Citizenship, Celebration, and Conscience

On Wednesday evening in church, Mike R. spoke. He had been given wide latitude in subject matter, under the general heading "What the Lord Has Been Doing in my Life." While we often have opportunity for spontaneous expression in our church services, I always enjoy these times of learning more about each person's faith journey. Invariably, such times draw us together.

We first learned to know Mike after he was in college, so we know only what he's told us of his earlier life. I didn't know that his family was very opposed to his choice of a church when he joined us. Our nonresistant stance was the major sticking point. They saw pacifism as dishonoring to the memory of Mike's uncle who had died in the Battle of the Bulge during World War II.

Mike's story coming on the heels of the patriotic fervor surrounding the 4th of July festivities, and, over that weekend, being in the presence of friends whose families are or have been in harm's way in military service leaves me thoughtful about the implications of our nonresistant position.

How does one reconcile the conviction that taking the life of another human being is wrong with the conviction that it is also wrong to disparage or take lightly the personal sacrifice others make in the service of their country? I cannot glibly dismiss the grief of Mike's extended family, or that of the classmate who grew up without her father because he died in the war when she was very young, or the concern of another classmate whose son in in Iraq now. Yet I believe that the way of peace is the better way, and for me, participation in military service would be antithetical to the way of peace.

When we looked at World War II films in high school, I remember Carol talking about scanning the faces in every crowd of soldiers, looking for her father. The mother of the soldier in Iraq often does not know where he is because of the sensitive nature of his job. She knows that somewhere he studied Arabic for 17 solid months, a tremendously challenging undertaking. When he was home last year, I talked to them both, and my friend spoke of her desire to trust her son's safety into God's hands. What mother would not struggle with this? Mike's family were farmers, and no doubt looked forward to their son and brother returning to the family farm some day.

This year, at Farmer's Market on July 4, when the opening bell rang, the president of our market board interrupted the busy vendor/shopper conversations to ask everyone to say the flag salute together, while looking at the flag on the end wall of the open-air shelter. After that, someone sang "The Star Spangled Banner." No one moved till it was over. I saluted the flag along with everyone else, (when I was not too choked up) remembering as I did so some of my friends who do not do that, as a matter of principle.

I say the flag salute because I am very grateful to be an American. I do not pledge my highest loyalty to the United States of America. That goes to God. But loyalty is a virtue I try to cultivate in many human relationships, my national identity among them. I do not pretend that our country is a Christian nation; I think that is possible only on an individual basis. Neither do I think our country always acts commendably toward its own citizens or toward the citizens of other countries. I grieve when our country's actions or policies cause harm to anyone.

In our country right now, the way of peace looks like the easy way, because our country's laws exempt from military service those who are conscientiously opposed. Alternative service is usually not physically dangerous, as military service often is. But this situation of favor toward conscientious objectors is rare on the world scene now, and it is historically very recent in this country. For most of Christian history, the way of peace has been an extraordinarily hard way, and many died rather than take up arms. Others were imprisoned and tortured. It is partly for our currently favorable conditions that I feel grateful to be an American in this time. I think of this when I say the Pledge of Allegiance.

I have three immediate family members who are naturalized American citizens. For each of them, becoming a citizen marked the beginning of new freedoms and opportunities. Some of my siblings have lived abroad for several years at a time. Each of them returned to this country very aware of the privilege that citizenship here entails. Saying the Pledge of Allegiance reminds me of the blessing that American citizenship has conferred on my family.

So are patriotic feelings OK for nonresistant Christians? How about unpatriotic feelings? Are they OK? Here's how I see it:

1. Showing disrespect toward our country or its leaders is wrong. Even when we disagree, we must be agreeable. I don't appreciate name-calling, and I can't see it as being consistent with nonresistance, or Christian virtue in general.

2. Gratitude and loyalty for what is good and right are commendable. If that comes out looking like patriotism, so be it. On the other hand, a determination to be patriotic at all costs could very easily involve compromise with Scriptural principles, and we could end up defending that which Scripture condemns. Patriotism works better as an incidentall than a goal.

3. Christians ought not shrink from speaking truth, even to powerful people. The Apostle Paul did this so well--apologizing when he inadvertently failed to show proper respect to a ruler whose rank he did not recognize at first. Yet he challenged rulers fearlessly, about their moral failure, and their personal responsibility to repent before God. He also cited the laws of the land when he saw them being violated to his hurt. He appealed when he had the legal recourse to do so.

4. Humility is always in order. In the absence of humility, even right actions do not honor God as they should. They don't help us make friends either. Being proudly nonresistant is an oxymoron.

