May 30, 2004
Rev. Dr. Frank Carpenter,
D.Min.
St. John's Unitarian Universalist Church, Cincinnati, OH
Christmas in the Trenches by John McCutcheon
Our memories of this day are of those who were prepared to sacrifice their lives for our common dreams. Shivering militiamen who struggled with Washington to free our country from British tyranny, abolitionists who risked all to end slavery, suffragettes who sought a universal franchise, little children who wanted a fair and equal education. Many are the heros of this hour. We recall their hopes and dreams, their sacrifice for us all.
We cannot be unmindful of the terror and confusion of our times. Alarms are sounded warning us of hidden foes, movies warn of us coming climate catastrophe. Only with spiritual balance can we meet these challenges without denial or self-destructive fear. We ask that we have a vision of peace that will sustain us through the shaking of our foundations. May we, through our examples of peaceful ways, grant hope to others in any coming troubles.
On this Memorial Day may we be reminded that peaceful community rests upon self-sacrifice, that we make room for others, not try to fit them into our expectations. At any time when we would snub, denigrate somebody else, let us look into our own heart to know the pain of that person.
Let us further the vision of a safe and caring community.
Let us be still
Images!
Pictures, photographs, paintings, statues.
On this Memorial Day Sunday, I imagine that most of you grew up with images in your home, in your school, about the heroism of American service personnel. Perhaps you have a photo of an aunt who served in the WACs. Perhaps a picture of a father who served as a medic during World War II or the Korean War. Remember, recall those images now which come from your childhood.
The one that comes primarily to my mind is a black and white lithograph of Washington Crossing the Delaware. My uncle owned a rental property. Every now and then I went with him to help mow the lawn and check things out. Sometimes we would go in the main entrance. Inside over a colonial table was this lithograph of the Crossing.
There was no big mystery as to why it was there. The house my uncle owned had been built by Col. John Glover, one of the local heroes of the Revolution. If you look at Emmanuel Leutze’s painting of Washington Crossing the Delaware, there are two men standing. – Or at least this is the way it was explained to me. Washington, of course; the other, not quite so prominent, is Glover. They were his troops, hardy fisherman from Marblehead, Massachusetts, who carried Washington’s army across that icy river.
Washington’s victories at Trenton and Princeton were a strategic turning point in the struggle against the armies of King George. This moment was also a significant moment in the moral history of the war, a significant moment in the moral history of our republic. Washington’s success justified him in conducting the war as it was declared to be, a defense of human rights. The enemy displayed the same contempt for their rights as did the King. British troops were often told to take no prisoners. Wounded Americans were denied quarter and murdered by British infantry. After the Battle of Long Island, a British officer bragged about what “a fine sight it was to see with what alacrity they dispatched the rebels with their bayonets.”
Washington urged a higher conduct on his soldiers. Historian David Fischer tells us that Washington “Often reminded his men that they were an army of liberty and freedom, and the rights for which they were fighting should extend even to their enemies.” John Adams called this the ‘policy of humanity.” At Princeton, Washington gave the directive to an officer in charge of prisoners, “treat them with humanity, and let them have no reason to complain of our Copying the brutal example of the British army in their treatment of our unfortunate brethren.”
Washington and his volunteers revolted against British tyranny because, as it said in the balled “Christmas in the Tenches,” “on each end of the rifle we’re the same.” Americans fought not to dehumanize human beings, but to honor and respect their dignity and equality. These values are the values we celebrate here at St. John’s. We struggle against all attempts to dehumanize others. We respect the dignity and worth of all. And there is a direct lineage from Washington to us today. The founder of our America Unitarianism, William Ellery Channing, was mentored by his Grandfather, William Ellery, who was a signer of the Declaration of Independence. We struggle against dehumanizing others, against demonization.
From where we seat here in Cincinnati, it is worth noting that after the American Revolution, over three thousand Hessian soldiers elected to remain here where they enjoyed rights denied them at home. With our long German heritage, we can imagine that our city owes much to Washington and Adams ‘policy of humanity.’
But reality is more complicated than principles. While Germans came to Cincinnati to escape the denial of their liberties in their homeland, it was not always so here. The same dehumanization which bulges its ugly head in situations of unequal power, cropped up here during World War I.
