a surrender - 15

(Continuing "a surrender," chapter three)

 

into the wilderness

At first, I didn’t tell anyone what I had in mind. I just told them that I was going on a long hike, for a month or so, on the Appalachian Trail. It sounded reasonable. A good way to clear my head after leaving the seminary, and lots of time to think about what to do next. But in the back of my mind there was an idea stirring, a tiny thought, that maybe after my long hike I could just keep going.

The Appalachian Trail runs for more than two thousand miles along the ridge of the Appalachian Mountains. I wasn’t planning to hike that far, though. I had found a monastery near the trail, about a six week walk from the southern end. When I got there I could take a retreat for a week or so. By then I might know what to do next. The trail mostly keeps to the wooded wilderness of the mountains, though it crosses roads occasionally, and there are large, three-sided shelters every fifteen miles or so. There are springs along the way to get water, though the water has to be purified to be safe to drink. The trail is clearly marked. And there are maps and guide books that provide all the necessary information for hikers, including the locations of towns not far from the trail, where food and supplies can be purchased. So I bought a map and guidebook, to go with my small tent and sleeping bag, large backpack and good hiking boots. I was well prepared.

That is, my pack was prepared; it took my body a while to get there. I enjoyed the quiet hours of walking in the woods. But my pack was too heavy and there was a lot of climbing and my knees grew sore. It was carrying the pack down the long switchbacks that was hardest on the knees. People walking long distance on the trail often went by nicknames, trail names. I chose “Monk’s Knees” because my knees felt like I had spent too many hours kneeling in prayer. Even though I wasn’t hiking during the busiest time of the year, I met people on the trail every day, and often walked for a few days with one or two of them before we lost each other. The shelters were usually crowded at night, so I avoided them. They often had mice in them as well. I slept in my little tent. For simplicity, I had planned to eat only cold food. But I was surprised how much cooler it was at the higher elevation. So, after several days struggling to get moving in the chilly mornings, I bought a tiny cooking apparatus that could boil one cup of water with a fuel cube. After that I had hot cocoa each morning at breakfast, or oatmeal, and sometimes soup for lunch. And eventually, the hours of walking didn’t wear me out as much. I felt my body growing stronger.

Continued...

a surrender - 14

(Continuing "a surrender," chapter two, "the power of the people and the power of God")

All of these seemed to me good reasons for Jesus to avoid this kind of power. He seemed to be focused on clearly speaking the truth, not worrying about pleasing his supporters. And he wasn’t trying to get their money. So Jesus didn’t have wealth or political power, he didn’t have “the power of the people.” But he seemed to have power. He spoke with great wisdom and was known as an amazing healer, he had a powerful effect on people who met him, and religious and government leaders were afraid of him. It was becoming clear to me, though, that Jesus’ power was different. It didn’t seem to come from people. It came from God. His power didn’t require compromising the truth, it couldn’t be used for evil, and it was a power that didn’t corrupt. Or end.

I didn’t know if it was possible, but if I could be supported by this power, the power of God, rather than the power of a big organization, that’s what I wanted. But how would I find out? It probably wouldn’t be by becoming “part of something bigger than myself,” if the “something” was an organization built by people. That shift in my thinking probably contributed to the increasing disagreements and tensions that arose for me in the seminary. In the end, the choice was made for me. When my membership review came up, after two years in the seminary, I was told that it had been a close vote, but it had been decided that I would not be continuing my training with the Dominicans. I just “wasn’t fitting in.”

Then, in the days that followed, I recalled something. When I was first visiting the Dominicans, during one of the gatherings, someone had read the story of Jesus walking on the water. In that story, Peter, a follower of Jesus, asks if he can walk on the water too. Jesus tells him to come. So Peter steps out of the boat and begins to walk to Jesus. But then he sees the wind and the waves. Perhaps it hits him then, as he gets farther from the boat, that what he is trying to do is impossible. He starts to sink, and cries out. Then Jesus reaches out his hand and lifts Peter up. And he says to him, “O you of little faith, why did you doubt?”

I remembered thinking at the time that there might be something important for me in that story. Crossing a lake in a boat is the normal way it’s done. The security of the boat is like the security of our organizations, that have been well-built and relied on by many people before us. But then Jesus appears. Walking on the water. At the time I thought, yes, that’s what I want. I want to walk on the water too.

I was too scared, though. So I got in the boat.

