By Beth Bro Howard
Be Still And Know, altar offering at the retreat with Thich Nhat Hanh,
August, 2007, Estes Park, Colorado, photo © 2007 by Beth Bro
Howard. All rights reserved.
On August 25, 2007, while on retreat with Buddhist teacher, Thich Nhat Hanh in Estes Park, Colorado, I was prepared to ask a question during the talk devoted to questions and answers. Reflecting on the question beforehand, part of the answer was revealed, which reminded me of the banner over the flowered altar offering:
be still and know
I accepted the invitation to ask Thay (his familiar name, meaning “teacher”) a question and joined the huddle of men, women, and children sitting on the stage.
I knew that there would not be time to ask all of our questions. I held mine in my heart and listened mindfully to others’ questions and Thay’s answers, because I knew that the answer to my question might be there also.
And it was.
My question might have been asked like this:
Dear Thay, my twenty-two year old son Peter is a soldier with the U.S. Army in Iraq. I hope that he will return home in two months. I am aware that many veterans return from Iraq with a lot of suffering. The United States of America was not skillful with relieving the suffering of Vietnam War veterans. How might our spiritual communities and practices help to relieve our veteran’s suffering?
I heard my answer, first, in the response to a question asked by a child about whether monks or nuns had served in the military. Thay answered, “Not many,” but went on to say that there was a monk who had served in the war. The monk had seen a lot of suffering caused by war and wanted to heal it. He wanted to practice peace and to teach the practice to others. Thay said that he is a very good monk.
In another answer to a question regarding the power of the healing services held in Viet Nam, Thay explained that there had never been services held for all the people killed in the Vietnam War. He said that there have not been services in our country to heal from the deaths in Viet Nam and Iraq.
How I heard these responses as answers to my question was in this way:
- As a Christian/Buddhist practitioner, I should offer compassionate and deep listening to our veterans;
- I should include them in our practice, however I can, because, like the monk, they have learned a lot about war and suffering and they may be very good at this practice;
- Veterans may be wonderful teachers of peace.
I also heard that, in our spiritual communities, we should pray for the killed and in the depth of Thay’s stories I learned that we must not only pray for the killed, but also for the killers. They are not separate.
It seems that often veterans return with the dead residing in their hearts and minds. We can pray to end the suffering of both.
The answer that came to me, before Thay’s talk, was from my own Christian tradition. It relates to the Biblical story of the Prodigal Son (Luke 15:11-32), paraphrased here:
There was a man who had two sons. The younger son asks for his share of the property and the father divides the estate evenly between his sons. The older son stays on the land, close to his father, and works hard. The younger son gathers all that he has and takes a journey to a far country, where he squanders all his wealth in wild living. Much later, he returns home destitute, hungry and regretful. The father is overjoyed to see his youngest son, filled with compassion and welcomes him warmly, hugging and kissing him. The father orders that his youngest son be dressed in the finest robe and that a feast should be prepared for him. When the older son complains bitterly, the father replies, “But we had to celebrate and be glad, because this brother of yours was dead and is alive again; he was lost and is found.”
Might we as spiritual communities welcome war veterans home in our hearts?
Might we welcome an end to their personal experience of war as we would welcome an end to all war?
Might we refrain from judgments that may increase their suffering and might we assist and encourage others to refrain from judgments, also?
Might we be able to stand in compassion and be ready to listen when veterans are ready to speak?
Veterans have learned a lot about war and suffering and if we work together to transform those seeds, there may be a little more peace for us all.
About Beth: Beth Bro Howard is a writer and yoga teacher in Wyoming. Her son Peter returned from Iraq on Friday, October 19, 2007, after a year-long deployment.
-Related to post Wishing You A Peaceful Heart – An Open Letter To Cindy Sheehan.
The world would be far more harmonious if people thought to reach across the divisions, rivalries, and hatred in the ways you explore here. Thank you for the reminder that it doesn’t have to be this way.
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Beautifully expressed, Beth.
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Thank you, Jason. Kinda by accident, I clicked on your name and was instantly transported to a web page with your beautiful fall photos. What a gift. I hope that others will take the opportunity to see them, too.
