Earlier today I was listening to a podcast on St. Isaac of Syria, also known as St. Isaac of Ninevah. The central point I took away from this 7th-century desert father was that God, above all other things, loves each one of us, individually and collectively. He also says that to call God “just,” in the sense that God administers justice–rewards and punishments–comes dangerously close to blasphemy. God, St. Isaac points out, acts only out of love because He is Love. Just as one cannot avenge oneself, God does not seek vengeance on his own creation. And just as a loving parent doesn’t seek vengeance upon his or her wayward children, so God does not damn us for our sins. This, as St. Isaac explains, is that God that Jesus showed us.

Lent, then, is a time in which we take an open and honest look at ourselves in order to both understand and acknowledge those things we think, say, and do that keep us from God’s loving embrace. As our understanding and acceptance grows, so too should our resolve to turn aside from those things and thereby grow closer to Him. As St. Isaac puts it, “It is a spiritual gift from God for a man to perceive his sins.”

And we also take comfort in knowing that our Father will come running out with open arms to welcome us into His embrace.

Pearls from Saint Isaac of Syria

Catholic Under the Hood: Saint Isaac of Syria

As with most “anniversary” dates, today & the next couple of days are a challenge for me. I wish I could shut off the memory spigot, but that’s not really possible. There have been periods when I’ve not consciously realized that “on this day X happened.” The subconscious mind doesn’t forget, though, so I’ll begin having more intrusive thoughts, be more irritable than usual, feel the anger surge up again, and start isolating myself more often. When I realize what’s happening, I can start managing all the effects, so it’s probably for the best that I keep these periods in my consciousness. Still, I wish, really wish, that I could simply forget it all.

That’s not entirely true, though. Yes, I wish that these memories would stop haunting me, and that the difficult emotions that have become so much a part of them would simply dissipate. I don’t enjoy living with PTSD. Yet, it is who I am, now and most likely for the rest of my life. If I could somehow take a pill and make it all go away, I would have to re-create myself again. Over the past six years (it was also around this time, one year after going into Iraq, that I was diagnosed with PTSD), I’ve had to travel down another long, long road in foreign territory, although this one has been internal. I’ve had to re-collect the pieces of who I was before Iraq, sort those parts that were still “me” from those that were no longer. I’ve had to put those pieces back into something of a functional human being–once something is broken into pieces, it can never be made whole again. The best outcome is building something new out of what’s left. The person I am now is who I am now, not who I wish I was, nor the person I used to be. I can’t erase Iraq from my life, but even if I could exorcise it from my mind & heart, I would still be made up of the pieces that were left.

Another year, then, passes by, and another reminder of a short but intense & painful period in my life. Still, I am here, have a loving & supportive family, work to keep me busy (if uninspired), and a mind and heart with which to ponder deep things. I am not wise, nor believe that I ever will be; and my life speaks to fact that I’m not all that smart. But all of that won’t matter if, after having been a part of that which was so wrong, I can live my life simply being good. That’s enough.

On the other hand, the school year is half-over.

The crazy winter weather continues, as in no winter weather. It’s been raining for nearly twenty hours; as a colleague pointed out today, if it were ten degrees colder we’d be buried. Mild temperatures continue for the next week, which puts us into February. Chances are it’s going to be a mostly snowless winter. Makes one very suspicious about climate change.

Anne & I are going to talk with a writer tomorrow; she’s been working on a book about returning veterans and their families. She interviewed us a few years ago, but has decided to include the issue of PTSD and its long-term effects. Neither Anne nor I have spoken about this with anyone bur ourselves for going on three years, so it’ll be an interesting exercise. Since then, I know Anne’s thought a lot about the secondary effects that my PTSD has had on her and the family. For that matter, I have, too. Recently, I’ve been trying harder to communicate to those around me where I’m at. I feel like I plateaued a little over a year ago; its not getting any worse, though not really any better. I’ve learned to manage the worst effects, so don’t have to struggle to keep the anger, anxiety, hyper-vigilance, etc. under control; however, that’s not the same as being free of it all. The self-care I’ve learned requires that I do certain things, and not do others. Those people who have to live & work around me, have to put up with me, need to have at least some idea of what’s going on so they don’t mistake my behaviors for anything other than what they are. For example, several times a day I really need to be in a quiet place by myself. Keeping all the effects managed takes a lot of energy, physical and emotional; if I don’t have time to relax a little, I become over-tired, more stressed, and less able to manage it all. It’s easy to assume that I’m alienating myself, upset with others, avoiding people, and so on, when in fact I simply need some space.