Now I found myself pushed out of the boat. And Jesus was still there. I still wanted to start walking like he did. I just didn’t know if it was possible.

Continued...

a surrender - 13

(Continuing "a surrender," chapter two, "the power of the people and the power of God")

Studying in seminary and on my own, I became more and more convinced that Jesus avoided using “the power of the people.” Though he gained a popular following, large crowds gathering to listen to him, he did not try to lead a popular uprising against the oppressive religious and governmental structures of his time. Once, when a crowd seemed like it was going to try to make him king, Jesus left quickly. He did not try to raise a lot of money, and he charged nothing for his teaching and healing. He also refused to let his followers fight for him. All of this left Jesus poor and vulnerable, without economic or political or military power. Intentionally so, it seemed. He taught his followers to do the same. So I couldn’t help but wonder why Jesus would intentionally avoid the kind of power that it seems everyone else is always trying to get?

As I thought more about it, I became more aware of several weaknesses of “the power of the people.” In order to get many people to work together, there always seems to be a lot of bartering and deals and arguing among people, who have different ideas about how the power and money of the group should be used. I saw this most clearly among politicians, but also in other groups. Sometimes it led to helpful compromises, but it often seemed to lead to the goals and ideals of the group being compromised, confused, or abandoned. And the need for lots of money makes this even more challenging. Because, in addition to appeasing the members of the group, many financial donors also have to be appeased. People who lead big organizations, such as politicians and CEOs, have to be very careful about what they say, in order to avoid upsetting too many of their supporters. “The power of the people” comes from the support of the people. So leaders have to say what will please the people, if they want to keep their power. And what if the people are deceived? Then leaders with bad intentions can gain control over the organization. “The power of the people” can be used for evil as well as good. I began to wonder: Does this power even push people towards evil? I had often heard the well-known saying, “Power corrupts.” And there seemed to be plenty of examples of this in history and in the news. The more power people wielded, the more they seemed tempted to think that they were above other people, and even that they were above the law. Then there is the final weakness of this kind of power, the one revealed in the decay and eventual collapse of every organized group. “The power of the people” doesn’t seem to last. Throughout history, every nation, every corporation, every organization eventually weakened and fell apart, and all of their power disappeared.

Continued...

a surrender - 12

(Continuing "a surrender," chapter two, "the power of the people and the power of God")

The large size of their organization felt intimidating, but I think a part of me felt that I needed it. Maybe as a kind of shelter from the demands of society. Like the walls around the monasteries. The large organization could provide security and ensure basic needs would be met, like health care. And it would provide a network of safe places where I would be welcomed and could perhaps teach. It seemed practical. A way of living more like Jesus that could possibly work in the modern world.

I think there’s something very comforting in being part of a large organization of people. It provides a sense of security. Maybe it’s instinctual, a deeply held feeling that we are safer when we’re part of a herd or clan. Very often this is true. We have also learned that people can accomplish great things when they work together, especially when lots and lots of people work together. This is seen in factories and offices, on construction sites and battlefields. It’s the basis for the power of governments and corporations. And it’s also the basis for the power of unions and organizations that protest against governments and corporations. “The power of the people” is the power of many people working together towards a common goal. That’s another comforting thing that an organization provides: a common goal, a common purpose. I remember a conversation with a young man in the Dominicans. He told me it felt good to him “to be part of something greater than myself.” An organization of people can offer that feeling, when everyone in the group believes that their purpose is a good one, and they are able to accomplish so much more working together than any of them could working alone. And it seems this feeling grows stronger as the group becomes larger. When many, many people all agree, their belief seems more convincing, more true. If so many people are all convinced, it seems more likely that they are right. Maybe this too is an instinctual response. Becoming “part of something” can even offer us a new identity. I can identify myself as a citizen or an employee, a team member or a fan, and be proud of being a part of an organization that I admire, “something greater than myself.” That group identity can also help guide our individual choices and actions. Organizations offer us all these things, so it’s not surprising that we encounter them everywhere, all the time, on all levels of society. Belief in “the power of the people” is strong all around us.

Perhaps that was part of the reason I joined the Dominicans. I also admired their ideals, and I liked how they are more democratic than many other similar religious communities. As it turned out, I didn’t last long with them, only a few years. But I did learn a lot.

