AIN’T GONNA STUDY WAR NO MORE

Karen Dill, Spiritual Director

FALL, 1965. I’m in ninth grade. Each evening, as my family eats dinner, we watch the 6:00 news. Walter Cronkite narrates scenes of helicopters in a place called Viet Nam. We see wounded soldiers being treated in makeshift medical tents. We see wooden caskets being unloaded off of cargo planes. This idea of war is abstract to me. I’m more interested in attracting boyfriends and getting good grades. I couldn’t find Viet Nam on a map.

One night our doorbell rings. My classmate Ed is standing on my front porch, crying. I put on my coat and go sit with him on our steps. He explains that he just received word that his older brother Bill was killed over there. I hold his hand and cry with him. The war just became real.

WINTER, 1969. I am a college freshman. My English professor announces a peace rally being held that afternoon outside the Student Union. One of my classmates asks what this is all about. “It’s to protest the war,” my professor explains. “What war?” my classmate asks. A few months later, I sit in my boyfriend’s apartment along with several of our friends as we watch a man on television posts dates on the screen. The draft lottery has begun. Some of the guys are jubilant; their numbers are low. One of them is frantic; his birthday was one of the first ones picked. My boyfriend’s birth date fell somewhere in the middle. He feels relieved. The only number he has to worry about now is his grade point average. If it falls, he loses his S-1 deferment and he, too, will be drafted. The war just became more real.

SPRING, 1991. My husband and I are attending a wedding reception. One of our friends sits down next to me. He’s crying. “What’s wrong?” I ask. “I’ve killed people,” he answers. “I can’t stop thinking about it.” I know he’s talking about his war experience. The term PTSD is a new phenomenon that therapists are beginning to treat. I promise to help him find someone who can work with him. The aftermath of the war just became real.

SUMMER, 1997. I’m in Washington, D.C. for the first time, accompanying my husband and a group of farmers and their wives who have come to meet with lawmakers and discuss agricultural concerns. I have a long list of places I want to visit: the Lincoln Memorial; the Holocaust Museum; the National Gallery; the Viet Nam Memorial Wall. We reach the wall late in the afternoon. Many tourists are walking slowly past it in silence. We stop to watch a man who is filming his wife as she points to their 19-year-old son’s name engraved in black granite. They are crying. We are crying. I think of my own 19-yearold daughter in college at LSU. I see a big book that gives directions to each name on the wall. I look up Ed’s brother’s name and find it on the wall, a few steps away. The cost of the war just became real.

I grew up a child of the ‘60s. Our anthems were, “Make love, not war!” “All we are saying is give peace a chance!” “Everybody gets together, try to love one another right now!” Here we are, decades later, facing the continuous threat of war. Jesus’ messages of love and peace are still falling on deaf ears, mine included at times. On the morning news today, North Korea is proudly displaying new weapons of mass destruction. Three people were killed in gunshot violence in Shreveport last night. I pray for a peaceful future for my children and grandchildren. The concept almost seems impossible until I remember the words we sing at the end of Mass occasionally, “Let there be peace on Earth, and let it begin with me.”

Jesus gave us specific instructions on how to accomplish this mission in Matthew 25. As He described the judgment of nations, He implored His followers to feed the hungry, host the stranger, clothe the naked, care for the sick, visit the prisoner. If we do these things, He promises we will possess His kingdom, a peaceable kingdom that Isaiah described where the wolf will lie down with the lamb and warriors will beat their swords into plowshares.

Opportunities abound. We can donate to the St. Vincent de Paul Society at our parishes. We can help serve food at the Rescue Mission. We can take the Eucharist to homebound or hospitalized parishioners. We can donate clothes to any number of organizations in our area. We can volunteer at Holy Angels. We can support Kairos missions for prisoners. We can love our neighbors, no matter what they look like. The possibilities are endless. Each one of us can take a small step towards creating a peaceable kingdom in our homes, our parishes, our diocese, our community, our world. Let’s start today.