It’s not easy to talk about these things, of course. Not only is my inner life private, like everyone’s; it also leads to feeling vulnerable, which is a trigger for all sorts of reactions. I really dislike opening up like this. But, it helps others, especially those close to me, understand what’s up. So, I’m chalking it up to just one more of the unpleasant elements of living with PTSD.

I spent the weekend of the 14th in Philadelphia with a wonderful group of young women & men discussing the future of Warrior Writers. This organization hosts workshops & retreats for veterans to explore in writing their military experience. The focus is primarily on those who have served since 9-11, especially those who served in the Iraq and Afghanistan wars. The purpose is primarily to add to veterans’ healing by giving them a written voice. A secondary but no less important purpose of Warrior Writers is to let those voices be heard. Pindar (and Desidarius Erasmus) observed that “war is sweet to those who know it not.” Hearing the words of the men & women who know it first hand cannot help but strip away the mask that hides war’s ugliness and horror.

On Saturday we held a release party for the third anthology of Warrior Writers work: After Action Review. Several of the veterans whose works are in the anthology were there and gave readings; it was an amazing and emotional experience–and I seldom resort to superlatives. I was proud to be in the same room as these young folk. Their works speak with more power than those of “professional” writers and poets because theirs come from not only the heart but the soul. And their willingness to share their struggles and pain speaks even more to their commitment to being voices for their still-silent comrades-in-arms. I can promise those who pick up these anthologies that they will be often disturbed but always moved.

This week (that of the 23rd) I haven’t been feeling well. Anne thinks I picked up the bug that is going around school, and she may well be right. But at least some of this is the “crud” that I’ve been carrying around since Iraq. Sweats, chills, whole-body pain, nausea–it’s all there. I had another flare-up in December, but there’s no real pattern so it’s no surprise that it came back so soon. Sometimes I can go a couple of months without symptoms, other times it’s an up-and-down cycle for several months. I’ve not been able to identify any single triggers, though I think stress plays a role, along with air quality and temperature. No doctor in the VA or in civilian world has been able to narrow it down to anything known; it’s just a collection of symptoms that recur again & again. I’ve accepted that it’s an ongoing part of life, but I still don’t like it.

January is in itself a stressor, & not just because of the end of first semester at school. It was seven years ago this Saturday, the 28th, that my unit began the convoy from Kuwait to Summerall. Even when I don’t think about it, the trip and events that followed seem to bubble up from my subconscious, making me feel tense, stressed, anxious. When I bring it all to the conscious level, I can manage it; but doing so takes energy, energy that I would otherwise use in my daily life. In other words, it’s just a crappy time. August is the big one, of course, November being the other anniversary that affects me. Just like with the physical “crud,” I’ve accepted that it’s going to be like this.

Maybe some of the slump has to do with the weather. Hardly any snow this year! It just ain’t natural. Although snow creates many problems, I still love snowstorms. It’s all the “blanketing the earth in whiteness” stuff. Snowstorms always lift my spirits, if only for a day or so. This year, though, it looks like that’s not going to be an option. We’ve only had two wimpy little snowfalls, hardly worth the effort of getting out a shovel. But then, the winter isn’t over. Maybe the weather patterns will shift for February.

And, January is nearly over–a week from now it’ll be February. I’m choosing to believe that it will be a brighter month than this one.

Nevertheless, some of the tactics employed by the BPD should still be causes of concern. Early morning raids seem to have become the modus operandi these days. These have always struck me as troubling; we know from history that totalitarian regimes use this tactic–think Gestapo, STASI, Stalin’s Internal Security, Peron’s and Pinochet’s secret police, and a host of other regimes. Nighttime raids guarantee a degree of cover, and once the deed is over & done with it’s easier to spin the event. Or at least it used to be. Now we have the internet, mobile phones, social media, and so on, so the night no longer hides everything. Still, Occupy members report that…

“Credentialed press, citizen journalists, academic researchers, and #OccupyBoston media members were repeatedly corralled and moved to surrounding areas 50 feet away or more, prohibiting many from thoroughly covering the raid. From pointing lights in photographers’ lenses to targeting the two official #OccupyBoston USTREAM live videographers for removal, officials went to great lengths to block media access.”