5. Citizenship in the kingdom of heaven is our highest privilege. Citizenship in an earthly country can be problematic and fraught with dilemmas, even while conferring privileges. Our identity as heavenly citizens helps provide guidance for how to behave as earthly citizens.

6. Love and kindness to others should guide all our relationships. When others participate in military service, we will pray for them. We'll also pray for an end to hostilities so that all loss of life on both sides of a conflict can come to an end. We will care about the grief others feel when there is injury or death. We will live peaceably, and when the time is right, we will speak of our basis in faith for doing so.

I really could do without the noise and the faintly dangerous aspects of the Independence Day celebrations. But I love the colors and patterns of the fireworks. The occasion helps me feel grateful that I live here, right now. I offer these pleasures and this privilege of being an American back to God with an open hand. I will not clutch it desperately or wave it proudly. I will let it rest there, where God put it, recognizing that all the kingdoms of the world are also in His hand, and I can trust my citizenship into His care.

Excuses

In my head, I've been busily blogging this week. In actuality, I have been busy with everything except blogging.

Last weekend was hectic.

Friday--Harvest the biggest batch of flowers ever for farmer's market.
Friday evening--Clean the church (Joel and Hilda helped, in exchange for our help when it's their turn)
Sat. A.M., 6:30--Leave for farmer's market, after loading the vehicle
Sat. P.M.--Arrive home about 1:30, eat, and leave for a reunion of those who graduated in my high school class 40 years ago.
Sat. eve.--Leave here about 5:30 for Smitty and Chee's place (Hiromi's sister and husband) in Sterling for the annual 4th of July family and friends cookout, with fireworks at the lake following. Leave as early as traffic allows, and arrive home shortly before 11:00.
Sun. A.M.--Get up early to prepare for teaching Sunday School
Sun. noon--Eat lunch at Mom and Dad's, with Linda cooking, and Uncle Henry and Aunt Esther from Iowa also present.
Sun. afternoon--Go to Uncle Paul and Aunt Martha's 50th wedding anniversary celebration.
Sun. evening--Go to Marvin and Lois' for a family meal with Henry and Esther and Uncle Joe and Aunt Mary--also visiting from Iowa.

A people-packed, action-packed weekend like this offers many quotable quotes and memorable events, but, unfortunately, no time to record and memorialize them. In the next few hours or days, I will probably snatch whatever emerges out of the memory ether and write about it, as I have opportunity.

Bronzed Cowbird

Today over lunch Hiromi and I both saw a gray bird with strikingly red eyes. It was perched on the clothesline post near the house. The picture in the Golden Field Guide for the female Bronzed Cowbird exactly matched what we saw. No other similar bird has red eyes.

There was one problem however. They're not found in this area, according to the range maps.

I dutifully informed my birdwatching nephews about the sighting. Joey called back after a while and suggested I submit the information to a Rare Bird Alert site. He read aloud the contact information for me from his Kansas Birds Field Guide. His source confirmed that New Mexico is as close as Bronzed Cowbirds usually get to Kansas.

I printed out a form and some instructions on submitting a report. Along the way I did learn that at least one sighting was reported in Oklahoma. These accidentals are part of the mystery that makes nature observation such a fascinating activity.

Joel and Hilda's Official Wedding Pictures

Check www.benjimast.com for pictures taken by the official photographer for Joel and Hilda's wedding.

We got to look at all 652 of them. It won't take you as long as it did us.

The very first picture shows the Iwashige family crest on the Japanese lantern that hung to the side of the arch through which all the guests walked into the reception hall.

I wrote earlier about how I found the lantern at an estate sale in Hutchinson. While there are many family crest designs similar to this, this is exactly the version that belongs to Hiromi's family. The coincidence of having found this one in Hutchinson, Kansas is just too amazing. I'm sure the family that first owned the lantern thought of it only as an interesting Asian-looking design. (The wife had spent part of her childhood in China.)

All Together Now . . .

Hannah called me today to say that the boys (Bryant, Joey, and Andrew) wanted to tell me about something they saw, but since they couldn't decide who should do it, they all wanted to say it together. Hannah paused, and I heard GREATER PRAIRIE CHICKEN.

Just the other day Joey and I had talked about never having seen one of those.

The boys were walking along the road near Lowell's place (and Joey's) when something flew out of a tree at the edge of the wheat field next to the road. They thought it was a Bobwhite at first, but something didn't look quite right. So Joey walked into the field toward where they had seen it land, and scared it up again. This time they got a better look, and saw more of its markings. They also noticed how it flew. Later they looked it up on the internet and listened to how it sounds. Everything matched for a Greater Prairie Chicken identification. My bird book lists it as "uncommon and very local."

