Monday Morning Meditation #34: Care for Your Enemy

This week I wandered into the next chapter of II Kings. Here is the narration of the foray of troops of the King of Aram against the King of Israel, whom Elisha forewarned. With the help of God, Elisha delivered the warring troops to the King of Israel in Samarria. The King of Israel wanted to kill them, but Elisha persuaded him instead to feed them and let them go.

Reading: II Kings 6: 8-23

Meditation: This passage gives substantive meaning to "love thy neighbor as thyself" and "love thy enemy." I cannot see significant differences between a stranger, neighbor, enemy, and friend. A stranger is typically, in my experience, simply a friend in waiting, as are neighbors and even enemies. So often, we have much in common with enemies if we just take the time to find out. Elisha spent time with the warring Aramaeans, and he showed great compassion for them. It is difficult to spend time with anyone, friend or foe, and not feel compassion. Living for two years in Jordan taught me that Arabs, in general, are friends, not enemies. Living in the Soviet Union during the Cold War showed me that Russians are friends, not enemies. It was difficult in both eras of our country for many people to see that. Governments are not people, and people are generally peaceful. (Yes, admittedly, there are some misled groups of people, who choose a violent approach to living their lives and need to be managed -- with love, not hate, otherwise it just becomes one form of hatred over another.)

So many times I have been assisted in all sorts of things, including learning language and culture, finding a place to live, assistance with my kids, and much more by people considered to be my enemy. One of my favorite meals was dinner with the vice president of a Belarus university who at one time had been a captain in the Red Army, specializing in American order of battle. At the same time, I had been a captain in the US Army, specializing in Soviet order of battle. Oh, my! That was a highly emotional meeting, and here he was, giving food and drink to me, his enemy, the same way that Elisha had urged the King of Israel to feed the troops of the King of Aram.

The height of bad thinking about enemies was exhibited by my own mother years ago, who at the time had just met my best friend, an immigrant from Russia. "I thought you told me Sonya is Russian," Ma said, implying that she did not view her that way and was confused.

"She is," I replied.

"She cannot be," Ma objected. "She is normal."

Yes, our enemies are often every bit as "normal" as our friends. When we learn that, perhaps there will be a chance for a little more peace in the world.

(And if you want to read a heart-warming war story in which the heart of one German soldier, invading Belarus, was touched by an enemy baby, related to me years later by a survivor from that family, click here: Three Vignettes and One Thought about an Enemy).

And that is far as I can go with you this Monday morning. I must retire to prayer to ask God to lead me to treat my "enemies" as friends, to thank Him for his daily guidance even though I sometimes pay scant attention to it or am aware of it later than I should be, to praise Him for the wonderful ways in which He can and does set us free from our hatreds and petty annoyances with neighbors simply by our turning to Him for help. After that, I will spend as much time as I can in contemplation, my favorite part of the day, letting God take over the direction in which my relationship with Him moves.

I will now leave you to your prayer and contemplation, but first, I would like to bring to your attention a Monday morning prayer post that you might enjoy:
Fr. Austin Fleming, priest of the Archdiocese of Boston and pastor in Concord, Massachusetts, posts a prayer each Monday morning that he calls "Monday Morning Offering." I enjoy his prayers very much. I hope you also will find them inspirational. He has graciously given me permission to include a link to his blog on my Monday Morning Meditation posts.

For additional inspiration throughout the week, I would point out two sets of blogs: (1) the list of devotional blogs that follow the enumeration of Monday Morning Meditations on the sidebar of this blog and (2) my blogroll, where I am following a number of inspirational priests and writers about spiritual matters. I learn so very much from all these people. I highly recommend them to you.

Monday Morning Meditation #34: Care for Your Enemy

This week I wandered into the next chapter of II Kings. Here is the narration of the foray of troops of the King of Aram against the King of Israel, whom Elisha forewarned. With the help of God, Elisha delivered the warring troops to the King of Israel in Samarria. The King of Israel wanted to kill them, but Elisha persuaded him instead to feed them and let them go.

