Justice and Mercy

                The young Specialist stood in front of my, eyes downcast. He was a competent electronic maintenance specialist. He handled his assigned weapon well, always qualifying, normally at an expert level. Notwithstanding his stocky build, he always passed both the PT test and the associated height-weight measurement. Despite these good traits, he now stood in front of me awaiting my judgement under Article 15 of the Uniform Code of Military Justice (UCMJ). He was an inveterate liar. He frequently missed formations and then lied about his whereabouts. He promised to meet critical deadlines and then attempted to shift the blame, lying about circumstances. His NCOs and Platoon Leader had applied a variety of corrective measures all to no avail. He’d stood in front of me before and I’d extended mercy, resorting to verbal reprimand and then extra duty. His continued inclination toward prevarication required sterner measure.

                “Specialist, in view of your continued fabrications, I am reducing you in rank to the grade of Private First Class (PFC), effective immediately.” It was then that I had noticed he’d showed up to these proceedings with sew on rank. Inside my heart, an ember of anger, fanned by his behavior, grew into a roaring fire. He’d counted on my continued display of mercy, and that incensed me. Usually, if you showed up for proceedings which might end in your reduction, you wore pin-on rank, easily removed and replaced.

                “I have s-s-sew-on rank, Sir,” he stammered.

                “Here,” I barked handing him a knife that my grandfather had carried in WW II and I would eventually carry to Iraq, “Cut it off with this. And be careful. A real soldier used that knife so it’s sharp!” He set about removing his rank as silence filled my office. Soon tears trickled down his cheeks and nose dripping off onto the highly polished floor. Another soldier working off some minor infraction had worked hard with a buffer, producing a glossy shine. Eventually, rank hacked off, he faced me. I tossed him a set of PFC insignia, “Put these on and get out of my area!” He saluted, I returned the salute, and he turned on his heel and left my office. My work as the keeper of good order and discipline was done.

                The military world thrives on “good order and discipline.” In fact, units without good order and discipline cannot complete their assigned mission effectively. My role as the commander required an intense focus on good order and discipline. My commander expected me to train the ignorant, reward the excellent, retrain the recalcitrant, and finally, as a last resort, punish the malefactors. In Romans 13: 1-7, Paul lays out this principal for Christians. In the opening sentences he reminds us, “Let every person be subject to the governing authorities. For there is no authority except from God, and those that exist have been instituted by God. Therefore, whoever resist the authorities resist what God has appointed and those who resist will incur judgment.” PFC Swift had resisted the appointed authority and that authority had responded appropriately. Later in the Romans passage Paul reminds the reader that appointed authority, “…does not bear the sword in vain.” For the good of the entire unit, I had to take appropriate action, despite the cost to PFC Swift and myself (inflicting punishment is rarely easy). Justice required action. Those soldiers under my command who regularly completed their appointed duties deserved their reward. And justice would not let a shirker slip by without their reward. My actions, despite their just results, weighed on me. “Bearing the sword” is a burden for the sword-bearer. But events sometimes provide unique opportunities.

                A few days later, my first sergeant (ISG) brought me my morning stack of paperwork. He lingered after pouring himself a cup of coffee. “Sir,” he began, “You were really hard on PFC Swift (not his true name…I’ve long forgotten).”

                “How so, Top?” he’d been in front of me several times before. And besides, you and I talked about this and we were in agreement over the punishment.”

                “Yes, but, look at the paperwork on top of your stack.”

                I picked up the first item and saw that it was the start of discharge procedures for, now, PFC Swift. When I’d reduced him, I’d put him past his retention control point (RCP). In those days, the Army required promotion to the next rank for retention. It was an “up-or-out” policy; one that very few were pleased with as it often forced excellent soldiers out due to slow promotion rates. I sighed as I thought of the implications. PFC Swift was married and had a child. My reducing him, while a just action, would put his wife and child in dire straits. Though a PFC did not make much, she worked, and their combined salaries allowed them to make ends meet. He’d hoped to make the Army a career. In fact, his father was a career officer and had reached the exalted rank of full colonel, O-6. In fact, his father had called me once and pressured me to show leniency toward his son; which did not help matters.

                “Look at the next item,” intoned my 1SG.

                I picked up the next in my ever-replenished stack. It was a set of orders for PFC Swift, taking him to Germany. It was a good assignment; one which would afford him excellent opportunities for advancement and travel with his family. I sighed again. His RCP paperwork would make all of this null and void. His punishment, though fully just and required for the good order and discipline of my unit, carried severe repercussions, far beyond my desires. As I stared at the two pieces of paperwork on my desk, an idea started to form in my mind.

