from the New York Times

I write for "Real Spirituality for Real Life," which is the new name for "Process and Faith," a website grounded in process theology.

My latest submission explores the power of looking and seeing the world and its woundedness.

There is something deeply powerful about the act of bearing witness, something we often discount, especially those of us Americans who value action over reflection, repose, discernment, and silence. Doing nothing, even for the sake of discerning what to do, leaves us panicky. And so, if we can't fix, change, or control a person, a situation, a feeling, or an event, our next default is to ignore it, pretend it isn't there, and look away.

Sometimes choosing to look, as hard as it may be, may be the most faithful thing we can do.

*I take up the importance of knowing when to look away in my next outing at Real Spiritual for Real Life."

Violence, 9/11, and Requiem

I love the music written for Requiem Masses. Emotive, dynamic, and compelling, the music moves the listener through a journey of deep spiritual mourning. A Requiem, or Eucharist for the Departed, is known as it is because of the first word of the Introit: “Requiem aeternam dona eis Domine” (“Give them eternal rest, O Lord”). The word "requiem" simply means "rest" or "repose." A Requiem Mass is celebrated to bring rest or repose to those who have died. It is a gorgeous and mystical service.

As we move closer to the 10th anniversary of the horrendous acts of September 11, I have begun to think of the music from several of the great Requiem Masses. The horror of that day draws us to pray for the thousands who died, for their families, for the cities that were caught in terror, for our nation that was paralyzed by fear and has struggled with it ever since, and for the world that has changed in the aftermath. We pray for the people of Iraq, Afghanistan, and Pakistan, who have felt the brunt of the US response. We pray for thousands of US soldiers who have lost their lives and for those whose lives have been forever changed. We pray for the children of the world; children are always the ones most affected by war, poverty, and violence.

In one way, not much changed after September 11. Terrorist attacks and violence - even devastating violence - have always been a part of human culture. Planes have been hijacked. Bombs have been set off in public spaces. In the rush to remember September 11, 2001, many people forget about the 1993 attempt to bring down the World Trade Center. Even the use of mass transportation, including planes, for one's violent means has been around for a long time. Whether one speaks of IRA attacks in England, Timothy McVeigh's bombing in Oklahoma City, the 1988 Libyan bomb on Pan Am Flight 103 over Scotland, the 1968 Palestinian hijacking of an El Al flight from Rome,the 1995 Subway Sarin Incident in Tokyo, the 1991 Luby's massacre in Killeen (TX), the 2007 mass shooting at VA Tech, or any other number of incidents, political minorities, fringe groups, and crazy people have been directing their rage at others to deadly effect for a very long time.

Over and against terrorism exists tyranny, which occurs when the state misuses its power in order to oppress or suppress a people. Tyranny always relies upon violence and its threat. Tyrannical regimes and governments have been recorded since the beginning of human history. Ethnic, tribal, and religious strife is neither new nor creative. Whether one speaks of a Pol Pot, Alexander the Great, genocidal Bosnian Momčilo Krajišnik, Leopold II of Belgium, or many other despots, the state can be a force of evil, violence, murder, and terror. Forced disappearance has been used in many countries, most notably Argentina, to remove people through abduction and violence in order to stop them from challenging the government. Tyranny is at the heart of my own faith story. When Jesus was crucified on a cross, it was an act of the state to silence a troublesome leader. This type of execution served to keep an oppressed people in an occupied land from rising up against their oppressors. Rome publicly crucified people and allowed their corpses to hang in public view to discourage others who might find rebellion or revolution an appealing idea. Not terrorism proper as it was enacted by the government, terror-inducing it certainly was by terrifying those who longed for freedom to remain quiet, afraid, and under the rule of tyranny.

The difference between a group rising up against a tyrannical power and terrorism can sometimes become muddled. One group's resistance fighter is another's terrorist. One country's claim to stability may be at the expense of a vulnerable minority.