Reading: II Kings 6: 8-23

Meditation: This passage gives substantive meaning to "love thy neighbor as thyself" and "love thy enemy." I cannot see significant differences between a stranger, neighbor, enemy, and friend. A stranger is typically, in my experience, simply a friend in waiting, as are neighbors and even enemies. So often, we have much in common with enemies if we just take the time to find out. Elisha spent time with the warring Aramaeans, and he showed great compassion for them. It is difficult to spend time with anyone, friend or foe, and not feel compassion. Living for two years in Jordan taught me that Arabs, in general, are friends, not enemies. Living in the Soviet Union during the Cold War showed me that Russians are friends, not enemies. It was difficult in both eras of our country for many people to see that. Governments are not people, and people are generally peaceful. (Yes, admittedly, there are some misled groups of people, who choose a violent approach to living their lives and need to be managed -- with love, not hate, otherwise it just becomes one form of hatred over another.)

So many times I have been assisted in all sorts of things, including learning language and culture, finding a place to live, assistance with my kids, and much more by people considered to be my enemy. One of my favorite meals was dinner with the vice president of a Belarus university who at one time had been a captain in the Red Army, specializing in American order of battle. At the same time, I had been a captain in the US Army, specializing in Soviet order of battle. Oh, my! That was a highly emotional meeting, and here he was, giving food and drink to me, his enemy, the same way that Elisha had urged the King of Israel to feed the troops of the King of Aram.

The height of bad thinking about enemies was exhibited by my own mother years ago, who at the time had just met my best friend, an immigrant from Russia. "I thought you told me Sonya is Russian," Ma said, implying that she did not view her that way and was confused.

"She is," I replied.

"She cannot be," Ma objected. "She is normal."

Yes, our enemies are often every bit as "normal" as our friends. When we learn that, perhaps there will be a chance for a little more peace in the world.

(And if you want to read a heart-warming war story in which the heart of one German soldier, invading Belarus, was touched by an enemy baby, related to me years later by a survivor from that family, click here: Three Vignettes and One Thought about an Enemy).

And that is far as I can go with you this Monday morning. I must retire to prayer to ask God to lead me to treat my "enemies" as friends, to thank Him for his daily guidance even though I sometimes pay scant attention to it or am aware of it later than I should be, to praise Him for the wonderful ways in which He can and does set us free from our hatreds and petty annoyances with neighbors simply by our turning to Him for help. After that, I will spend as much time as I can in contemplation, my favorite part of the day, letting God take over the direction in which my relationship with Him moves.

I will now leave you to your prayer and contemplation, but first, I would like to bring to your attention a Monday morning prayer post that you might enjoy:
Fr. Austin Fleming, priest of the Archdiocese of Boston and pastor in Concord, Massachusetts, posts a prayer each Monday morning that he calls "Monday Morning Offering." I enjoy his prayers very much. I hope you also will find them inspirational. He has graciously given me permission to include a link to his blog on my Monday Morning Meditation posts.

For additional inspiration throughout the week, I would point out two sets of blogs: (1) the list of devotional blogs that follow the enumeration of Monday Morning Meditations on the sidebar of this blog and (2) my blogroll, where I am following a number of inspirational priests and writers about spiritual matters. I learn so very much from all these people. I highly recommend them to you.

Thankful Thursday #5: I Love This Town

Early this evening (New Year's Eve), I arrived home after letting my employees leave early for the day. I stayed on a bit because it is only after the hundreds stream home that I have time to catch up on the introverted tasks that need to be done. (If I were to change my open-door policy, I might get more of that kind of task done during the day; however, on the other hand, it might make no difference at all because many employees think that "open door" policy means "open the door.")