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I just got word today that a friend’s son will not be deployed to Iraq. (He is going to Korea.) I thought of you when I opened her email with the news.
As Peter’s mother, you have no choice but to ask these questions of yourself. But as an advocate for peace, you ask the questions of each and every one of us. In answer to them — yes, yes, yes, and yes. We might and we must.
A warm hug to you, to Peter, and to the rest of your family. You have much practice ahead of you (as do we all).
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Thanks to Bill, my “big Bro,” both literally and figuratively speaking…
ybonesy — Last week, when I got word of Peter’s arrival back in the U.S., I learned almost immediately of another friend’s son returning to Iraq for a second deployment. Yes, much practice ahead, as you’ve said…and it reminds me of the Bob Dylan song, Blowin’ in the Wind…which asks the question over & over, “When will we ever learn? When will we e-e-ver learn?”
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My dear Beth,
We all need to ask questions. Answers come in many different forms. I am so delighted Pete is safe and sound.
Love, Randy
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Dear Randy,
Since Christmas we have had a picture on our screensaver of Peter in his full combat gear. He is wearing the helmet liner which you knitted for him. I think of you and thank you for the kindness from your needles, which has blessed many, many soldiers, including Peter.
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As always, Beth, you point us not only to peace, but also to places where peace is desperately needed; in this case, with military veterans, America’s prodigal sons
About 10 days ago, I accepted a retired neighbor’s invitation to have lunch at the local American Legion, where her husband was a member and she waitressed. Jean was so proud of the place, taking time to give me a tour of both bar areas — the one in the front for everyone; the one in the back reserved for combat veterans. The one in the back was filled with cigarette and cigar smoke, booze, slot machines, pool and poker tables watched over by veterans who still appeared war weary. Their eyes were the same eyes I see in the homeless our church feeds every Sunday: vacant, sad, impoverished.
Later that day, I saw the movie, “In the Valley of Elah,” a shattering film about the impact of the Iraq War on young men. I thought of Pete, of course, grateful that his DNA and childhood will douse his hidden, but more-than-likely fueled bellicosity and confusion. Most veterans aren’t as blessed as Pete to have such loving, peacekeeping parents. No one but you, the mother of such beautiful sons, can combine war and peace, veterans and Thich Nhat Hanh in one practice.
In that spirit, I offer two poems: the first is by a a Vietnam veteran. The second from Thay himself.
WHEN by J. Vincent Hansen
Vietnam was when
darkness covered the earth
and the oft-sighted light
at the end of the tunnel
was nothing more
than a blazing Buddhist monk.
PEACE by Thich Nhat Hanh
They woke me this morning
to tell me that my brother had been killed in battle.
Yet in the garden
a new rose, with moist petals uncurling,
blooms on the bush.
And I am alive,
still breathing the fragrance of roses and dung,
eating, praying, and sleeping.
When can I break my long silence?
When can I speak the unuttered words that are choking me?
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Beth,
Your post gives me an idea of something I can potentially offer to returning Iraq soldiers: listen. Listen to them, and bear witness (at least in a small way) to what they have seen and faced. Thank-you for consistently lighting a way toward peace. Having sons in the military and in harm’s way could turn you bitter and full of revenge. But through your hard work and intention just the opposite has been made manifest.
I’m happy for your good news on October 19th…no doubt one of your favorite days of the year from now on.
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Beth, I’ve reread your piece a few times. And certain parts have resonated for me.
One is that there have not been services in our country to heal from the deaths in Viet Nam and Iraq, to slow down and take time to grieve. It’s not supported in this world; there is great pressure to move on.
The closest I remember was being at the Vietnam Memorial in Washington D.C. on the first Memorial Day it was open. There were hundreds of veterans there, some with old injuries, many in their uniforms. It was quiet and somber. And I did a rubbing of the Uncle I lost in Vietnam.
Another thing you mentioned from Thay is that in our spiritual communities, we should pray for the killed but also for the killers. They are not separate. Powerful words. I’ve been thinking about them today in relation to war and peace.
