Involuntary Sacrifice

Yesterday in church, one of our visitors, in responding publicly to something David said in the sermon, revealed that his family has become an involuntary military family since their oldest daughter joined the army. She has married a military man who is presently serving in Iraq.

Our visitor, along with generations of his ancestors, has held dear the nonresistant position that Mennonites are known for. He did not lapse into melodrama when he spoke, but I'm sure every parent there felt keenly the pain of his family's disappointment. Many of our faith ancestors died rather than take up arms to defend themselves. In the face of such sacrifice, for Mennonite children to go to war voluntarily seems unthinkably ungrateful, besides the blatant disregard it shows for Jesus' "Love your enemies" injunction.

I felt similar pangs the evening before when Hiromi and I and many others attended a performance of "Fiddler on the Roof," the story of a Jewish family who lived in a Jewish neighborhood in Russia in 1906. The father, Tevye, wanted a good future for each of his daughters. Especially he wanted them to marry in the good tradition of years gone by, to someone appropriate chosen by the village matchmaker. One by one his three oldest daughters bypassed tradition in their marriage plans. Tevye grudgingly adjusted to the circumstances in each of his two oldest daughters' marriages, but the third daughter crossed a line he could not countenance when she married a non-Jewish soldier.

Tevye concludes that in matters of faith, standing strong must trump adjusting to changing times. He disowns his daughter, and then, in spite of himself, chokes out a blessing when she returns to say goodbye and inform the family that she and her new husband are leaving the village--voluntarily, to show solidarity with the Jews who were forced to leave as a result of the pogroms that preceded the Russian Revolution.

It's the bittersweetness that gets to audiences who see "Fiddler on the Roof" if my experience is any gauge, at least. It's all too familiar. Children who disappoint still have so much to love about them. Parents can't turn off their love, even if a child's behavior triggers revulsion. How does one reconcile those two emotions? When a faith practice is involved, the stakes seem impossibly high--not worth gambling with for any prize. And yet children blithely roll the dice and shake off the "burdens" of their upbringing, only to take on heavier burdens of their own choosing. For parents who see this reality before it happens, the pain of this foresight is excrutiating.

Others have far more experience with this hard aspect of parenting than I have. I sympathize, and from what I've tasted of it personally, I know how precious encouragement is, but I have no wise words.

One of my friends is in such a position right now. She agonizes as her child's situation gets worse, repeatedly, when no one can see how things can deteriorate further. Yet, in surprising ways, here and there, a disaster is averted in the nick of time. She rejoices when that happens, and clings resolutely to a sovereign God, Who is able to intervene when human intervention is impossible. Occasionally, she is nearly overwhelmed with grief and fear, and then we talk, and cry a bit, and pray a lot, and courage returns.

Hope is a wonderful thing, and when it's placed in God, even anguished parents can go on with life and keep their faith. I'm seeing it happen.

"The sacrifices of God are a broken heart. A broken and a contrite heart, O God, thou wilt not despise." Heart-crushing involuntary sacrifice, when followed by voluntarily offering God one's broken heart, is precious to God. Broken hearts are not wasted things in God's hands, whether they break in the process of standing strong or of adjusting to present realities.

Someone should tell Tevye. But then again, maybe he already knows.