Continued...

a surrender - 11

(Continuing "a surrender," chapter two)

 

the power of the people

and the power of God

 

My problem now was that I didn’t know what to do with my freedom. I moved to a larger city, where there were more people and more opportunities. Maybe an idea would come to me there. But months passed and I still couldn’t envision a practical way to live like I hoped to live, except in a sheltered religious community. So I looked around and found a religious community nearby, called the Dominicans.

The Dominicans began in the Middle Ages, and were similar to the Franciscans. They were not monks, they were not cloistered in monasteries, but they did share many of the beliefs and practices of the monastic tradition. They formed their communities at a time when many of the monasteries were powerful and wealthy, and out of touch with the common people. So the Dominicans, like the Franciscans, traveled among the people, teaching and serving in various ways. They were also strict about living a life of poverty. They asked for donations, but would not gather more than they needed for the current day. I liked that. In many ways, they seemed to me to live like Jesus lived with his followers.

The Dominican Order, however, grew and spread quickly, and soon they were no longer just poor servants of the people. They gained property and established a number of respected schools. And within forty years, their influence and power had grown so much that some of them served as judges during the terrible Spanish Inquisition. They certainly weren’t like that now, I knew. But the wealth and size of the organization still made me uneasy. Maybe though, I thought, if I joined them, I could be allowed to live like the early Dominicans did: poor, living on donations, walking from town to town to teach and help people. Like Jesus and his followers. The Dominicans didn’t usually live like that now, but it was part of their history and ideals, so I thought it might still be a possibility for me in their community.

Continued...

 

a surrender - 10

(Continuing "a surrender," chapter one, "surrender")

For the next several weeks I stayed on the base and answered a phone in an office and waited for my trial. Soon I learned, however, that the Navy lawyers wanted to avoid a trial. Perhaps this was partly because I was an officer, and they wanted to avoid the negative publicity of an officer being court-martialed. I don’t know for sure. But the commanding officer of my ship insisted on a court-martial. So the lawyers began the trial process, and I had to go to a hearing and watch as the executive officer pointed at me and testified that I had refused his order. After that, the court-martial was handed over to the lawyers and my commanding officer wasn’t involved anymore. And I was offered a way out. If I would waive my right to a trial and accept an “other-than-honorable” discharge, then all the charges against me would be dropped. I was stunned. I certainly didn’t think I deserved an honorable discharge. And I didn’t plan to apply for any benefits from the military in the future, since I didn’t deserve those either. So an other-than-honorable discharge seemed right. And I would not have to spend years in a military prison.

Suddenly the ship had fallen away behind me and I was floating on air.

I was free.

Continued...

a surrender - 9

(Continuing "a surrender," chapter one, "surrender") 

I waited one more month to make sure that I understood. I went to Ireland, walked a hundred miles to visit another monastery, and prayed until I felt ready to go home.

When my flight home landed and I presented my passport, the customs agent entered my information, then paused, staring at her computer with a look of concern on her face. For a terrible moment I was sure she was going to call security and have me arrested. I wouldn’t be able to see my parents or turn myself in voluntarily. Then she looked up, smiled, and waved me through.

I watched my mother cry when she opened the door and embraced me. The next day my parents went with me to church and heard the preacher read the story of the prodigal son.

Then I rode twenty hours to the naval base, staring out the window of the bus, reminding myself what I was doing. I was not going back to beg for mercy. I was not trying to recover my old life. That was gone. I was going back to accept punishment. I didn’t think I was wrong to try to follow the way of Jesus, but I was wrong to run away, trying to escape the consequences of my choice. So I was going back to surrender. But not to military justice. I was surrendering myself as I had in that monastery garden. I repeated a prayer I had learned during a monastery visit in England, by Charles de Foucauld:

Father,
I abandon myself
into your hands;
do with me what you will.
Whatever you may do,
I thank you—
I am ready for all, I accept all.
Let only your will
be done in me
and in all your creatures.
I wish no more than this,
O Lord.
Into your hands
I commend my spirit.

I offer it to you
with all the love of my heart.
For I love you Lord,
and so need to give myself—

To surrender myself
into your hands
without reserve,
and with
boundless confidence
for you are my father.

I was in the brig for only two days. The prison uniform turned out to be the standard military uniform, and I was told that I could either put it on or the guards would force it on me. When I had refused to wear the uniform, it wasn’t a protest against the military. It had mostly been because pretending to be an officer seemed false, and I didn’t want people to have to salute and honor me when they knew I didn’t deserve it. Now, off the ship, the situation seemed to be different. Besides some lawyers, no one here knew what I had done. So I agreed to wear the uniform, and when I did, they let me out of the brig. 