Even though violence wasn't introduced into the world on September 11, 2001, something earth shaking did occur. In addition to great human loss, on that day ten years ago, the American sensibility of invincibility and permanence was significantly challenged, and it was deeply shaken. The surprising thing was that this sensibility was not only held by Americans. Much of the world looked at the United States as a privileged country. Physically removed from its enemies, economically and militarily unchallengeable, technologically advanced, and politically stable, it was difficult to imagine a different America. The natural response to this shaken sense of belonging was to declare that terrorism on American soil would never happen again (which, of course, it can and has). The government passed laws and initiated processes to ensure that nothing like the horror of September 11 would ever be permitted again. This deep desire for certitude and safety in a changing and unsafe world led to several acts of public theater, including but not limited to the removal of shoes and full body scans at airports and colored terror scales. Such folly resulted in two things: First, it kept a level of terror alive within the nation. This ongoing hum of terror-whitenoise prevented necessary real and deep mourning, and communal healing became almost impossible. And, second, it served no real purpose in saving lives. The government certainly did many things and instituted many processes for the protection of the country (more than 30 potential plots were thwarted), but in the midst of the rush to invincibility and certitude, the government also spied on Quaker meetings, put people who disagreed with the government on the No Fly List, and tapped our phones. Moreover, the Patriot Act, Guantanamo Bay, and the wars in Afghanistan and Iraq have cost us much more than the billions of dollars that we have lost from our Treasury. They have cost us the precious blood spilled from our children, spouses, and family members. They have cost us our ideals, our hope, and our identity. September 11 changed us by making us a country bound by fear.

On this 10th Anniversary of September 11, I am thinking about the power of the Requiem to move us through an experience of not just "remembering" (we have done a decade of that), but of honest and real mourning, of finding rest and repose. Requiem invites us to sing and pray for rest and repose for the individuals who died in the towers and on the planes. We sing and pray for rest and repose for those who have died in the wars that were waged on behalf of the ones who died in the towers and on the planes. Because our fractious government no longer even pretends to seek governance for all (only power for a few and comfort for those who are already comfortable), we sing and pray for our nation's government that has died to its duty to a common good. We also sing and pray for rest and repose for all our whole world, which has lost its sense of neighborliness, trust, and commonality.

The world has never been a peaceful place. To imagine it so would be to ignore the many other losses, deaths, and suffering that have occurred throughout the world. I think this makes the Requiem even more needed now. Its Christological language is the heart language of my soul and my tradition, but a Requiem need not be exclusive for Christians; it is a human cry for rest and repose. We all die a little when we lose the idea of living lives shared with one another and embarked upon lives known only through war, greed, and victory.

Today I hear the music of Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart's (1756-1791) Requiem, K. 626, his final composition. It was left unfinished at his death.

Lacrymosa dies illa, qua resurget ex favilla, judicandus homo reus. Huic ergo parce, Deus. Pie Jesu Domine, dona eis requiem. Amen.

O how tearful that day, on which the guilty man shall rise from the ashes to be judged. Spare him then, O God. Merciful Lord Jesus, grant them rest.

Ruined - A Review

Written by Lynn Nottage and directed by Kate Whoriskey, Ruined is a powerful play about sexual violence, personal power, and the Democratic Republic of Congo (DRC). It is playing at Seattle's Intiman Theatre through August 15.

Set in Mama Nadi's brothel along the border of the rainforest in the Northeast of the country, the play deals with the lives of four women in the midst of the ongoing conflict in the DRC. During a visit by Christian, a man who travels the area peddling everything from cigarettes to beer to people, Mama Nadi buys one new "girl" for her brothel (Salima) and reluctantly takes in another (Sophie), who is "ruined." At her brothel, Mama Nadi walks a fine line between protecting the girls and exploiting them. She is a shrewd businesswoman, who will not be conned or cowed in her own place. Within the walls of her business, Mama Nadi rules. Yet, the war encroaches. Soldiers and rebels alike make their presence increasingly known and their troubles begin to be felt within Mama's protected fiefdom.

The play takes an unflinching look at the routine use of sexual violence in the DRC's decade long conflict. Over 5 million people have died in this conflict (roughly half of those have been children), and although the war officially ended in 2002, hundreds of thousands of people continue to die every year. The country is roughly the size of Western Europe and most of the violence takes place in the extreme Northeast, along the Rwandan and Ugandan borders. To this day, almost 2 million people remain displaced inside of their own country. Eight nations have been involved in this "civil war" as well as over 25 militias and factions. Ethnic and tribal strife fuel the ongoing conflict. Also behind much of the violence are countries, corporations, and people who want to gain control of the country's vast mineral wealth. From diamonds to gold to copper to coltan (the common use word for columbite-tantalite), the DRC is one of the most mineral rich countries in the world. Coltan, of which most people have never heard, is in use by almost everyone in the world; it is found in cellular phones, gaming devices, and computers.

