…to the anonymous donor who graciously donated a year’s fees to host and maintain FriarMusings. You are very much appreciated. God bless and Merry Christmas.
Thank you…
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Category Archives: Musings
A disturbance in the Force
If last week you noticed a disturbance in the Force akin to Obi Wan Kenobi, fear not because it was only a five-millionths of a second skip in time as some of the nation’s atomic clocks experience a glitch in the matrix. No worries, we’re OK.
The Ancestors of Jesus
There are four different Masses that rightly celebrate the Nativity of the Lord. They are the Vigil Mass (all the masses before 10 pm on Christmas Eve), Mass during the Night (“Midnight Mass”), Mass at Dawn, and Mass during the Day. Many parishes these days have several Vigil Masses. At our parish in Virginia we will have 6 vigil Masses. The vigil mass has two options for the Gospel reading.
The option that is most often selected is one that seems well suited to Christmas: “This is how the birth of Jesus Christ came about. When his mother Mary was betrothed to Joseph, but before they lived together, she was found with child through the Holy Spirit. Joseph her husband…”(Matthew 1:18-25) The reading goes on to describe the angel’s message to Joseph to take Mary into his home. “For it is through the Holy Spirit that this child has been conceived in her. She will bear a son and you are to name him Jesus.”
Especially when one of the Vigil Masses is preceded by the Children’s Christmas Pageant this is a great choice and an easy one to be part of the evening’s homily.
The other option presents a few more challenges to listener and homilist alike: “The book of the genealogy of Jesus Christ, the son of David, the son of Abraham. Abraham became the father of Isaac, Isaac the father of Jacob, Jacob the father of Judah and his brothers. Judah became the father of Perez and Zerah, whose mother was Tamar…” and on for a total of 25 verses (Matthew 1:1-25). It really is a great gospel, but…it just does not seem a good choice for what will undoubtedly be a Mass filled with families and lots of children. Still…
When we gather for Christmas Eve, most of us come already filled with excitement. Children can hardly wait for tomorrow morning. Families look forward to being together. Lights are shining in every corner of the church. In his gospel, before Matthew tells us about angels, shepherds, and the Baby in the manger, he begins with a long list of names. Abraham, Isaac, Jacob… Ruth, David… and on and on. I have never had the gumption to choose this gospel. I wonder that as I proclaimed the gospel and watched eyes wander, children get restless, and their foreheads wrinkle as people think: “why on earth is he reading that gospel? Where is Joseph, Mary and the baby Jesus?” – would I accelerate the reading to rush to the end as soon as possible… and then… and then what? Then, I have to preach. So, maybe I will just share my thoughts with you.
Why does the gospel start with a genealogy? Because Matthew wants to tell us something important about the story of Jesus, something that is a great message for Christmas: God keeps His promises. Always.
The genealogy is a description of God’s promise moving through history, through the almost 2,000 years that passed from Abraham to Jesus. In that stretch of time, the people of God paid were faithful and not-so-faithful. But God remained faithful and never forgot the promise. God never abandoned His people even when they abandoned Him. God remained faithful across centuries. That is exactly what St. Paul offers in the Vigil Mass’ second reading: “From his descendants God, according to his promise, has brought to Israel a savior, Jesus.” (Acts 13:23)
So before Matthew gets to the point when that promise becomes flesh — a Baby laid in a manger. Matthew wants us to be mindful that God works through ordinary—and imperfect—people. Look closely at the genealogy and you’ll notice that the list is filled with surprising people: Abraham sometimes doubted. Jacob was a trickster who cheated his brother out of his inheritance. David was a great king, but also a great sinner. Ruth was a foreigner. Rahab wasn’t even part of Israel at first. What does this tell us? It says God is willing to work with our flaws because God’s plan is bigger than our weaknesses. God can work through saints and sinners, kings and shepherds, parents and children. God isn’t put off by the messiness of human life. That’s good news for everyone. It is good news for the families and folks that feel they are too complicated, a little imperfect, unsure and struggling. We all would fit right into the genealogy and the family of Jesus.
If the genealogy’s characters weren’t surprising enough, the biggest surprise is that God kept His promise by becoming one of us: “Behold, the virgin shall be with child and bear a son, and they shall name him Emmanuel, which means ‘God is with us.’” (Matthew 1:23) There was no flash of lightning or earthquakes. There was only a baby — small, vulnerable, needing to be held and fed. The promise was fulfilled gently, quietly, and in ways we never could have imagined.
The genealogy is a great gospel for Christmas because it is an invitation for us to trust, believe and remember that God is with us. No matter the year we’ve had, the worries we carry, the troubles we’ve seen, and the fears that grip us. No matter what. In the proclamation of the genealogy gospel, God whispers: “I am with you.”
He has been with his people for thousands of years and has kept the Promise, working through Jesus’ long and imperfect family line, and God is ready to work in all of our lives too. In the kindness we show, the forgiveness we offer, the prayers we whisper, and in the generosity with which we give. In these things, we take our place in Jesus’ family.