Prairie Chickens are grassland birds. They were far more abundant earlier than they are now. Ring-necked pheasants, which are an Asian import, have filled the biological niche that Prairie Chickens used to fill.

Perched in a tree is not the first place most people would think of finding a Prairie Chicken. However, Bobwhites and Pheasants are both known to do that, occasionally, at least, so it seems logical that Prairie Chickens would also do so.

Today my nephews also saw an Upland Sandpiper, which is listed too as "local and uncommon in grass country."

Megadoses of curiosity, sharp eyes, summer, research resources, and time are wonderful assets these boys are using to learn about the delightful world God provided for its diverse inhabitants.

Walking the Dog

Where Max and Hiromi and me are concerned, walking the dog is entirely a euphemistic term. Max does not walk. Hiromi and I walk. Max runs ahead to the corner and around it onto Illinois Avenue while we're still hitting our stride, hoofing along a quarter mile behind him. Or he ranges out into the fields beside the road, pausing only to relieve himself and mark his territory in one easy application--or three or four easy applications in the first quarter mile. He romps through any standing water he encounters, mouth open, tongue hanging out, sometimes showing his teeth in an exuberant smile. When we reach the cottonwood trees by the draw that crosses Illinois Ave., he often crosses from one side of the road to the other, via the culvert, splashing noisily as he goes.

He chases after birds, even when they're flying yards above or in front of him. I don't know who was more surprised yesterday--Max or us, but he caught two birds in mid-air--one in Tim's field, and one in Morris's. I alternately scolded and called him--anything to divert him from eating those birds--blackbirds, I think. I didn't want him to develop any longings for the young guineas we have here at home, and I didn't think Grant would find bird eating a useful fascination in a hunting dog. Hiromi thought I was wasting my time. I don't think Max ate the birds though. However, I noticed a few feathers dangling from his chin after the first encounter, so I know he had the bird in his mouth.

Only rarely does Max walk sedately with us, usually after we've called him to us from the other side of the road when we notice a vehicle approaching. If he has good vehicle avoidance instincts, they aren't immediately apparent. Sometimes we hang onto his collar till the vehicle passes. Walking sedately is probably a stretch for describing how he acts when we do this, but it's as close as it gets.

We live along a blacktop county road. These roads are about five miles apart in these parts, with well-packed sand/gravel roads bissecting the area at one-mile intervals in between the asphalt roads. State and US highways, of course, do not follow these regular patterns, criss-crossing the area willy-nilly, and at odd angles. The road past our place is nice for walkers, except that there is more traffic than on the "dirt" roads, so we usually head off onto a dirt road as soon as we reach it. Occasionally we do an entire two-mile walk at 6:30 A. M. with not a single vehicle passing anywhere on our walking route, so when I say "more traffic" on the blacktop, this is a relative term. I'm throwing in these details in case anyone is mentally condemning us for not keeping our dog on a leash. It might be a good idea, but most of the time it would seem more compulsive than prudent.

When Max races to and fro on our walks, we keep hoping that all the energy he's expending in covering five (?) miles while we cover two will pay off in more calm behavior "back at the ranch." I think maybe it's almost working, although why he felt the need to carry his stainless steel water dish from the garage to the front yard yesterday is anybody's guess.

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Yesterday while Hiromi and I were cleaning up part of the outback, Hiromi dumped a container with a small amount of fertilizer in the bottom. It had accumulated water after the lid of the container blew off. "It stinks," Hiromi informed me as he did so. "I guess the weeds here will either grow big or die."

Soon after, Max discovered the damp spot and carefully scraped away the vegetation with his claws, and hollowed out the spot, then plopped down belly first and then legs-in-the-air, and on his sides, and every which way to get every spot on his body nice and cool.

"Max, you'll need a bath. Don't you know that stinks?" Hiromi told him.

We left him to his own devices, and went on working.

The next time we noticed Max, he was indeed taking a bath. A half-barrel storing used potting soil had also accumulated water, probably about 6 inches above the surface of the soil. While we weren't looking, Max had climbed into the barrel, and was twisting and turning and trying to lie down in the barrel to get every spot wet--just as industriously as he had earlier done in the dirt. He didn't fit very well. Only by curving his length into a "C" shape could he come close to lying down, but that didn't keep him from trying.

I don't know if the water in the barrel stank or not, but Hiromi must have suspected it did. Which is why on this morning's walk, Hiromi again told Max, "Go take a bath."

He obligingly raced rhough the next puddle he came to. They're a little harder to find since last week's sunshine and 100 degree temperatures dried things out.