“Shut the door, Top. I think I have an idea to run past you.” With a perplexed look, he shut the door and commiseration began.

God does not deal with us solely according to justice. In fact, He shows great kindness and leniency toward us. In Psalm 103, the psalmist reminds us of God’s great graciousness and compassion toward us. He filled this passage with rich imagery designed to illustrate the depth of God’s love and longsuffering. Phrases such as, “...as high as the heavens are above the earth…,” or, “…as far as the east is from the west…,” and, “…the steadfast love of the Lord is from everlasting to everlasting…,” drip with God’s desire toward us. He knows and remember that we are indeed frail and fraught with failure. He indeed lets mercy triumph over justice. And those of us who bear the sword in an official capacity ought to do the same whenever possible.

“PFC Swift, I have some paperwork to show you,” I said, sliding the RCP paperwork across my desk to him. He picked up and read through it quickly. He was not surprised. Evidently, he’d expected this. Most career soldiers kept up with such things.

“Now, look at this,” I continued, handing him a copy of the orders taking him to Germany. This he did not expect, and his face fell. He understood the opportunity that had slipped from his grasp.

“CPT Robinson did not bring you in here to gloat,” my 1SG quickly interjected.

“PFC Swift, I have a plan,” I said, “I am willing to put your RCP paperwork at the bottom of my stack and give you your orders for Germany today. If you can clear post and get to Germany before I get to your RCP paperwork, you may be able to recover. A soldier of your skills will quickly get your rank back and if you stop lying and do the right thing, you can continue with your career and make something of yourself.”

“Would you do that,” queried PFC Swift, hope filling his face?

“Yes, I would. Here are your orders for Germany. Get out of my company!” The last sentence I said to PFC Swift’s backside as he dashed from my office to start clearing post. I and my 1SG smiled. PFC Swift managed to clear post and transfer to Germany before I got to his RCP paperwork. In those days, the wheels of the Army personnel section ground ever so slowly and ever so fine.

                James 2:13, “…Mercy triumphs over judgement,” succinctly sums up our relationship with God…or the one He desires. We claim to love justice, until it applies to us, then we love mercy. In our clamor for justice, we often forget our own deep and abiding need for mercy. We want to see the other guy held responsible for his actions. We gladly apply the appellation perpetrator to others, forgetting that we too are perps. All too often, we take on the role of the unforgiving servant in Matthew 18:21-35, forgetting our own great debt. Perhaps, things might be different were we to keep this in mind.

                We churlishly withhold aid and succor to those in need, thinking it unfair for them to take advantage of us. We do not stop to consider how much we have received from God…and in truth our own society. None of us enjoy all our blessings based solely on our own efforts. All along the way, we’ve enjoyed grace, mercy, and assistance in a wide variety of forms. None of us are truly “self-made.” All of us enjoy blessings, spiritual and physical, we do not deserve. We, like PFC Swift, stand deserving punishment. When PFC Swift hustled out of my office at FT Hood, he left my life. I’ve never seen him again. But, I know something of the rest of his story.

                Years later as a senior Major, soon to be promoted to Lieutenant Colonel, the phone on my desk rang. I answered, and a strange voice said, “This is Chief Swift.”

                So much time had passed, I did not recognize the name, “Yes.”

                “You don’t remember me,” he queried?

                “No, Chief, I’m afraid not.”

                “I’m not surprised. The last time you saw me I was a PFC you’d just busted. I left your unit and went to Germany.” The rest of the story tumbled out. PFC Swift had gone to Germany. He’d discarded his bad habits. He’d gained back his SPC rank and then gone on to become a Warrant Officers and a very successful career in the Army. You see, a little mercy had gone a long way in his life. Perhaps, if we were more merciful as a nation, even to those we do not think deserve it, we’d enjoy more success stories. We’d also do better in reflecting God’s love into an often-dark world and maybe, just maybe, move closer to being a “Christian Nation.”

Legal and Moral

                Yesterday, Christy, Candace, and I trekked down to Holloman Air Force Base and shopped in the PX (Post Exchange), BX or Base Exchange to my Air Force brethren. We enjoyed being on a military installation again. The orderly neatness, the clearly labeled buildings, the subdued hustle of servicemen and servicewomen going about their duties, the crisp salutes at the gate, and the lack of litter wrapped us in the comfortable blanket of military life. All of this is undergirded by a joint understanding of the rules and the roles of everyone involved. As a retiree, I enjoy a minor place in the orderly military machine. It is specified. Christy and I have certain rights and privileges, and limits. I’ve left the active ranks. During the duty day, soldiers in uniform, airmen in this case, may go to the head of the line in the PX or Commissary to facilitate a rapid return to duty. No longer part of the mission, no longer subject to field training exercises, no longer subject to deployments, I stand on the periphery. I understand this and gladly follow the rules which order this time in my military life. Rules bring order. Rules ease personal interactions. Rules help keep chaos at bay. But rules are not the ultimate good.

