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...