The Gospel reading of the genealogy of Jesus reminds us that as we gather around the manger, we gather not as strangers, but as members of the family God that has been forming since Abraham. The genealogy begins with Abraham and ends with a newborn child… but the story continues with each one of us.
It really is a great gospel.
Image credit: Photograph | South dome of inner narthex at Chora Church, Istanbul, depicting the ancestors of Christ from Adam forward | Wiki Commons from José Luiz Bernardes Ribeiro | CC BY-SA 3.0
Isaiah During the Night
By tradition and familiar naming, each Christmas eve, Catholic churches and communities celebrate a “Midnight Mass.” Technically the title of the Mass in the Roman Missal is “Mass During the Night” and by rule may not start before 10 pm and must be finished by 2 am. Hence the question, “what time is Midnight Mass” is actually a good question. But that aside, the first reading at the Midnight Mass is from the Prophet Isaiah.
The people who walked in darkness have seen a great light; upon those who dwelt in the land of gloom a light has shone.
You have brought them abundant joy and great rejoicing, as they rejoice before you as at the harvest, as people make merry when dividing spoils. For the yoke that burdened them, the pole on their shoulder, and the rod of their taskmaster you have smashed, as on the day of Midian. For every boot that tramped in battle, every cloak rolled in blood, will be burned as fuel for flames. For a child is born to us, a son is given us; upon his shoulder dominion rests. They name him Wonder-Counselor, God-Hero, Father-Forever, Prince of Peace. His dominion is vast and forever peaceful, from David’s throne, and over his kingdom, which he confirms and sustains by judgment and justice, both now and forever. The zeal of the LORD of hosts will do this! (Isaiah 9:1-6)
In formatting the reading (above) I intentionally separated the first verse from the remainder of the reading in order to draw your attention to this question: who are the people who walked in darkness that now see a great light? For that answer we need only turn back one chapter – Isaiah 8.
The bulk of chapter 8 is words of judgment for King Ahaz who has chosen to align himself with the Assyrians rather than God and to ignore the signs of God’s presence (see Isaiah 7:14: “Therefore the Lord himself will give you a sign; the young woman, pregnant and about to bear a son, shall name him Emmanuel. ” ) Ahaz has good reasons to fear the Assyrians. Assyria is in the process of taking over the world as it was known then and Israel (the northern tribes) had already fallen – and fallen into hard times. Isaiah describes what a traveler through the North lands would witness: “he will pass through it hard-pressed and hungry, and when hungry, shall become enraged, and curse king and gods. He will look upward, and will gaze at the earth, but will see only distress and darkness, oppressive gloom, murky, without light.” (8:21-22)
King Ahaz was right to fear Assyria, but he should have had better reasons to trust in the Lord.
In Isaiah 8:23, the Prophet proclaims the promise of salvation under a new king, one not like Ahaz, but one worthy as a successor to the line of King David. The prophet writes: “There is no gloom where there had been distress. Where once he degraded the land of Zebulun and the land of Naphtali, now he has glorified the way of the Sea, the land across the Jordan, Galilee of the Nations.” (Isa 8:23) Zebulun and Naphtali are in the north, under Assyrian rule. In other words, the opening verse of our Midnight Mass reading is to the people of the North living under the crushing oppression of Assyria: The people who walked in darkness have seen a great light; upon those who dwelt in the land of gloom a light has shone. (Isa 9:1)
This sets the stage for a dramatic shift in imagery and mood that comes in verse 2. Out of the depths of oppression, depression, war, and separation from God, all symbolized by the presence of darkness, comes assurance. The following verses signal the promise of a new king, a coronation hymn of sorts, one who will come from the royal Davidic line, who will bring light and life and hope to a suffering people.
“His dominion is vast and forever peaceful, from David’s throne, and over his kingdom, which he confirms and sustains by judgment and justice, both now and forever.” (Isa 9:6)
It is a prophetic promise of a future reality that will be made possible because of God’s never ending love for God’s people. The reading is a statement of faith, trust, and gratitude for what the Lord has already done. Grounded in this certainty makes the words of promise and future hope believable. While it appears that the powers of this world have a firm hold, God’s power will have the final victory.
Situating Isaiah in its political, historical, and geographical context might better witness to its meaning for Christians beyond the level of foretelling or prophesy as we tend to think about it, especially when it comes to the expectations of the coming Christ. In other words, what might happen when Isaiah is not only heard as proof of the fulfillment of God’s promises about the coming of the Messiah but as testimony as to the faithfulness of God – a characteristic that is at the heart of who God is? Then we can be more deeply aware that God is not just about future plans but present promises here and now. In the midst of that which creates despair and darkness, God’s light shines as that which is the fulfillment of all that we need and everything that we wish could be.