Even though Germans were the largest ethnic group in Cincinnati, about 50% then, they found themselves abused. Prominent preachers in this city denounced people of German heritage, one saying “There are not enough telegraph posts in Cincinnati to hang all the German Huns that should be hanged.” (Tolzmann 135) The Cincinnati Historical Society’s history, CINCINNATI THE QUEEN CITY, has some examples of World War I war propaganda.
There is a print of a poster with a Frankensteinesque figure, the line under it “Beat back the HUNS with LIBERTY BONDS.”
The City Council passed one of its more demonizing resolutions, calling for changing the names of streets. Bismarck became Montreal, Berlin became Woodrow, Hamburg became Stonewall, Humboldt became Taft. And of course, German Street became English Street.
A local German religious publication, the Christliche Apologete melancholically informed its readers:
The die is cast! ... War between Germany and America has became fact ... America was the light to all humanity ... How this beautiful dream has been shattered! Militarism shall defeated by Militarism, War by War, Force by Force..Whatever the righteousness of either side, something was lost during World War I. Something Washington hoped would not be lost. Acknowledging the terrible truth of the dehumanizing of Cincinnati’s German population, the magazine continued:
“Henceforth all discussion of the war and its justification must stop. Every American owes his government loyalty and obedience.” [Tolzmann 127] This self-inflicted silencing of dissent is the deepest cost of dehumanization.
Our roots here at St. John’s are in the German heritage of Cincinnati. Founded in 1814, St. John’s is the first German institution in the city. Hugo Eisenlohr was St. John’s minister during the World War I period. At mass meetings he promised unified support for the war effort, but he also called for “A square deal” for German-Americans.
St. John’s was among the many German institutions that changed its name. On May 27, 1918, the name of the church was changed from German ST. John’s Church to First Protestant St. John’s Church. It was also decided that, along with many other German organizations in the city, to no longer conduct worship services in the German language.
I find it both remarkable, and obvious, that St. John’s history of being
dehumanized led it into the Unitarian fold. Remarkable, because it was daring
to affirm its liberal heritage at a time of terror; obvious, because it draws
the true lesson from dehumanizing experiences. All too often, abuse leads to
a heated demand for revenge, not a deepening of the quest for justice. As other
Cincinnati German churches began joining English speaking organizations, St.
John’s joined the American Unitarian Association. It joined just six years,
1924, after it changed its name. It was an action based not in fear, not in
revenge, but in a reaffirmation of our historic liberal principles.
In his struggle against slavery Channing mounted one of the clearest defenses
of human rights. He saw it as a struggle against abusing others, putting others
down, against the brutality that destroys a person’s self-worth, against
the justification for violence that great powers have always claimed.
In his last public address, celebrating the emancipation of slaves in the West Indies by Great Britain, Channing proclaimed:
No; it is safe to be just, to respect men’s rights, to treat our neighbors as ourselves.... A wise kindness avails with them more than force. Even the insane are disarmed by kindness. Once, the mad-house, with its dens, fetters, straight-waistcoats, whips, horrible punishments, at which humanity now shudders and blood boils with indignation, was thought just as necessary as slavery.... but we have learned at last, that human nature, even when robbed of reason, can be ruled, calmed, restored by wise kindness.... Treat men as men, and they will not prove wild beasts. We first rob them of their humanity and then chain them because they are not human [Robinson, 295]This vision, this hope is based on our universally shared humanity. Deep within us we know we are one. In the words of CHRISTMAS IN THE TRENCHES, “on each end of the rifle we’re the same.”
Of course, this recognition of the mutual humanity of soldiers on the battle field, this image of German and English soldiers singing Christmas carols together as they did in the Christmas truce of 1914, may not lead to victory of one side over the other.
In the heat of battle, with grenades flying, rockets bursting in air, bullets zooming around, it is very hard, as Anthony Zinni remarks in his new book, to remember that your enemy is human. As Dwight Eisenhower said, “I hate war as only a soldier who has lived it can, only as one who has seen its brutality, its futility, its stupidity."
What then do we mean as we speak of supporting our troops? It means not forgetting the dangers troops face, such as we recently learned regarding Pat Tillman of the Arizona Cardinals, who died, it is thought, as a result of friendly fire. What does it mean to support our troops when we hear that Veterans’ benefits are going to be cut $900 million dollars this coming year? To consider what it means to support our troops, reflect upon their heroism.
Heroism on the battle field comes not from mutual recognition. Most awards for heroism on the battlefield come from the acts of self sacrifice that a soldier makes to protect the lives of his buddies in his unit.