Clearly there’s an attempt to adapt on the part of the police, though it’s self-evident that such efforts are not completely effectual. The point, however, is that this country’s police forces are behaving less like community-centered constabulary, which one would like to believe takes a narrow and restrained view of “keeping the peace,” and more like a national force intent on controlling the unruly masses.

The fact that Occupy Boston has ultimately been “dealt with” like other Occupy protests raises a number of points, not the least of which is the self-evident coordination between mayors and police around the country. While not in itself a bad thing (witness the successful spread of community policing over the past two decades), the fact that such coordination was done in response to citizens exercising their Constitutional right to protest against both their government and the corporate world should at the very least raise a flag. As the examiner.com reported last month, the coordination was not about so much about responding to specific & local legal issues as finding the procedural means and rhetorical cover to end the protests. The apparent participation of the FBI & Homeland Security should make us all concerned about the attitude of those in political and social power towards ordinary American citizens. Developing a consistent, nationwide set of talking-points, willingly and uncritically disseminated by the media, to justify heavy-handed, even militaristic police tactics is not to be taken lightly.

The extent to which all of this reflects a unified, systematic process to silence dialogue, debate, and protest on the status quois an open question. Yet one does not have to delve into the murk of conspiracy theories to be understand that the effects are the same. Whether the cause is an oligarchic group of power elites or an institutionalized attitude of distrust of the people, one of the fundamental pillars of our democracy–the right to petition the government for redress of grievances–is threatened.

This issue is neither left nor right. While my own politics and social sensibilities are certainly left-of-liberal, I try to listen to and understand those who consider self-identify as conservatives (or at least those who articulate their beliefs using reason rather than emotion & aggressive jingoism). The Occupy and Tea Party movements have some fundamental similarities; though they often advocate for different solutions, both movements spring from long-term frustrations over  our governmental institutions’ increasing inability to serve the interest of the citizenry. The Tea Party has not engaged in direct actions as the Occupy Movement has, and as such has not been targeted by authorities (though we can probably guess that many of its members have been kept under surveillance). And much of the libertarian sensibilities of Tea Party members has played well into the hands of politicians whose loyalties lie more with the corporate world than with the American people. Still, it seems to me that Tea Partiers should be upset at how their legitimate anger over the corruption of our government by wealth and power has been co-opted & effectively neutralized by disingenuous politicians and irresponsible media organizations. I think we can be assured that if those on the right took a more activist approach to their protests, they would be handled in much the same manner as those on the left.

The problems that lead to both the Tea Party and Occupy movements show no signs of going away. Nor does the default, heavy-handed response. But when we consider that the anger & distrust is not just an American phenomena but is surfacing in countries around the world, it seems clear that confrontations will both continue and escalate, here and abroad. It’s critical that protests remain non-violent, though that will become more and more of a challenge as the reactions become more and more harsh (which I have no doubt they will once it becomes clear that the protests will not end with the removal of tents). If we are to have a more peaceful & just society, peace and justice must be practiced from the start.

We had to move Mom back east with us in 2002. Her health was failing, and she wasn’t always tracking very well. I’d decided that Winston would have to come along because she was so attached to him, hoping too that he would help lift her spirits during such a major change. What I hadn’t realized was that over the previous several years, the dog had lost any discipline he’d had (which wasn’t much), including his housebroken-ness. It took us almost a year to get him to the point where he didn’t leave messes in the house. Moreover, he was used to being the alpha-male, doing pretty much what he wanted. He had to be kept on a leash because he’d always run off (including into traffic), and would snap at all of us if he didn’t get his way. THAT took over a year to rectify. (The Dog Whisperer wouldn’t have approved of my methods, but he eventually ceded the alpa position to me.) He began to mellow after that, but was never a dog that one could take on walks off the leash, or even behave well while on it. And that was the case up until the last.Of course, Winnie & I had a complex relationship. I only saw him a couple times at Nana’s before we moved to Massachusetts. He was just a pup then, and like all kids had too much energy for his own good. I remember asking Mom, “Why a pug?” While growing up, my grandmother (who lived with