Continued...

a surrender - 8

(Continuing "a surrender," chapter one, "surrender")

A month later I was outside an old, stone monastery, sitting in a beautiful garden, waiting for the monks’ answer. I imagined that they were worriedly deliberating about me, but the decision probably wasn't a hard one to make. I had asked to join them. An AWOL foreigner who showed up two weeks ago. Did I really expect them to consider this seriously? It was a foolish dream: To flee the merciless world and disappear among the monks, behind monastery walls, where everything was different, where they would understand me. It was foolish because of course everything is not different behind those walls. In his confusion the monk I had asked said the first thing he thought of: “We use the national health care system, and you’re not a British citizen.” But it was also foolish because I should have known I couldn’t flee. I couldn’t disappear.

I walked along the garden path, past the stone cross, high on the rocky hill, and slowly lowered myself onto a mossy rock. To await the answer I already knew. Here was where my foolish dream ended. Here I was finally waking up. I pressed my eyes shut tight.

Then it was all dark and I was alone. Far from everyone who loved me and everyone I had called a friend, far from the land of my home, where I was now considered a criminal. I saw my life broken in ugly pieces. All the opportunities and benefits I had been given I had ruined; all that I had gathered and valued I had thrown away. It felt like I was falling, falling into the dark. I cried out. 

It was then that I felt the movement again. Again in the deep dark. But this time it was all around me. I was in that terrifying place and the movement was close on every side. The darkness itself seemed alive.

But, just as before, there was no fear. I now knew this thing would consume me, was already consuming me, and I was in awe of it. I lifted up the pieces of my broken life. “Here,” I moaned, “take it, it’s ruined.” I felt the awakened something move again, with such raw power that the garden seemed to lift from the earth. It felt like God.

And then I knew what I had to do.

I would go to prison. I had no doubt that when I returned I would be arrested and jailed, perhaps for several years. But now I had felt something greater than the thing I feared. I could go back, even to prison. And when I realized that, it was clear that the right thing was to return and turn myself in. I should go back and accept the consequences for my choice. I talked with several of the monks before I left the monastery, and they nodded approvingly, but I could tell they didn’t understand. That didn’t matter. I was the one going to prison.

Continued...

a surrender - 7

(Continuing "a surrender," chapter one, "surrender") 

It started smoothly enough. I asked for leave from the ship and spent two weeks visiting friends and reconnecting with my parents. This wasn’t meant to be a time for saying goodbye because I didn’t want them to know anything about my plans. Once I was gone, I would send them a letter to explain what I was doing, and why, without telling them where I was. So we just enjoyed our days together.

But that made it even harder for me to deceive them. At the end of my leave, they thought I was going back to the ship, but I was planning to leave the country, unable to contact them for a long time, possibly years. When I arrived at the airport and parked the car, I stopped, torn. I couldn’t go on. But I couldn’t bring myself to go back to the Navy either. I paced back and forth beside the car, feverishly trying to decide.

I don’t know if I did decide, actually. Neither way felt truly right to me. And this choice could cost me everything. It felt something like an act of despair when I finally grabbed my luggage and rushed into the airport.

The first few days in England, I was so nervous I could hardly eat. I paid for train tickets with cash and moved several times to cover my tracks. Eventually I decided to spend a few weeks hiking in England and Scotland, visiting historical monastery sites, until I felt calm enough to try to join a monastery. The initial gut-wrenching fear slowly eased into the thrill of a new adventure, but dread was always lurking. What would happen when I stopped running?

That was when I first felt it. Deep inside, down in a dark part of myself where I never looked, it felt like some unknown thing was moving. Like the stirring of a hibernating animal, something extremely large. I couldn't see anything clearly, but it felt real enough to inspire awe at the power of the thing. It was enough to frighten me, yet the deep sensation was not fear. I remember thinking: Not yet. But it was coming. 