                I’ve watched events surrounding the treatment of the families of aliens at our borders with growing dismay. Through legal machinations we, as a nation, separate children from their parents. According to our executive spokesperson, we do this as part of the “rule of law.” And when pressed regarding the severe nature of this action, they referenced the Biblical imperative of following the law as their justification. Indeed, Romans 13, I Peter 2, and other passages require believers, Christians, to live law abiding lives. As a professional soldier, cum teacher, I strongly support following the rules. After all, much of my professional life revolves around equitable rules justly enforced. I understood the rules governing military life and submitted to their restrictions. I expect my students to comply with the guidelines that govern life in my classroom. A citizenry the follows the laws generates a peaceful society. A government the operates within the rule of law generally results in a prosperous country. So, as a Christian do I sit back, hands folded, and watch this unfold? After all, the executive branch is pursuing a legal course of action.

                One thing I’ve discovered during my professional life, military and civilian, legality does not equate to morality. Enacting a law, no matter the political party, does not make enforcement a matter of justice. In Isaiah 10:1-2 the prophet condemns “…those who decree iniquitous decrees, and the writers who keep writing oppression, to turn aside the needy from justice…” I understand the need of a modern nation to exert some manner of control over its borders. Throwing open the gates and crying out, “allee, allee income free,” may not be the wisest of actions; however, neither is the callous separation of parents and children. As a Christian, one who must cry out against injustice, I must raise my voice against such iniquitous decrees. Iniquity carries the implication of continual heinous behaviors and I believe this law is iniquitous, evil, and morally indefensible.

                As Christians we must speak truth to power. We must not stand idly by and let the powerful twist scripture to rationalize such abhorrent treatment of the weak. If we want to maintain our prophetic voice, we must stand against such immoral laws. We must work to overturn such policies and encourage our government to adopt more civil enforcement practices. We must not let those who traffic in fear, who delight in strengthening their positions of power by abusing the weakest among us, continue uncriticized and unchecked. The situation at our border is not so dire as to justify such callous and inhumane treatment of the poor among us. Surely, we can spare a little of God’s great blessing. Surely, we can spare a cup of water for the thirsty and tend to those in such great need.

Speed Kills

                “It’s my money and I want it NOW!” We’ve all heard that line from the J.G. Wentworth company, which panders to one of the basest desires of our current culture, the near unshakable believe that we somehow deserve what we want immediately. This seemingly bedrock belief assails us at all times. Even as I type this looking out over the serene mountains of New Mexico, I chafe at the sluggishness of my computer as it spools up. The lack of WIFI slows the process significantly as my laptop spends fruitless moments searching for a nonexistent network. Eventually, it gives up, assumes some sort of IT Armageddon, and lets me set about the task of writing. Meanwhile, I drum my fingers impatiently, missing out on the opportunity to peacefully revel in God’s splendid handiwork. Sadly, I’ve succumbed to our cultural lie about the inherent goodness of speed and connectivity.

                Our modern culture tells us that we should enjoy whatever we want whenever we want it. We assume that rapid progression equates to rapid pleasure. I see it in the vast, and growing, array of easily microwaveable dinners, complete with entre, vegetable side, starch side, and some sort of desert. If I do not desire to take the time to zap something in the micro, I can just swing into a local drive through and pick up something without leaving the confines of my truck. The proliferation of streaming services enables me to customize and prioritize my media input to suit my needs, my taste, and my time. Why bother to go to a store when I can download a desired book in a matter of seconds. I see this in my students and the growing urge to shave a year off the high-school experience.

                Some students, and increasingly their parents, assume goodness in skipping a year of high-school and the associated maturation in order to jump into college. They feverishly pour over schedules and take summer school classes, seeking to compress a year of instruction into a few quick class, crossing the stage exhausted, and then plunging into college barely able to engage or thrive in the intensive university education experience. All to what end, to enter the work force a year or two earlier. We’ve forgotten the phrase, “…the fullness of time.” Galatians 4:4

                You see God understands why time must pass. Some things cannot be rushed. Every good cook knows this principal. Right now, in the refrigerator, supper is working; at least the lime, chipotle, and other spices are. Eventually, I’ll take the mix out and throw it on the grill. A delicious supper will emerge from the process. If I were to take it out now and throw it on the grill, it would produce a lessor product. Time is an essential ingredient. God teaches this throughout scripture.