us) had a little female pug, Mahla. She was sweet, but like most pugs snorted and snuffled a lot, and (honestly) was not all that bright. Pugs are a breed not noted for being all that sharp, and their prolonged puppyhood is just as annoying as endearing. But Mom saw him at the local animal shelter and fell for Winston right away. The rest is history.

That said, Winnie also had his unique charm. Being a pug, he was always enthusiastic & playful, so he was often a lot of fun. He loved playing fetch with his little cloth footballs (he got a new one every Christmas), and in his later years he like to sit close & be petted. Even when I’d get so pissed at him that I’d seriously ponder pugicide, he could look up with his big brown eyes and “huh?” expression (he was never very deep) and soften me up. And that’s probably how I’ll remember him. Mostly.

Anne & I began thinking that the end was approaching last winter. It was harder for him to get up and down the stairs, and he sleeping for increasingly long periods of time. He’d pretty much lost his hearing by then, and his eyesight was going. By late spring we had to carry him up & down the stairs to go out, and he was increasingly uncomfortable (his ears bothered him a lot). Over the summer he began having problems with his hips & hind leg, to the point where he couldn’t stand for more that a few seconds. By last month it became obvious that he was going downhill fast. I found a lump on his side, he lost control of his bowels, and finally was so uncomfortable that he had a hard time just laying still. It was time.
The vet was very kind. She gave him gas that made him sleep, then gave him the injection. It only took a minute. I brought him home, and Anne & Mary had prepared a place for him. We wrapped him up in Anne’s fluffy bathrobe & put him to rest.

I won’t miss many of his behaviors, but I’ll miss him. Rest easily, Winnie.

The events of September 11, 2001 need no explanation. On the anniversary of that awful day, the nation, and certainly a good portion of the world, recalls the events that took the lives of nearly 3000 people, directly affected those of thousands, and touched hundreds of millions more. It’s appropriate that today should be a time for remembrance and, for those within a faith tradition, prayer. [As I’ve written in another post, I hope, too, that today we take time to also remember those whose lives were affected by the events subsequent to 9-11.]

In our reflections over the loss & suffering that will forever be synonymous with 9-11, it is easy, and normal, to feel anger. There was and is no justification for murder; no amount of rationalization can wipe blood from a murderer’s hands. We feel anger precisely because of the wrong-ness of acts like this. While anger is understandable, our response to even righteous anger can become a trap. Our collective & individual wrath can lead us into errors as deep as the actions from which our outrage arises. And this is where forgiveness comes in.

I recall very well how quickly the shock and horror of September 11th turned first into anger and then to calls for vengeance. But I also recall many alternative voices that spoke to the need for, at the least, restraint. That these voices for collective self-control were drowned out by what became a shameful frenzy of blame and demands for paybacks in no way diminishes their wisdom. Indeed, the amount of pain, suffering, and death inflicted as a result of 9-11 proves that the path of violence can never surpass the power of forgiveness.

Of course, forgiveness is not simply a Christian virtue; it is part of all the great faith traditions. Jew, Muslim, Hindu, Buddhist, Ba’hai, Jain, Shinto–all have forgiveness at the center of belief. To be religious is to be called to forgiveness; to be spiritual is to live a life that embraces forgiveness. [Even those outside of a faith tradition or who cannot see the spiritual dimension of forgiveness have to acknowledge its practicality; forgiveness breaks the cycle of violence.]

Spirituality, whether within or outside of religion, requires work. Forgiveness as a spiritual virtue does not come easy, even for the spiritually-minded. It is all-too-human to want to limit our forgiveness to those whom we decide are worthy of it. Forgiveness & compassion go together, but what about people who inspire little or no compassion in us, such as the men who perpetrated the 9-11 attacks? To even mention the idea of forgiveness in this context is to invite the wrath of one’s fellow citizens.