Continued...

a surrender - 6

(Continuing "a surrender," chapter one, "surrender")  

In the months that followed our deployment, while the carrier was in the shipyard for repairs and upgrades, the tension inside me grew. It seemed more and more clear to me that Jesus lived in an unexpected, unusual way. He did not seem to use threats of force or violence to achieve his goals. He did not seem interested in making money either. And, while he gained quite a popular following for a while, he did not seem interested in using that popularity. He seemed to care very little about popularity or telling people what they wanted to hear, but simply and fearlessly told people the truth. He seemed to only care about sharing this truth, the truth from God. As I came to understand Jesus’ way more clearly, it seemed to me not only in tension with the demands of being a military officer, but also in tension with the demands of the rest of society as well. This fit with my observation that military life wasn’t so different from civilian life, just more clear and honest about what was necessary to live that life. But Jesus seemed to think that violence and money and popular support weren’t so necessary. Only God’s support was necessary. Could this be true, I wondered? I knew almost everyone would tell me no. Not in this world. In heaven, they’d say, yes—but this isn’t heaven. Yet I still found Jesus’ life deeply compelling, and if it was possible to live like he did in this time and place, I really wanted to. I had to know if it was possible.

Slowly an idea began to take shape in my head. I had gradually become convinced that I couldn’t be a good officer and follow Jesus’ way of life too. I had to choose. But I couldn’t imagine how to live a life like Jesus lived, in a practical sense. The closest thing I could come up with was the life of monks in a monastery, who I had been reading about in my books on contemplative spirituality. They seemed to be cut off from the rest of society, living a sheltered life, and so were able to be nonviolent and poor and devoted to God like Jesus was. So I began to imagine myself running away and joining a monastery. 

The more I thought about it, the more real it became in my mind. The timing seemed good. I was not in charge of a division of men at that time, but was starting to study for an engineering exam, so my responsibilities were few. If I left, it wouldn’t burden anyone in my division very much. Of course I would have to leave the country, because the Navy would certainly be looking for me. But I had recently visited England, during the deployment, and I thought I could probably get along fine there. The worst part was that I would have to cut off contact with my family, at least for a while. I didn’t want them to get in trouble because of what I had done, so they couldn’t know where I had gone. But maybe, I thought, after a few years, the Navy wouldn’t be looking for me anymore and I could connect with my family again. I would just disappear into a monastery. And the monks would understand, wouldn’t they? Hadn’t they all rejected the ways of society to live their sheltered religious life? Maybe it could work.

Continued...

a surrender - 5

(Continuing "a surrender," chapter one, "surrender")   

I came to see that the differences between civilian life and military life were very much like the differences between a cruise ship and a navy ship. In a navy ship the inner mechanical workings of the ship are usually visible in all the passageways. There are all kinds of pipes running everywhere and valves exposed; switches and wiring conduits and electrical boxes are all easily accessible. Little effort is made to make things look “nice.” What is important is that things work and are easily repaired if there is a problem. In a cruise ship, most of these things are also present, since they’re required for the ship to operate. But they are covered over with polished panels and drop ceilings to give a more pleasant appearance. So the passengers might not even know those pipes and valves and conduits are there. In a navy ship, it’s easier to understand how things work, just by looking around. Similarly, in the military, it’s easier to understand the social structure and the way society works. The social hierarchy is obvious, stitched onto the uniforms. And no one tries to hide the fact that society is ordered and protected by the threat of force and by violence. That is the whole purpose of the military. Every day the weapons that serve that purpose were all around me. But I soon began to realize that military life wasn’t so different from civilian life in this respect. Behind the routine rules of life like traffic laws and income taxes, there was a person with a gun that made sure those rules of society were obeyed. And the military was a tool of our society. Polite and mutually beneficial diplomacy was what everyone desired, but everyone also realized the polite words carried much more weight when an aircraft carrier was parked off the coast. Threats of force and the use of violence stand behind all our social order. It was just more easy for me to recognize it once I got to the ship.

The department head I worked for was a hard and capable man. He was not liked, he was feared. But no one could deny that he was very intelligent and knowledgeable, and our department achieved superior marks under his leadership. We maintained and operated the ship’s nuclear reactors, so it was serious business. And we had to be ready to operate them under battle conditions. That meant frequent drills and exams that simulated equipment damage and tested our performance under unusual and dangerous situations. There wasn’t much room for failure. So our department head’s ability to train and motivate us to perform at such a high level was very impressive. And perhaps part of what motivated us was that he was not a merciful man.