The kinds of things I am dealing with at work these days, as I explained in last week's Thankful Thursday post, are highly visible and highly challenging. To build a new office with various programs, managers, and employees in other states in a matter of one month is nigh onto impossible, but there is no option to fail. The work we are doing is in direct support of the US government efforts to bring peace in place of war. God has blessed me incredibly in putting me in this job and insisting that I stay in it. Now I understand perhaps why: with my many languages and experience in working in 23 countries, including the Middle East, I can bring some expertise to the process. In return, it is such a reward to be among those watching peace develop before the rest of the world sees it. (See my post on the wonder of being in the Soviet Union during the Cold War and perhaps contributing just a tiny bit to changes in that country.)

At my office (perhaps I should say offices, since I travel from one site to another routinely), I deal with the world at large, the international scene, the big cities, the places where one often ends up alone in a crowd, where interactions and relations are highly formal and formularized. (Of course, I do have close friends in the various places where I have lived and worked and a warm working relationship with most of my employees. Nonetheless, the mindset is big picture, process, strategic thinking, and impersonal implementation of programs.)

When I come home to San Ignatio, however, I enter an entirely different life. More than being in a different world, my whole life changes. I drove off the local road entering town and turned into the parking lot where we have our only set of stores, driving past the sign at the edge of town that says "Welcome to History." That sign about sums up our town; we still speak Spanish, we still attend daily Masses at the mission, we still very simply and supportively -- or at least, that is how I imagine people lived here 200 years ago.

I parked in front of the post office, which is a small wooden building with a wooden sign -- we are too small a town to merit home mail delivery. After picking up our mail, I called Donnie to see if he would like to order dinner from Pizza Factory, which is next door to the post office, while I went into the small grocery story, The Windmill Market, a few steps across the parking lot from the Pizza Factory, to pick up some dessert and small items for tomorrow. Yes, he wanted to do that, and so he called in the order.

As I stood in line at The Windmill Market about 15 minutes later, the Pizza Factory manager, one cucumber in hand, jumped into line in front of me. "Hi, Steve," I said, yielding room to him.

"Hey, Beth," he said, "I had to run in to get a cucumber for your salad! I'll see you over there in a few minutes. Your pizza is almost done."

After I put the groceries into the car, I started down the wooden sidewalk that connects all the wooden buildings that make up our tiny shopping complex. (I purposely do not call it the town center because the town center is the Old Mission; even the fire station and city hall, such as it is, are located across from the mission -- all of it walking distance from The Windmill, or perhaps I should say that The Windmill and everything else in town, including my house, is walking distance from the mission.) Rolling down the sidewalk on a scooter was a member of the city council.

"Hi, Beth," she called to get my attention. I walked over to hug her, and we got talking about her latest plan for feral cat rescue, an interest we share. We also both are members of Old Mission church; just about everyone in town is, and Fr. Ed is as much the town's leader as is the mayor, serving as chaplain for the fire department (there is no police department -- we are so blessed as a town not to need a police force) and acquainted, it seems, with every person in town.

After finishing the conversation with the city councilwoman, I finally popped into Pizza Factory to pick up my now-ready pizza. The owner was there along with four employees.

"Hi, Beth," the owner called out.

"Happy New Year," I responded. Elizabeth, the daughter of a woman who co-teaches the First Year Confirmation catechism class at Old Mission church with me, smiled. The other two, who were in the back room and whom I know from birthday parties held at Pizza Factory and many other visits there. (Pizza Factory is the only pizza shop in town and the closest thing we have to fast food -- nope, we have no McDonald's, Burger King, or Wendy's, etc.) As I paid for the food, I handed four $5 bills to Steve, one for each of the employees for New Year's. It is a very small amount, but it goes further here than in some other places. My special tip for the Pizza Factory employees is now a New Year's tradition, and for all of us, it is the thought that counts.