Quote for the Day 6/26/2009

Hiromi (referring to the guineas we were watching eat grain from below the bird feeders) : I think they're vegetarians.

Both before and after that, they had displayed a disturbing unawareness of all the baby grasshoppers leaping out of their way as they walked carefully around the yard.

Then I remembered my mother describing to me how the one guinea they still had when we moved here had accompanied her one day to the flower garden during one of her daily walks through the garden. Mom spied a very large grasshopper on a stem, and hoped the guinea would find it.

The guinea happened by the same spot, and stood and stared for a minute at the grasshopper on the stalk, then pecked swiftly at it and devoured it. I'm thinking maybe guineas are better at seeing insects when they are holding still than when they are on the move. If so, I hope they figure out really quickly how grasshoppers look when they're holding still.

The guineas seem quite tame, and, so far, they and the dog seem to be coexisting peaceably. Well, sort of. We spied Max in mid-chase the other evening, and rushed out to scold him. That is, Hiromi rushed out. I opened the kitchen window and yelled at Max. Hiromi tied him to give the guineas some peace and give Max an opportunity to ponder his sins. Since then we've seen them together with Max making no move to chase them.

On the evening we let the guineas out for the first time, we had decided to do so when we could be there to watch. In my mind, part of the plan was to be very purposeful about directing them toward the veggie garden where many grasshoppers awaited. After doing some work in the house, I went to join Hiromi in the garden, expecting to be on hand to help when the guineas were let out. To my surprise, the guineas were free when I arrived, and Hiromi was watching them alright. That's all he was doing. They crossed in a leisurely fashion from one side of the garden to the other, went through the fence, and meandered toward the hog barn. Then they started circling back toward the garden, but the dog, who was tied at the time, chose that moment to whine and protest loudly, so the guineas stopped abruptly and headed toward the nether regions of the farmstead. We didn't see them again for two days. When they reappeared, one was missing. We've seen only two together since then. But they're keeping close to the yard and gardens most of the time.

I've heard guinea tales about Myron and Ilene's experience since we've had our guineas. Ilene used to love her guineas, but not of late. They had somehow become very destructive in the garden, and she decided she had to get rid of the guineas if she was to have any garden at all. They tried in vain to catch them. So she finally sicced her young sons on them with their guns. But when she saw the guineas dead, she couldn't stand the waste, and quickly gathered them and dressed them. After all, meat is expensive, and with many mouths to feed, she couldn't afford to miss the opportunity for free meat. Then she tried to cook the meat till it was soft. That didn't go so well. All in all, she considers the guinea chapter of their lives history.

I take it that guineas have not read all the literature that says they are insect eaters--not plant eaters. At the very least, I plan to follow Janette Ferguson's advice (author of Gardening with Guineas) who says that if you don't want them to eat things from your garden, never give them scraps from the garden to eat. They'll soon figure out how to bypass the middleman and harvest their own garden goodies.

I think all pets and farm animals live in something of a no-man's-land between wildness and domestication, a reminder that we have only limited ability to alter to our liking that which God has created and declared good. By turns, we observe and intervene, and, either way, life is more interesting because man and plants are not alone on the earth. I'm glad to share this space with animals--except for grasshoppers and tomato worms in the garden, and snakes in the basement, and mosquitoes everywhere . . . . At least I like the idea of having animals around me. And when they're a pain, then I'm glad for the wisdom God gives to know how to deal with them--or how to let one animal deal with another, as is hopefully the case with guineas and grasshoppers.

Mecca for the Disgruntled

I have an idea for all those church groups that do not wish to become known as a "Mecca for the Disgruntled: " Establish a policy declaring that you will not encourage membership or regular attendance at your church for all those young people who have Christian families in another local congregation. I would keep this policy in place for everyone under 21 years of age.

I didn't suck this idea out of my own thumb, although I don't actually know any church with this official policy. I'm remembering something I heard that transpired within the last decade (?) when a local young man spoke to someone on our leadership team about becoming a member in our church. Whoever he talked to urged him to keep on attending his parents' church and become a member there for the time being. The church was considerably more conservative than ours, and I'm sure the inconvenience of the arrangement rankled sometimes for this young man. He did, however, eventually become a member at our church, and has been supportive ever since. From this perspective, it seems that no harm was done by the wait.

I know of a case in another state where the leaders gave a young man similar counsel: stay in your parents' church for now. In recent years, the pastor's wife told me her husband has agonized over whether his advice was sound, given the fact that this young man has never truly found a church home. But my hunch is that if they had offered membership when it was sought, they would have simply been the first in what is by now a very long chain of tried-and-found-wanting churches in this person's history. Observation suggests that the best churches, in his mind, have always been the ones that required absolutely nothing from him.