It is this backdrop of war, international conflict, and sexual violence that Ruined takes place. All of the women at Mama Nadi's are victims of sexual violence, as are untold numbers of Congolese women. In 2009, over 8,000 women were victims of rape as factions continued to use rape as part of their tactics against one another. With most cases unreported a UN official has called this the "rape capital of the world." For the women at Mama Nadi's, as is the case for most women caught up in this conflict, there is little to no medical or legal recourse for them. Families routinely turn away from violated family members because they have been "ruined."

However, as much as this play deals with sexual violence, it also uses the image of the woman's body and Mama Nadi's business as metaphor's for Congo as a country. Just as the women have much of their lives taken by violence, so does Congo. Just as men come and go at Mama Nadi's with no way to identify liberators from thugs, so it is in Congo. The desperate attempt of Mama Nadi to maintain her independence from and assert her power to the men who come through her door reflects the struggle of the Democratic Republic of Congo to establish its identity as a nation - post-colonial, post-tribal, and post-war. It seems no coincidence that the two men who frequent Mama Nadi's are named Harari and Christian, symbolizing the presence of other African nations encroaching upon the DRC and the numerous churches and NGOs that have made their way into Congo. When Mama Nadi holds up a precious object and calls it her "insurance policy," all of Congo can be seen holding up gold, diamonds, tin, copper, and coltan yelling at the world to look. I have been to Congo, and it makes perfect sense to me after seeing the miles upon miles of barren land left behind after strip mining that many in the country would say that it has been Ruined.

Yet the play also holds a lot of hope. Even in the midst of war, girls find a way to be girls. They have desires and hopes. They read books and look at fashion magazines. They argue over the little things in life. The play's hope is found in its characters' humanity. It shows us that in the midst of unimaginable loss, dreams find a way to survive. In the midst of violence and despair, love does make a home.

The last cast member I will mention is the music. In addition to the men who frequent Mama Nadi's bar, there are two musicians - a guitarist and a drummer. Music is important in Congo and it is vital at Mama Nadi's. Whether the songs are about loss, dreams, pain, war, escape, or love, they are songs of the heart, something Ruined is filled to brimming with. If you are in Seattle and can handle the subject matter, get yourself to the Intiman and see this play. It won the Pulitzer Prize in 2009.

the amish, violence, and christianity

The nation stood still in horror when a man attacked children at a small Amish school house. How could someone do that to children, to Amish children? Sister Joan Chittister writes about the experience in the National Catholic Reporter in an article called "What kind of people are these?" The school is now gone, to be replaced by a pasture. It was demolished by a people who want no monument to the violence that might invite gawkers or tourists.

Progressive Christians have the opportunity to stand firmly against violence and the enticing lure of retribution. When our hearts are wounded and our souls broken it is tempting to believe that coercion or violence will lead us out of the pain, but that road inevitably leads to more woundedness. Whether faced with nuclear arms build up in North Korea, a dead-end policy in Iraq (655,000 Iraqis now dead, over 3,000 Americans now dead), or school shootings in the United States we have options of how to repond. We do not have to respond to violence with violence. Will we continue to act from places that embrace violence or from places that embrace the gospel that has transformed our lives?

Joan Chittister: "The country that went through the rabid slaughter of children at Columbine high school several years ago once again stood stunned at the rampage in a tiny Amish school this month.

We were, in fact, more than unusually saddened by this particular display of viciousness. It was, of course, an attack on 10 little girls. Amish. Five dead. Five wounded. Most people called it "tragic." After all, the Amish represent no threat to society, provide no excuse for the rationalization of the violence so easily practiced by the world around them.

Nevertheless, in a nation steeped in violence..." (more)
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Sister Joan Chittister is a Benedictine Sister of Erie who writes about women's issues, justice, and peace.