                I remain convinced that He could have pulled through the heavenly drive-through and ordered up a quick batch of universe; however, He took His time (whatever that was) reflected and enjoyed the process. He set Abraham out on a journey without telling him the end point. Imagine doing that with Google maps. He wrestled with Jacob all night. He let His children linger in Egypt for four-hundred years. David endured years on the run waiting, waiting for God to put him on the throne. He trusted God to take care of the situation. He understood the words Paul would pen years later, “The Lord is not slow to fulfill his promise as some count slowness,” II Peter 3:9. God, the creator of time, understands the need for time to pass. And when the time was just right, He sent His son; who endured the growth process normal to all humanity. For reasons, not always entirely clear, God willingly lets time pass.

                And when we fall in step with His ordering, His time-table, His viewpoint, things work much better in our lives. God’s pace is measured. He allows time for growth and maturation. He encourages, though His word and example, time to pause and reflect. To look out over the valley of time and space and consider the good growth. Some things take time, trees for example. But as they unfold, their beauty and grace reflect His handiwork, His plan, and His care. A life walked out at His pace takes on His shape. Oh, there may be those difficult passages, those time in which that goal seems so far away, but we need never fear. Like David, we might endure a period of hardship in which we take refuge in caves, but God’s promise is sure and He will bring it about in His own way and in His own time.

Later Parenting

            Life often surprises us; sometimes with pleasures, sometimes with frustrations, and sometimes pain. There is no revelation in that statement. Anyone that lived through high school knows this, most through bitter experience, others through casual observation. I always expected my kids to grow up, attend university or start a career, and then move away, leaving Christy and I waving goodbye from the porch. Due to various twists and turns, all of my children returned unexpectedly, spending time with us. Among the items they brought back, was joy, great joy in parenting.

            I find parenting at this age intensely rewarding. Do not misunderstand me, nothing dims the joy of those first staggering steps or babbling attempts at speech, but there is a special joy in sharing a quiet cup of coffee with a son or daughter (please note that I include “in-laws” though I do not care for the term as I love them as my own). Even when unforeseen problems force a return the parenting is sweet. This does not mean that there is no work involved. Sometimes people generate significant problems through their choices and those choices generate significant consequences for all involved; but that does not dim the joy of second-chance parenting.

            Second chance parenting is more about mentoring or parenting without repercussions. When my children were young, I always considered the consequences of my guidance and actions. Would this work out well for them? Would I have to account for their behaviors based on what I said? I often anguished when things did not seem to work out well based on what I’d said. Now, when I share advice with my adult children the burden rests on their shoulders. I’m not responsible for their decisions. I need not fear judgment. Of course, as an older man, comfortable in my own skin, I care less about what others may think. It does not bother me as much when my adult children disregard my advice. After all, they are adults and responsible for themselves…sort of.

            I know more than I did at the age of 30 and 40. I look back over many mistakes and wrong turns. I realize that many things I thought were absolutely critical were not. I worry less about their minor mistakes, knowing that they will figure it out without my intervention. When they disregard my advice I accept the decision as their own and not a repudiation of me personally. Additionally, I’ve noticed that the more I experience, the less I know. There are some bedrock, foundational things I cling to and I find that they cling to them as well. So when they diverge on one thing or another I can let them without feeling threatened or needing to straighten them out. And, they seem to listen more.

            The world scuffed off some of the youthful tendency to assume parents are doddering idiots. That, coupled with my willingness to let others find their own way makes our interaction much smoother. This goes along with time scuffing off some of my own self-assurance. I’ve endured serious personal failure and realize that is part of the process. Now, my offspring have greater faith in my ability to provide reasonable counsel, and then let them decide what to do. Willingness to let others make their own decisions helps open the door to conversation. Now, we enjoy more conversations and fewer lectures. I save the lectures for the classroom now.  Truthfully, my willingness to trust them, to believe in their judgment, does more than anything else to improve our relationships and is the foundation of joyful adult parenting.

            And perhaps trust is the greatest lesson learned. I know that my children make mistakes, just as I do. I also know that my children make many good and wise decisions without my influence. I see them growing each and every day. I rest comfortable in the fact that on the rare occasion that they need wise counsel, I’m on their short list. And more importantly, I see them pushing roots deep into the Lord and letting Him shape and mold their lives. This fact reassures me since, His counsel and guidance is the best and when I exit the stage, He remains.