The spiritual work of forgiveness is made all more problematic by our instant-gratification and violence-obsessed culture. We are conditioned to respond to emotion by acting upon it without reflection or restraint; and if that emotion is anger, then violence is at least a reasonable response. To respond to a horrific event like 9-11 by embracing the grief and sorrow in prayer or meditation, to contemplate such things within the space of one’s soul, is the antithesis of how society tells us we should respond. Yet, this is precisely what humans are called to do. Mahatma Gandhi reminded us that “an eye for an eye makes the whole world blind.” If humanity is to ever rise above its baser instincts and desires, if it is ever to realize a peaceful and just world, it must embrace its higher, spiritual nature.

Spirituality requires work, and forgiveness does not come easy. Yet, as spiritual beings, and as religious individuals, we cannot not forgive. Speaking as a Christian and a Catholic, there is no alternative. Nowhere does Christ teach that we should forgive those who have harmed us, even our enemies, only up to a point. Forgiveness, to a Christian, must be unequivocal, unconditional, and complete.

In today’s Gospel lesson (Mt 18:21-35), Christ responds to Peter’s question on how much should one forgive by saying “seventy times seven.” He then illustrates this with the parable of a servant who, after being forgiven of his debt by the king, refuses to forgive his own debtor. God’s compassion calls us to compassion; His forgiveness of us calls us to forgive one another. This is the logical extension of what Christ tells us is the greatest commandant after loving God: loving one’s neighbor as one’s self (Mt 22:39). And lest we split hairs over who is one’s neighbor, we are told to “love your enemies, do good to those who hate you” (Lk 6:27). By refusing to forgive, we reject Christ himself.

I could go on and write about the emotional, psychological, and social benefits of forgiveness, but this is not the place for that. Suffice to say that, as with anything, hard work pays off, and the hard work of forgiveness has both personal and collective benefits. My point is that the practical reasons flow from the spiritual act; forgiveness freely given is truly its own reward. Whatever we gain from forgiving our enemies, from forgiving those who cause us harm, we gain from right action. As Christians, as people of faith, as spiritual beings, we are called to righteousness. Amen.

It’s hard to imagine anyone living in the United States who doesn’t know thattoday is the 10th anniversary of 9-11. September 11, 2001 is etched in our collective consciousness as few other events in American history have been. One would be hard-pressed to count the number of remembrance events taking place today; from grand, civic events like New York City’s to small, more intimate services in churches, synagogues, & temples, (and–yes–mosques), today will be a day for mourning the nearly 3,000 lives lost on that day. This is right and good. It is important to take time to recall those lives, and how those loses touched us all. These are things that unite people into a community, be it large or small.

On this day, it is also important to remember the families and friends of those who died. Our sadness over those deaths is and should remain the source of compassion that we feel for those whose pain of loss will never go away.

It may be argued that today should be strictly for remembering those who died ten years ago or were immediately touched by those deaths. Unfortunately, compassion–once felt–has a tendency to expand, reaching out to others who suffer.

This day should serve, too, to remind us of the lives lost and families that suffer as a result of 9-11. The first responders who spent days and weeks in the toxic ruins of the Twin Towers carried the devastation in their bodies and minds, and many of them died as a result of their dedicated service. Many more struggle with the after-effects, their suffering exacerbated by cruel bureaucracies & politicians who have denied them the health care they deserve.

The events ten years ago also propelled our country into two wars-of-choice. As of this morning, just over 7500 American servicemen and women have died in Afghanistan and Iraq, more than twice those who died on 9-11. They, too, have families for whom the pain of loss will not end. Of the hundreds of thousands of others who were sent off to those conflicts, tens of thousands returned home wounded in body and mind. They, and the families who care for them, should be remembered on this day, too.

The ripples of suffering for ten years have expanded even beyond America as a result of the wars, to include millions of people of in Afghanistan, Pakistan, & Iraq whose lives have been forever shaken through death, the collapse of society, displacement, and mental & physical trauma. By some estimates, between 1 & 1-1/2 million Iraqis have died, and tens of thousands of Afghanis & Pakastanis, as a direct result of American (and British, and NATO) policies post-9-11. Just as those murdered on 9-11, the vast majority of these people did nothing deserving of death. They should be remembered as well.

