their reprisals included burning the homes, businesses, meeting halls, and farms of the Irish people. Many buildings were attacked with grenades and gunfire, and businesses looted. Most this destruction was also accompanied by the beating and killing of civilians by the Black and Tans. The British government tacitly approved of the destruction and murder caused by the Black and Tans as a way of putting down the Irish people and the support of the Irish people for the Irish Republican Army.

Because the atrocities committed by the Black and Tans were so inhuman, their action alienated the public opinion of people not only in Ireland but also in Great Britain. The violence of the Black and Tans did not dissuade the Irish people in their support of the Irish Republican Army but only increased their support of the Irish Republican Army.

Michael Collins, a leader in the Irish Republican Army, and an expert in guerilla warfare, knew that the IRA could not face the British military in a face to face battle and succeed. Instead, Collins organized a group of men to engage in the assassination of British spies and intelligence officers in Ireland. This group of IRA assassins was called the “Squad” or, Collin’s “Twelve Apostles.” As Collins was recruiting the men for the Squad he asked them whether they had a moral objection to killing a man in cold blood. In the movie, “Michael Collins”, this question Collins asked the men was, “Do you think you soul could handle the burden (of killing a British agent)?” Many whom Collins interviewed did morally object in being an assassin. Collins honored their objections and excused them from this duty. Collins knew the effect of killing another human being on the human soul, and wanted to make sure that the souls of those who morally objected to killing another human being would not be harmed.

Human violence will kill the soul. I discovered this early on at the age of sixteen years, when I read this account that reportedly took place in an Irish Catholic confessional during the Black and Tan War. The story was designated as a “joke” in an Irish book of humor.

Father O’Dowd was sitting in the confessional hearing confessions one Saturday afternoon. It had been a long afternoon and Father O’Dowd was looking forward to the end of his stint in the confessional at 4 pm so that he could get to O’Rourke’s Pub for a pint of stout. At about 3:55 pm, a young man enters the confessional, and Father O’Dowd, who could almost taste the stout awaiting him, was feeling impatient and frustrated. The young man confesses that he was a member of the Irish Republican Army. Father O’Dowd tells the young man, “Now, being a member in the Irish Republican Army is not a sin. Now confess your sins so that I can get to O’Rourkes to drink a pint of stout.” The young man tells the priest, “Father, did you read about the bomb that exploded in the barracks of the Black and Tans the other day and killed forty Black and Tans?” The priest replied, “Yes, yes, I read about that.” The young man then tells the priest, “Father, I was the one who planted the bomb and exploded the bomb that took the lives of all those men.” The priest then responded, “I heard you. Now confess your sins so that I can get to O’Rourkes and drink a pint of stout.”

When I recall this story today, I cringe. I find it fascinating, telling, and scandalous, that the priest, the moral authority of the story, judged that the taking of  forty human lives was not a sin, as long as the murdered party were British. What is revealed in the young IRA bomber is the higher morality of God, and the recognition that in taking those 40 lives, his soul had been broken.

THE DEMONIZATION OF ENEMIES

When nations go to war, we demonize the enemy. The enemy loses any semblance to being human and takes on the status of something akin to a monster, a thing to be destroyed. The priest, in the story, has demonized the British to such an extent that the intentional murder of 40 men was not, in Catholic parlance, a “mortal sin”, much less a “venial sin.” How can we break this tendency to demonize our enemies?

When I was young, I bought a book from Scholastic Book Club entitled, “Marine At War”, written by Russell Davis. Russell Davis wrote about his personal experience of the War in the Pacific during World War II. Because he was fluent in Japanese, he was a translator for the Marines. In his personal account of the war, he revealed the human face of the Japanese whom he fought. Working in Marine Intelligence, after a battle he would examine the bodies of dead Japanese on the battlefield trying to glean any information from what the dead soldiers might have on their persons. It was a dangerous task, because the Japanese often booby-trapped their dead. I remember reading in one of the chapters, how he carefully went through the personal effects found on the body of a dead Japanese soldier. In opening the dead soldier’s wallet, he found a picture of the dead man’s wife, and pictures of his children. Inserted in the wallet was a letter the dead man received from his wife days before the battle that had killed him. Like many war brides, she expressed her great concern for her husband’s safety and could not wait for him to return to her and their children safe and sound. Davis wrote that the moment he quit demonizing the Japanese was the moment he read the letter from the dead soldier’s wife. Davis no longer viewed the dead Japanese soldier as some demon monster, but discovered that the dead man was human, who loved his family in the very same way Davis loved his own family.

Mahatma Gandhi knew well how killing destroys the human soul. This is why he refused to engage in violence, preferring to act out non-violently. He authentically lived a code of conduct that stated that only love can end hate. There is a story of a Hindu man who approached Gandhi. The man was very fearful of his own personal damnation. Gandhi asked him why he was thinking that. Gandhi learned that the Hindu man had murdered a Muslim child in retaliation for the murder of his own son by Muslims. Gandhi said to the man that there was a way for the man to avoid damnation. The man asked what he would have to do. Gandhi told the Hindu man to find an orphaned Muslim child and to raise the child as he would his own son. However, Gandhi told the man that he must raise the child in the Muslim religion. Gandhi wrote, “Hatred, cannot be turned into love. Those who believed in violence will naturally use it by saying, ”kill your enemy, injure him and his property wherever you can, whether openly or secretly as necessity requires.” The result will be deeper hatred and counter hatred and vengeance let loose on both sides.”