It also reminds me of Frannie’s recent comments on red Ravine about the many states in this country that still support the Death Penalty. It seems to me compassion, forgiveness, and turning the other cheek are at the heart of every religion. But so hard to do.
Your question at the end: Might we refrain from judgments that may increase their suffering and might we assist and encourage others to refrain from judgments, also?
I think you have done that with this piece. I’m so happy that Peter is home again. And that we have the opportunity, through your writing, to share in your joy and mixed emotions upon his return. As always, it’s such a pleasure to have you on red Ravine.
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Dearest Beth,
Acorns fall like rain from pin oak trees here in North Carolina as I read your words. And I am crying like the rain because the questions you ask are proof that oak trees exist in a world gone mad.
The acorns fall first randomly, at odd intervals, and now forcefully, as the wind kicks up. I pray for all soldiers and victims. When acorn meets tin roof, a prayer. For all mothers and for all families of soldiers everywhere.
May our hearts hold their suffering tenderly. May we know the suffering they hold in their cells; the cells of their bodies and the cells of their jails – the way we know the acorns sound like gunshots. And may we find the grace to sit with this suffering long past the time the acorns stop falling.
With deep care,
Celeste
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Oh, dear Sharon,
I am deeply touched by your thoughtful and detailed comments. Thank you for your words, especially “America’s prodigal sons” and “bellicosity” (which I had to look up.)
Even more, I thank you for your real-life story and observations, for the movie reference and the two very beautiful poems.
I appreciate your willingness to hold the fabric of difficult things up to the light, to look closely and see how you are woven into it. It is a great teaching. It would be a different world if we were all brave enough to do that.
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I am moved by the depth and the beauty of the many thoughtful respnses here. I am very grateful for the precious time you have each used to craft them.
Teri — Thank you for your willingness and your expressed intent to listen. This summer on retreat some Viet Nam veterans sought to reassure me that it could be okay for my son, eventually. They expressed the importance of being willing to listen, but also of being patient enough to let things be revealed in their own time. I heard several stories from Veit Nam vets or their family members that indicated that they’d stopped talking or sharing their experiences, because they didn’t believe that anyone could understand. Maybe we can’t, but as you’ve said, we can “listen and bear witness” and that’s a lot.
QM — You are a master at providing a meaningful recall for a written piece and I appreciate your careful effort. I am sorry that your Uncle was killed in Viet Nam.
Peter told me that when the 4th Cavalry returned to LaGuardia (and there were 197 uniformed soldiers) that people avoided any contact. He said that “their faces were set” and he felt that their minds were made-up, about the war and the soldiers. The people, he said did not even make eye contact. It was as if they weren’t there. Peter said it felt de-humanizing.
This struck me. In August, while on retreat with Pema Chodron, an Iraqi war veteran shared some particularly brutal and graphic stories. Pema had invited them, because she hoped to understand war better. She said, “Whatever is happening there is happening here, also. It didn’t start there.”
Sometime later, she said that to be able to do what a soldier is required to do, they have to de-humanize the other. She pointed out that we do it every day, maybe with the checker at the grocery store, or with the person next to us on the airplane…we avoid contact, or pretend that they are not there.
So, when I heard that on returning to his first U.S. city that my son felt de-humanized, I recognized that he’d returned to the very same energy of war that he just left. To have more peace will take a great effort on the part of many of us to make the attempt to establish meaningful connections with others, however brief, even when we don’t feel like it, or we’re too busy, or when we believe it won’t matter.
It really matters. If our desire is to have more peace in the world. We can start today with the person standing next to us in the grocery line…
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Dear Celeste — Your response is pure poetry. WOW. Your sweet soul is a good antidote to our cultural violence. I wish that I had a little recording of your voice saying stuff like this so that I could play it when I am discouraged, to remind me of what is RIGHT with the world. You’re a healer.
Bellicosity aside, I believe that any soldier would prefer the sound of acorns on the roof to gunshots. But, keep listening for the sound and sending up those prayers….
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I like this very much. It made me think about, how the peace process has to encompass more than just it’s advocates.
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amuirin — Thich Nhat Hanh says that there is much about the peace movement that is not peaceful. I appreciate your insight. If the peace process encompasses only it’s advocates, it is not a true process, though it is considerably more comfortable. They don’t call it peace WORK for nothing….
