I once had a friend — more of an acquaintance, really. We had only met on a couple of occasions, but we got to know each other through a common interest in peacemaking and, in particular, in conscientious objection to military service.
Joshua Casteel had been a member of the 202nd Military Intelligence Battalion of the U.S. Army and an Arabic-speaking interrogator at the infamous Abu Ghraib prison in Iraq. It was actually through this work that he came to the conclusion that Jesus’ teachings are all about nonviolent, active love of friend and enemy, and that this was incompatible with what he was doing through his military service. He was honorably discharged from the military as a conscientious objector in 2005, and thereafter continued his peacemaking work through study, teaching, writing, and literature. (You can learn more about what he thought by reading his book, Letters from Abu Ghraib, and more about Joshua at www.joshuacasteel.com.)
If memory serves, Joshua and I first met at a gathering held by the Catholic Peace Fellowship in South Bend, IN. I was there for a presentation of CPF’s St. Marcellus Award to a person who had contributed to peacemaking efforts after the outbreak of the so-called “War on Terror.” I had previously received this award myself for a pastoral letter I wrote in March, 2003. In this letter I expressed my discernment, as Bishop of our eparchy, that the then-proposed war in Iraq did not meet the criteria of the Christian “just war theory” and was thus immoral. I concluded that members of our diocese could not participate in that war in good conscience. (When the letter became known, I was asked by a reporter how many people my letter would actually affect, and I guessed “maybe a dozen or so.” Little did I know that one of our own people, Catalin Chindea, a parishioner from St. Helena, Cleveland, who was already in the military, would soonfind himself in Iraq.)
Time passed, and Joshua and I had several more occasions to meet, though way too few. Joshua died in 2012 at the age of 32, succumbing to a form of cancer that seems to be found mainly among elderly Asian women and soldiers who worked the “burn pits” in Iraq. But before his death, Joshua left a clear legacy regarding his commitment to Christian nonviolence in his speaking, teaching, and writing. Like Joshua, I long ago came to my own conclusion that nonviolence is, indeed, what Christ taught and what He demands of His disciples. It was clear to me, even before my ordination to the priesthood, that witnessing to the nonviolent Jesus should be the aim of my life’s work. And I thought that I had at least done something along those lines in my teaching ministry as Bishop. I figured that even if I persuaded no one to accept the Gospel Nonviolence, people would know where I stood personally, and would know how I would react to a story about a soldier in Iraq. Imagine my surprise, then, to see that the feature story for this issue of Unirea was to be about Catalin, who reflects upon his time as both soldier and civilian in Iraq and Afghanistan. It became immediately apparent to me that, in my 63 years, I had not been as successful in presenting as clear a witness to Jesus’ teaching of nonviolence as Joshua did in his 32 years. It seemed to me about time, then, to begin to invest a great deal more effort, energy, and clarity in this aspect of my episcopal ministry.
Then I actually read the interview with Catalin that the article about him was based upon. To say I was impressed with the man I read about in that interview would be an understatement. He, like me, like all of us, is on a journey of faith. By definition, to be on a journey implies that you haven’t arrived at your destination yet. But, like Joshua’s all-too-short journey, Catalin’s journey — also short, but still in progress — has inspired and enriched my own. A World War II saying goes, “There are no atheists in foxholes.” I am not sure if that is the case anymore in our post-Christian culture. Indeed, it sounds like there are a few non-believers who find themselves without a God to turn to in the midst of battle. Catalin describes the difference faith makes in our day to one who is exposed to extreme danger and its attendant fear. He also goes far beyond that in reflecting upon his own situation, telling us how prayer, already a constant in his pre-military life, changed from “please” to “thank you.”
Putting all his trust in a God who loves him and who guarantees his eternal survival provided him with the courage not only to survive his military deployment, but to return “with a wrench” to the war-torn countries he had first visited with a gun, this time to fix and not to destroy. Catalin reminded me that courage goes to the heart of the Gospel Nonviolence, which, far from being a refuge from battle, is all about God’s war against evil and death. In that war, every Christian is called to be a soldier, but a soldier in the army of the Prince of Peace. In this army, it is prayer, loving self-sacrifice, trust in God, and especially gratitude that are the real weapons of our deployment, as Catalin’s own example demonstrates. And I am grateful to both Joshua and Catalin for what they have taught me. I hope I learn more from both of them.
To read Catalin Chindea’s interview click here.