WEARING THE FACES OF OUR ENEMIES AND MAKING THEM OUR OWN

Gandhi knew that the only way to no longer demonize our enemies is to wear the face of our enemies and see it as our own face. This is not a concept that is brand new. In the Gospels, Jesus, over and over again emphasized the need for his disciples to love their enemies, to pray for those who persecute them. We cite the words of Jesus over and over again. “Love your neighbor as yourself.” “Love one another as I have loved you.” “Do unto others as you would have them do unto you.” “Forgive them Father, for they do not know what they are doing.” Christians quote these words constantly but we don’t really listen to them, much less than embrace them. As Gandhi observed, “It is a first class human tragedy that people of the earth who claim to believe in the message of Jesus, whom they describe as the Prince of Peace, show little of that belief in actual practice. … Live like Jesus did, and the world will listen.”

Until that time that we begin to actually believe what Jesus taught, humanity will be doomed and damned to repeat over and over and over again what we experienced in all the wars humanity has experienced throughout all of history. The bloodshed, the hatred, the violence and the killing will continue to destroy human souls. Humanity will continue to walk around seeing the world through soulless eyes.

What can we do?

Here are some steps I believe we must take:

1. Pray for God to heal all the soulless in our world. Pray for the Ukrainians to not be consumed by hatred. Pray for the soulless in the Russian military who are ruthlessly killing Ukrainians.
2. Look into a mirror and search for a hint of soullessness in our own eyes. Reflect on those who have hurt us and have caused us to be bitter. It may be someone in our neighborhood or community. It may be someone in our workplace. It may be an ex-spouse, or an ex-friend. It may be politician or those whose political viewpoints we do not share. It may be the religious authorities in our local church or those in our religion. Then, pray for ourselves, that we may not be consumed by hatred in the hurt and “mini-deaths” we have experienced at the hands of others. Then, pray for those who have caused us harm.
3. Try to live as authentically as we can the teachings of Jesus as lived out in the lives of people like Francis of Assisi, St Oscar Romero, Mahatma Gandhi, Thomas Merton, and Martin Luther King Jr., as expressed in the Gospels: “But I say to you that listen. Love your enemies, do good to those who hate you, bless those who curse you, pray for those who abuse you. If anyone strikes you on the cheek, offer the other also; and from anyone who takes away your coat do not withhold even your shirt. Give to everyone who begs from you; and if anyone takes away your goods, do not ask for them again. Do to others as you would have them do to you. … But love your enemies, do good, and lend, expecting nothing in return. Your reward will be great, and you will be children of the Most High; for he is kind to the ungrateful and the wicked. Be merciful, just as your Father is merciful. (Luke 6:17-31, 35-36, NRSV)

A couple of years ago, I fashioned my own Liturgy of the Hours. I found the sexist and none inclusive male language of the “official” Liturgy of the Hours an impediment to my prayer. In doing this I turned to reputable inclusive translations of the scripture by scripture scholars, and substituted these inclusive translations for all the psalms, readings, canticles and prayers that are in the Liturgy of the Hours. When I did this, I also replaced most of the hymnody in the Liturgy of the Hours, which I found outdated, medieval in theology, and text as equally non-inclusive and sexist as the psalms, prayers, and other scripture passages from the official Liturgy of the Hours. In replacing a lot of that hymnody, I substituted that hymnody with poetry from all sorts of different sources.

As I was praying Morning Prayer for the Second Sunday in Lent, I found this poem/reflection from scripture scholar, Walter Brueggemann. I believe, that as we see the visual nightmare of war tearing the nation and people of Ukraine asunder by the Russian military under the order of the dictator, Putin, we cry to the heavens, “Where are you, God?” This poem/reflection seems to echo the word of Julian of Norwich who lived in a world similarly being destroyed by the Bubonic plague and bloody military conflict. Julian simply stated in all the chaos, misery, and bloodshed, “All shall be well, and all shall be well and all manner of thing shall be well.”

Dreams and Nightmares
On reading 1 Kings 3:5-9; 9:2-9

Last night as I lay sleeping,
   I had a dream so fair . . .
   I dreamed of the Holy City, well ordered and just.
   I dreamed of a garden of paradise,
     well-being all around and a good water supply.
   I dreamed of disarmament and forgiveness,
     and caring embrace for all those in need.
   I dreamed of a coming time when death is no more.

Last night as I lay sleeping . . .
   I had a nightmare of sins unforgiven.
   I had a nightmare of land mines still exploding
     and maimed children.
   I had a nightmare of the poor left unloved,
     of the homeless left unnoticed,
     of the dead left ungrieved.
   I had a nightmare of quarrels and rages
     and wars great and small.

When I awoke, I found you still to be God,
   presiding over the day and night
     with serene sovereignty,
   for dark and light are both alike to you.

At the break of day we submit to you
     our best dreams
     and our worst nightmares,
   asking that your healing mercy should override threats,
     that your goodness will make our
       nightmares less toxic
       and our dreams more real.

Thank you for visiting us with newness
       that overrides what is old and deathly among us.
Come among us this day; dream us toward
       health and peace,
we pray in the real name of Jesus
       who exposes our fantasies.

For over thirty years now, Walter Brueggemann (b. 1933) has combined the best of critical scholarship with love for the local church in service to the kingdom of God. Now a professor emeritus of Old Testament studies at Columbia Theological Seminary in Decatur, Georgia, Brueggemann has authored over seventy books. Taken from his Prayers for a Privileged People (Nashville: Abingdon, 2008), pp. 79-80.