We do no dishonor to those who died on that Tuesday ten years ago when we recall those who have suffered and died subsequently if our remembrances inspire a spirit of compassion in us both as individuals and as a people. We are at our best when we feel and act on compassion towards others. It matters little whether those others are close to home or far away.

Weather has served metaphor duties as long, no doubt, as there have been humans. The violence of storms, the frozen depths of winter, the oppressive heat of summer–these and similar natural forces are frequently drawn upon to illuminate the drama of our individual and collective lives. We don’t often avail ourselves of nature’s calm and gentle side, however. Or, if we do, it’s as a contrast, as in (one of my favorite poems) Matthew Arnold’s Dover Beach:

The sea is calm to-night.
The tide is full, the moon lies fair
Upon the straits; on the French coast the light
Gleams and is gone; the cliffs of England stand;
Glimmering and vast, out in the tranquil bay.
Come to the window, sweet is the night-air!
Only, from the long line of spray
Where the sea meets the moon-blanched land,
Listen! you hear the grating roar
Of pebbles which the waves draw back, and fling,
At their return, up the high strand,
Begin, and cease, and then again begin,
With tremulous cadence slow, and bring
The eternal note of sadness in.

I know there are poems and stories that use tranquil, serene weather to describe the better side of the better aspects of humanity. Still, we seem pulled more towards the opposite.

One can’t help but wonder if our penchant for using harsh imagery such as doesn’t reflect the unsettled nature that seems part and parcel of modern life. If we cannot find, or if we choose not to look for, peace within our hearts, it’s not surprising that we have a hard time seeing it in the world around us.
By this time tomorrow we will have been in the middle of Irene for several hours. At the moment, though, I don’t feel concerned beyond being simply prudent. There’s nothing we can do to change Irene’s course or intensity, and short of driving to Ohio there’s little else we can do to mitigate whatever effects she might bring. What will come will come. Acceptance is not synonymous with complacency nor denial.

In this we can draw understanding from our place in the world. One can exercise good judgement and reasonably prepare for the future, but ultimately we’re pretty much along for the ride. It’s best to enjoy the calm, even in the knowledge that a storm is coming.

This will be a transition year in several ways. The most obvious will be Mary starting her freshman year at CCHS. Four years from now she will (most likely) be out of the house, off to college, and beginning her life independent from Mom & Dad. It’s exciting to watch her, but also a little bittersweet, Mary being our youngest. The nest isn’t empty yet, but I can feel it coming.

Mary’s graduation from high school will more than likely mark the end or near-end of my teaching career, at least public-high-school part. From the time I started teaching until a couple of years ago, I had always thought of myself as being in the classroom well into my mid-60s or beyond. I love being a class with a couple dozen teenagers, and I know I’ll miss it very much when I do leave. However, the combination of a problematic school environment with ongoing health issues (thank you, again, President Bush) make an earlier transition more likely. Of course, one can’t tell what lies ahead: things can change in ways that would keep me in the classroom, or push me out even earlier. Insofar as anyone can make plans, though (“life happens while we make plans”), the end appears in sight.

Anne will be starting back to school sometime this year, too. The circumstances that brought this about have been unpleasant, but I’m excited in anticipating the new directions that will open up to her over the next year. She’s always deserved better, and I see those days coming.

On a more mundane level, I should be able to realize some changes in at least two project I’ve been nurturing for a couple of years. The school yearbook program will, I hope, take on a completely different look, drawing more participation and enthusiasm from the students. Also, despite some unfortunate setbacks over the past six months, I think our TV production project will finally get off the ground (although it may be more like the Wright Brother’s first flight that a launch of the space mission).

Financially, the past two months have not gone well; but that, too, should eventually yield some benefits. I’m optimistic that the next six months will make the last three, if not worthwhile, at least acceptable. Assuming, of course, that our political & economic leaders don’t bring about a complete economic & social meltdown over the next year.

So, I think I’m ready for summer to pass. In more ways than I care to write about, what is in the past should remain just that: in the past. It is by looking forward that we progress, and it is by progressing that we grow. And that, I think, is what life is ultimately all about.