I think the kind of policy I'm suggesting would help churches in their endeavor to establish a strong, healthy, Christ-representing body. This is the stated desire of most of the churches I'm familiar with. No church I've ever heard of wants to be a Mecca for the Disgruntled.

But it's hard to turn away a person who arrives, convinced that your church is exactly what he's looking for. However, if the main thing he's looking for is a less restrictive environment--and I am cynical enough to believe that this is often the case--what kind of church building material will he bring with him? Hangups and self-will transfer easily, but wholehearted loyalty and humility would be much more useful qualities for a new arrival to bring with him. Sadly, these things are often not notably present in a person who is looking for a less restrictive environment. It's possible, of course, for older people to arrive for wrong reasons and young people to arrive for right reasons, but greater age will hopefully also mean greater maturity, and more resources to contribute to a church body.

It's very likely that the emphasis we all want to maintain on evangelism and nurturing of believers prompts a wide-open-doors stance toward all who come seeking. But we would do well to make sure that we're not short-circuiting the seeker's chances to continue to learn from other Christians in their original family and church setting. It seems reasonable to me too to recognize that those who have loved a young person and invested in his life till now would appreciate some return on their investment.

As a teacher, I am keenly conscious of my obligation to work at turning the hearts of my students toward their Christian parents--not toward me, primarily. That is perhaps a worthy goal for every church leader to aspire to as well--to turn a young person's heart toward his parents.

Blessedly Boring

Yesterday's little weather icons on the NOAA page for Partridge, KS put a smile on my face. (Hiromi would probably say "You're easily amused.")

In perfect symmetry they marched across the top of the page toward Friday, every other one bright orange, with the word "hot" underneath, and the numerals 100 or 99 (the expected high for the day). In between the orange squares were black ones with a pale moon in the picture. Underneath it said "clear" and had either a 72, 73, or 74--the overnight low.

This "Harvest Halloween" bodes well for all those people still chomping at the bit to get all the wheat into the bins.

For me, the forecast prompts thankfulness for our whole-house air conditioner. This is the very first time in my life I have lived in such a house, and I love love love it. (I love, love, love easily too.) Hiromi and I have always had a window air conditioner, but I'm very happy to do without the blast of cold air in its vicinity, and the noise, and the network of fans strategically located throughout the house to get the cool air to our sleeping places, etc. Even then, some parts of the house were so hot that you avoided doing certain kinds of work if it had to be done in the "hot" room. Ironing, for example, which happened in the farthest away corner from the air conditioner. Or at least you ironed before your shower so you could still feel clean when you slipped into your freshly ironed garment.

Our electricity bill always spikes during air conditioning season, but less with this whole house unit than the window one, if the first electricity bill of the season is any indication. The spike was only half as high as last year's seasonal spike, when all we had was a window unit.

Bring on the hot weather. You'll find me out early and late, but not in the middle of the day, unless necessity forces me to be there.

Last night I ran a plate full of food to Grant, who was helping haul wheat to the elevator. On the way back I met schoolteacher Betty, who was driving a grain truck out west toward her dad's field. With her was a young person--her niece, I presumed, although I was concentrating mostly on navigating past her on the muddy road.

All sorts of vehicles and people come out of the woodwork during this season, to keep things humming along. Besides the grannys and chipper young teachers, driving the trucks are Moms and teenagers and grandpas and vacationing friends and family--people who grew up here, most likely, and have returned for the event, even people who just might have volunteered to help if they hadn't been asked.

And the trucks. The Terrill family's red cab, red bed truck with the neatly done lettering on the side is cruising back and forth past our place again, between the farm and the elevator. I've been seeing that truck for decades, probably only during harvest. I'm not sure who is driving it, but it's undoubtedly either the second or third generation descendant or relative of the person who originally purchased it.

I feel sorry for the people who never live in the same place long enough to learn the rhythms of the seasons in that place, or who are too unobservant or disconnected to notice. Both the rhythms of nature and the rhythms of community and family life are noteworthy, and help make life good. Like the weather in the forecast, those rhythms are blessedly boring.

Quote for the day 6/22/2009

Me: Hiromi, you've gotta see these clouds (Last night when they were spectacular in the east--layered in multicolored masses, with frothy and billowy and wispy textures, lit by the setting sun, against a blue sky. . . .) They're amazing.

Hiromi (after looking at the sky for a bit) : You're pretty easily amazed.

Can you believe it?

I think I need children or students or someone around who is as "easily amazed" as I. Being amazed is a lot more fun when someone shares it with you.

I'm glad there are lots of other things to love about Hiromi.