Consider a veteran of the Viet Nam War, Max Cleland. On June 9, 1968, the U.S.
Army awarded Capt. Max Cleland a Silver Star "for gallantry in action"
at the battle of Khe Sanh, one of the war’s fiercest firefights. According
to the citation, he "distinguished himself by exceptionally valorous action.
... When the battalion command post came under a heavy enemy rocket and mortar
attack, Capt. Cleland, disregarding his own safety, exposed himself to the rocket
barrage as he left his covered position to administer first aid to his wounded
comrades. He then assisted in moving the injured personnel to covered positions.
Continuing to expose himself, Capt. Cleland organized his men into a work party
to repair the battalion communications equipment which had been damaged by enemy
fire. His gallant action is in keeping with the highest traditions of the military
service, and reflects great credit upon himself, his unit, and the United States
Army."
Of course receiving a Silver Star, being a hero, does not allow one to escape
demonization. Ann Coulter denounced Cleland, for he lost his legs and an arm
from an accident, after a new infantry man dropped an improperly prepared grenade
on the battlefield.
While bonding with others in his unit is the basis of much military discipline, not all soldiers are restricted to this identification with others. As has been said, there are two kinds of people, those who divide humanity into two groups and those who don’t. And you will find both kinds on the battle field as well as in the holiest of sanctuaries.
Back in November 2003, at least one American soldier identified with the ‘Other.’. Sergeant Georg Andreas Pogorny faced the possibility of being court-martialled for cowardice after he'd panicked at the sight of an Iraqi cut in half by machine-gun fire. Pogorny was overcome with what he described as 'an overwhelming sense of my own mortality'. David Simpson remarks, “The most troubling implication of this story is that it appears to be untypical. Few of us in the homeland are given any materials for imagining ourselves in the place and body of the other.”
Jimmy Massey (Ret.), is a former Marine staff sergeant who was honorably discharged in December after serving 12 years, most recently in Iraq. He has been speaking out about his experiences. A moment of identification came for him. He describes:
I had a young child die in my arms. The father came up to us at the checkpoint with a child, and began to say, the bombs -- the bombs killed his child. I called the corpsman. The corpsman came over to assist the child and said the child probably had internal damage from the concussion, from the bombs. So, as his child died in my arms you know, I began to think, you know, wow, here's an innocent child that was just sleeping or doing things that children do, and the -- the response that I got from my command was, well, better them than us, and, you know, it's -- he's just a casualty of war. Sorry. However, that father that was standing there as his child was dying in my arms, and, you know, the doc was resuscitating, doing CPR, this father was looking at me like, why did you do this? You know, and -- you know, why does my son have to die? Almost just like a hatred look towards me. He knew I was obviously in command.We have all seen many powerful images from our current war in Iraq. The images that these two soldiers have will be among the most powerful for them. Such stories make it clear that supporting our troops is not just about having bake sales to buy body army for our troops. Most important is for us to remember not to dehumanize others, not to dehumanize our soldiers.
This was one of the great failures of the Viet Nam War. During my ministry in Newport, the home of the Naval War college, I had the opportunity to meet many thoughtful high ranking naval personnel. I shall never forget one who told me he had grown up in a UU church in New Jersey. When he went to Vietnam, that was the last he heard from them. I have been encouraged by his readiness to tell me his tale, and reminds me that whatever we think of the present policies, service personnel are human. They may or may not be our family, our friends or neighbors, but they are human.
One of the most significant images for me is the brooding figure of Lincoln seated in the Lincoln Memorial. When my son was less than a year, I wanted to take him to the graves of my parents in Arlington National Cemetery. The Lincoln Memorial is not far. One of my favorite family photos is of us all on the steps of the Memorial.
Lincoln continues to brood there. What his thoughts are in this day and age, we can only speculate. He knew perhaps better than any president that “on each end of the rifle we’re the same.”
Might we join Lincoln in his brooding? As we remember our troops this day, let us recall that at Gettysburg, he called for “a new birth of freedom; ... that this government of the people, by the people, for the people, shall not perish from the earth.”
There are images of wartime. Let us hope the images our children and grandchildren recall honor dignity and equality. Thus shall we recognize the humanity of our those we struggle with, of our troops and of ourselves. So doing, we shall honor the fundamental vision of our country.