This became more relevant to me because I continued to be interested in the spiritual life. And I was especially drawn to the life and teachings of Jesus. He seemed more the merciful type. I was trying to be more like him, but I wasn’t sure if his way was suitable for military life, for motivating people to prepare for war, for leading the attack on our enemies. I remember a time when one of the young enlisted men in my division got into trouble. He didn’t find it easy to follow the rules and had gotten into trouble on several occasions. This time it was more serious, but I had tried to protect him and argued for leniency. Afterwards, though, I wasn’t sure I had done the right thing. I had pleaded for mercy, but was mercy the best response in this case, on a military ship, when poor discipline could cost someone their life? Throughout those six months at sea, a feeling of tension grew inside me. I felt pulled in two different directions. Could I follow the example of Jesus and still be a good officer? I wasn’t sure I could.

Continued...

a surrender - 4

(Continuing "a surrender," chapter one, "surrender") 

When I arrived back at the naval base, things moved quickly. I stood in front of another desk and was again ordered to put on my uniform. I respectfully refused again. And this time they did send me to the brig. There was a strip search in a cold, bright room. I was instructed about the way to stand if I was stopped by a guard. And then, carrying a change of clothes, I stopped in front of a wall of bars, there was a loud buzz, the bars opened, and I stepped through. The bars clanged shut behind me.

And then everything seemed to stop. I saw no one but guards, and no one talked to me but a Navy lawyer. I think I’d been in shock since returning to the ship, lost in the churning crowd, continually struggling to catch my breath. Now I was alone. Because I was an officer, I was not put in with the general jail population, but was basically in solitary confinement, only allowed to leave my cell for a short time each day. This was fine with me. I was alone and it was quiet. I could breathe. And there was nothing to do but think.

When I joined the Navy, I couldn’t have imagined it would lead to a jail cell. I had signed up while I was in college, to help pay for my last two years of school. I also liked the idea of going on an adventure, sailing the seas, seeing the world. Ironically, this made my life much quieter and easier, at first. Since the Navy was paying for my school, I didn’t need to get a job in the summer, so I stayed on campus and read and thought. Mostly I thought about the deeper questions of life. What did I believe in? What was my purpose? What was worth giving my life to? I read many books on philosophy and religion and found myself being drawn to the spirituality of monks, sometimes called “contemplative spirituality.” This was new to me. It emphasized a spiritual connection with God that didn’t need words, just the continual connection of love. It was also a connection with God that seemed to allow some people throughout history to challenge those in power (or endure years in prison). This stirred a deep desire in me. By the time I graduated from college and started my adventure with the Navy, I was feeling a hunger for spiritual adventure as well.

I did sail the seas, and see the world. The ship crossed the Atlantic and went to England, France, Greece, Turkey, Israel, and through the Suez Canal and the Persian Gulf as far as Kuwait. At night I could see oil wells on fire there, still burning since the recent war.

Yet I was learning much more about the world through my experiences inside the ship...

Continued...

a surrender - 3

(Continuing "a surrender," chapter one, "surrender")

I remember a Navy lawyer sitting me down and showing me some paperwork, which listed the charges against me: absent without leave, missing ship’s movement, and disobeying a lawful order. He informed me those charges carried a maximum sentence of seven years in prison, if I was convicted. The vision of seven years in a military prison was staggering. But I couldn’t feel anything. I quietly signed the papers.

And I remember, soon after that, a conversation with a chaplain. When I had discovered that a few of my belongings, including a television, were still onboard, I’d given them away to someone I knew. Apparently, giving away your possessions is a warning sign of depression or suicidal thoughts. So that’s why a chaplain came to see me. I did my best to reassure him. And, soon after, I found out I would be flying off the ship.

Since my return, the carrier had pulled out of the harbor and was out at sea. So when it was decided that, since I wasn’t being cooperative, I shouldn’t remain onboard, I had to be flown back to shore. It was going to be on a smaller cargo plane. On an aircraft carrier, planes are launched with the help of “catapults.” These are huge, steam-driven pistons under the flight deck that attach to the planes and help them accelerate quickly enough to reach liftoff speed before they reach the end of the runway, the edge of the ship. The catapults basically throw the planes off the ship. I had been on the flight deck during launches before, but I had never been on one of the planes taking off. When I boarded the plane, I was seated facing backward. I was told to lean hard against the seat belts, because the thrust would be intense. There was a roar of engines. A moment of alarming acceleration. And then it suddenly stopped, and we were floating on air.