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Beth,
I have read your piece several times and feel compelled to respond but my thoughts seem to be everywhere at once.
I think of the soldiers that are still in Iraq living in a world we can not comprehend.
I think of the ways we isolate ourselves from those things that cause us to pain and discomfort or that force us to realize the things we are capable of perpetrating. The stoic mask we put on to avoid asking the questions we fear asking or of allowing our true feelings about something we don’t understand to come to the surface for public scrutiny .
I think of the sides that people take on an issue like war and how we do lose sight of the individuals that fight that war, not because the want to but because they have to. Grouping the soldier with the policy that created the situation that led to the war.
I morn the loss of our children’s innocence when they go into a war zone and come away with a perspective on the world that most can’t relate to. Unable to help us fully understand the life they lived and how alien it is to us but how normal it seemed at the time.
But among all this angst I feel I find calmness and peace in your beliefs and those you surround yourself with. I pray that your son and those other sons and daughters who return from war are offered the quiet ear of a loved one and find solace in the silent reflections Buddhism and other religions offer.
I too will offer an open ear to those who return and will continue to pray for our soldiers. I am glad your son has returned, as a parent I can no imagine the anxiety his time in Iraq caused you.
R3
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R3 — As a parent you absolutely CAN imagine my anxiety through my son’s time in Iraq. Even though my son is home, the anxiety is persistent, because the war is not over and so many families are still torn apart as a result of it, from America, Iraq and many other countries. I know what it feels like for them…it feels like Hell.
Though you said your thoughts “seem to be everywhere at once,” I think that you’ve articulated them beautifully and I appreciate your sincere and thoughtful response.
Your offer to “open an ear to those who return” is generous and important. Thank you for your continued prayers. My son was nourished and supported while in Iraq and eventually carried home on a river of prayer. It may seem to you like a small thing, but it’s BIG. If we each add only a drop, we will soon have an ocean of comapssion.
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I’ve read this a couple of times. It’s beautifully written, moving, and thought-provoking all at once.
Thank you. 🙂
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Beth: you teach me. I soften. I open. I built a big callous around myself during Viet Nam. Knowing you and listening to you, I am trying on another way of thinking about this.
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Thank you, Franny. Being willing to “try on another way of thinking” is what peacemaking is all about. Thank you for your willingness to go there. It is the proverbial “walking a mile in someone else’s moccasins,” which the wise Native Americans have encouraged forever.
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Beth, I’ve been thinking about you and yours this Thanksgiving Holiday. I’m so glad you can be together. Wishing you peace and joy. Sending warm thoughts.
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[…] The Unanswered Question by Beth Bro Howard […]
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It’s very interesting to re-read your article more than a year later after all that our country has gone through. I came across it as I was looking for this blog. I remembered your suggesting it in the past. I love your piece and that you are so honest about your feelings. Having a son in the military and serving overseas certainly lends a different kind of understanding of war, peace, and the soldier’s journey that some might never have thought of before. I have long believed that sincere efforts to promote peace can backfire and make our men and women feel unwelcome and unappreciated when they arrive back home. It saddens me since I know people who have fought. So often the discussion is heated on one side or on the other, but your thoughtful essay reminds us that there is a gray area and we need to be mindful of it no matter what our philosophies are. God Bless, Beth.
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Tina, thanks for commenting on this post. Your comment caused me to do the same thing—re-read the words and reflect on what has happened in the national political arena since. And first I thought, No, it’s not quite been a year. I sometimes still think that 2007 was last year, and then I remember we are in 2009.
A friend and work colleague just this week took vacation because her son is home from military service. But he leaves soon, deployed first to one of the main US bases and then to Afghanistan.
Right now I am overcome with a sort of fatalist feeling that it doesn’t end. No matter how much hope I have that my president is a good man who will provide national and world leadership where there has been none for the past eight years, still he opts for war. I haven’t prayed for peace for a long time. Too long. I’m grateful to be reminded that I’ve abandoned the thing I had meant to keep doing, and that I must recommit.
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