The Windmill is on the south edge of time, and my house is on the north side of town. From The Windmill to my house is a one-minute drive and a ten-minute walk. The one minute, though, is wondrous this time of year. The main street lights are decked out with Christmas wreaths that look like halos at night and pictures of saints. (This year they went up in October because City Hall is being renovated and there was no place to store them. City Hall, which is a two-room building, is still being renovated, and so the decorations may stay up for some time yet. That is okay; they are part of what contributes to the feeling of holiness in this town. (My retarded son, Doah, when he first set foot in town after God clearly led me here, stopped, took assessment, and pronounced, "God here!")

As I was carrying the pizza into the house five minutes later, our next-door neighbor showed up with some apples. I thanked and hugged her. She departed as quickly as she had arrived, leaving Donnie and me to our dinner.

I love this town! I am overwhelmingly thankful to God on this Thursday for putting me here.
More information about the Thankful Thursday meme can be found at the website of Grace Alone.

Dona Nobis Pacem

The blogosphere, as most of you probably know, is celebrating today as a peace movement day. More information can be found at Mimi's site, where you can read the contributions of other bloggers on this theme.

As so often happens in my life, I experienced a moment of synchronicity as I was preparing this blog post. In the afternoon, I was in Arizona to give a graduation speech to a class of Arabic specialists. Without giving any thought to today's peace blog, I nonetheless spoke about peace, beginning my speech in a way not atypical of graduation speeches I give whenever linguists are among the graduating students. The Cold War, I tell them, was not won with weapons. It was won with words -- the words of Americans who understood Russian language and culture and the words of Russians who understood American language and culture. I was thrilled back then to be one grain of sand in the cement of the span that bridged the two superpowers and brought both to a cautious ally status. So, too, today, it will most likely not be weapons but the efforts of the Americans who speak Arabic and understand Arabic cultures and Arabs who speak English and understand American culture who will bring the current hot war to an end. General Abizaid has ascribed the success of the surge in Iraq to the contribution of American linguists.

Years ago, at the approaching end of the Cold War (although no one knew at the time that the Cold War was going to end), I served as interpreter for a remarkable man, Pyotr Volkovich, then vice president of the Belarus Peace Committee. During the Cold War, every major city in the USSR had a peace committee, composed of citizens dedicated to promoting world peace. You see, the Russians were honestly afraid that the USA intended to start a war against them. The members of these committees can today be considered veterans of the Cold War, So, too, I would argue can be that handful of us Americans working and studying in Russia at the time and those Russian scholars living and studying in America. My daughter, Lizzie, cherishes a button that says "Veteran of the Cold War." As the only Westerner in her Soviet 7th grade classroom, coping with distrust and dislike of Americans at the time, she considers rightfully that she has earned the title.

Pyotr I knew from my work in Belarus, one part of which in 1989 was to prepare bilingual documents for the Ministry of Education for an exchange with the USA. Therefore, I was subsequently brought to Portland, Oregon in 1990 to put together the corresponding set of bilingual documents for one of the Portland school districts to establish an exchange with Belarus. Since the Peace Committee provided the financial support for the exchange from the Belarus side, Pyotr had come along with the superintendent of Minsk public schools. The timing had been manipulated to allow Pyotr to be the keynote speaker at the International Rotary Convention that took place in Portland that year. I went to the convention to provide moral support for Pyotr or so I thought. However, Pyotr surprised me by ditching his Soviet interpreter and called out as he approached the podium, "Beth, so mnoi." (Beth, come with me.) And that is how I ended up being the interpreter for his very moving speech which focused on the need for peace. (I have posted details of his speech on Mahlou Musings.)

Perhaps the most potent advocacy for peace I have ever encountered is a poster drawn by a child, who contributed it to a contest for peace advocacy organized by the Moscow Peace Committee. Against a pure blue (sky?) background, the child had drawn a chalky white frame of a house encompassing a globe inside. At the top, the child had scrawled five words: "U nas net drugogo doma." (We have no other home.) No other words were needed, I think. That pretty much says it all, doesn't it? So, let's wrap the only home we have in the protection of peace!