Continued...

a surrender - 2

(Continuing "a surrender," chapter one, "surrender")

The young officer hesitated, surprised and a little flustered. This was not a common thing, an officer returning from an unauthorized absence. I wouldn’t have known how to deal with it, if I was on watch. He picked up the phone. I glanced at the marine, but if he had heard me, he showed no sign of it.

After that it was like I entered a surreal dream, a dream, I was sure, that would end with me waking up in a jail cell. I wasn’t allowing myself to feel much of anything. I just reacted mechanically to what came at me. I’d been away from the ship, without leave, for almost five months. So I expected to be arrested immediately. But I wasn’t. There seemed to be some confusion about what to do with me at first. I got the impression that I wasn’t being taken to the ship’s jail, the brig, because I was an officer. Then I was told that I would be temporarily assigned to a desk job somewhere onboard. Probably not in the reactor department, where I had been working, since most everything there was classified. But when I made it clear that I would not wear my uniform, that plan was dropped. I was put in a bunk room in the upper part of the ship, used by officers in the air wing, where I wasn’t likely to see anyone from my old department. This was fine with me. I preferred to avoid anyone who knew what I had done. Part of the reason I didn’t want to put on my officer uniform was that I didn’t think anyone should have to salute me or call me “sir,” especially those people who knew that I didn’t deserve that honor anymore. So I was relieved to be mostly unknown for those first few confusing days.

But my old roommate found out where I was and came to see me. We had not been close friends; we just shared an apartment in town. But he seemed eager to talk to me now. I’d made an effort not to inconvenience him when I left, paying the rest of my half of the rent in advance, and leaving extra money to deal with the things I left in the apartment. He didn’t mention that, though, or want to hear much about what had happened to me in the months that I’d been away. He seemed more interested in letting me know about our department head, who was due to transfer off the ship soon. My roommate excitedly told me our department head would not be taking command of a ship, but would be transferring to a shore command, a less desirable assignment. Apparently my old boss had suggested that my going AWOL had somehow contributed to this. My roommate seemed to think so, and was glad about it. He didn’t much like our department head. Few of us did. I thanked him for coming to see me. But I couldn’t feel much besides the dread of what was going to happen next.

Then I remember waiting outside the office of the executive officer, the XO. I was there because I had refused to wear my uniform. The XO was the ship’s second in command, in charge of all disciplinary actions on the ship. He far outranked me. I was a junior officer, only two years out of training, and I had never talked to him before. When I was called in, I stepped in front of his desk and stood at attention. He told me he was giving me a direct order to put my uniform on, so I could serve in one of the offices while I waited for the legal process to begin. I don’t remember exactly what I said. It was something like, “I can’t do that, sir. It’s not right.” I spoke calmly but my knees felt weak. My face seemed to twitch and tremble and it was all I could do to hold it still. He looked at me for a moment. Then he dismissed me.

Those few simple words I had said would get me in even more trouble, I knew. My punishment would be worse. But wasn’t that what I had come back for?

Continued...

a surrender

I spent a good amount of time this past winter writing. And I think now it's in good enough shape to share. It's from my experiences over the past thirty years, many of them described here. So this is a true story. Some names have been changed. 

 

 

surrender

 

My legs felt unsteady as I approached the massive pier. I hesitated, breathing slowly, as if balancing on the edge of a cliff. Then I took a step. 

And another. Another. My steps were slow, but I felt like I was falling, faster and faster.

The ship that I thought I would never return to loomed beside me as I moved down the pier. And once again I was awed by its incredible size: three football fields long, and a football field wide. It towered over me. It was difficult to imagine the engineering and resources and years of labor that had produced this monstrous marvel of dull gray steel, a floating airport for eighty planes, driven by two nuclear power plants, and able to accommodate five thousand people. No matter what else I felt about it, I had to admit that it was an amazing human accomplishment.

As I reached the steps to the quarterdeck, I suddenly stopped, breathing heavily, gripped by panic. Was this the right thing? Did I really have to do it? The dark, terrifying moment in the monastery garden seemed so far away. So very far away, and long ago. But then the memory of that experience flooded me, washed over me. I took a step up. And another. Then I breathed a prayer and stepped onto the quarterdeck. The officer of the deck looked up, as well as the armed marine standing beside him. I stated my name and rank.

“I’m turning myself in,” I said. “I’ve been AWOL.”

Continued...