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...