On Christmas Eve, when candles burn bright to witness God’s light that shines in all of our darkness, we are reminded that this is not just a claim for tonight, or because of Jesus, but points to the nature of who God is and always has been. When the candles are extinguished, the lights put away, and the decorations stored until next year, this promise is indeed what we will need to journey into the days and years ahead.
Image credit: Prophet Isaiah, Mosaic, Right of Lunette, South Wall of Presbytery, Basilica of San Vitale | PD-US | scripture image from Canva CC-0
On their own land
The first reading today is from Jeremiah, the prophet to the nation during times of crisis in the final days of the kingdom of Judah. The prophet was given the daunting task of prophecy to Jerusalem who was at the end of a “death spiral” of horrible leadership under the kings of Judah, the descendants of King David. In the midst of his oracles against and city, king and people, the prophet proclaims: “Behold, the days are coming, says the LORD, when I will raise up a righteous shoot to David; As king he shall reign and govern wisely.” (Jer 23:5).
Here is the season of Advent we hear and understand Jeremiah as speaking of “the days” being some 580 years later long after the crisis of the Babylonian Empire and the coming Exile. We hear the trace of the messianic prophecy of Jesus – the “righteous shoot” that will bloom from the stump of Jesse (cf. Isaiah 40). In Jeremiah’s day, I suspect the people knew their days were numbered as none would be able to stand against the power of Nebuchadnezzar and his Babylonian armies. They were sure to be dispossessed of the land and their inheritance. But to them Jeremiah says that the children of Israel “…shall again live on their own soil.” (Jer 23:8). Even if dispossessed, they would return to claim their inheritance.
In our days, the Righteous King has already come, bringing the Kingdom of God to those who claim their inheritance – and so it has been for more than 2000 years… There are certainly days when here in the United States we can feel like the faithful remnant of Jerusalem in Jeremiah’s day. According to Pew Research landscape studies, Christianity has been declining in America. In 2007, 80% of people identified as Christian; by 2024 that number had decreased to 62% of the population. By 2024 only 45% of young adults identified as Christian. In that same period between 2007 and 2024, the share of U.S. adults identifying as Catholic declined 21%.
As I read Jeremiah and consider the Pew Studies, one can be disheartened that, as a people, we are being “dispossessed” of our inheritance of faith. But at the same time, I am encouraged. All across the United States, Catholic parishes are experiencing a phenomenon of increased numbers of people in the OCIA programs, the means by which people come into the Catholic faith as adults. It is a movement in which I hear the echo of Jeremiah: “they shall again live on their own soil.” (Jer 23:8)
My unscientific sampling of Catholic parishes points to a doubling of the numbers of participants in OCIA just from last year with a marked increase in the numbers of adults seeking the Sacrament of Baptism. A statistical blip? Time will tell. A renewal of faith? I certainly hope so. Time will tell. But it strikes me that we need to be people that are not satisfied that the Messiah has come but even if we are but a faithful remnant, to be aware that the promise of the Messiah and the Kingdom are everlasting and we are called to witness to those signs among us.
Jeremiah | detail of Sistine Chapel | Michelangelo | PD-US | Pexels CC-0
A call to remember
Today you might ask a new neighbor or a new parishioner, “Where are you from?” It is a normal question. Growing up in the South it was equally likely for someone to ask, “Who are your people?” Today’s gospel is the answer to that question, which at first hearing, sounds like just a long list of names—Abraham, Isaac, Jacob, David, Solomon, and those are just the ones you recognize. It is the kind of passage we are tempted to skim over quickly or just flat out skip all together. But St. Matthew begins his Gospel in this way for a reason: he is showing us that Jesus is not an isolated figure who appears out of nowhere. Rather, He is the fulfillment of God’s promises, and His life is deeply rooted in the history of Israel.
Each of these names carries a story. Abraham reminds us of the promise that God would bless all nations through his descendants. David points to the royal line and the expectation of a Messiah, a son of David who would shepherd God’s people. Even the less famous or less noble figures—like Rahab, Ruth, and Bathsheba—remind us that God works through unexpected people, through sinners and outsiders, to bring about His plan.
Matthew is teaching us that the Old Testament is not just background information; it is a living testimony to who Jesus is. Without Abraham, we don’t understand what it means that Jesus is the fulfillment of the covenant. Without David, we don’t grasp why the Messiah must be a king. Without the prophets, we would not recognize in Jesus the one who is born of a virgin and called Emmanuel, God-with-us.
This passage invites us to treasure the Old Testament as the story of God preparing the world for Christ. The genealogy reminds us that our faith is not built on myth or imagination, but on real people, real history, and a real promise fulfilled in Jesus.
So when we read the Old Testament—whether it’s the faith of Abraham, the courage of Ruth, or the prophetic hope of Isaiah—we are not just reading ancient stories. We are hearing witnesses who point us to Christ. They remind us that God has been faithful throughout history, and that He remains faithful in our lives today.
May this genealogy, then, not be for us a list of names to hurry past, but a call to remember: the whole story of Israel is our story too, and it leads us to Jesus, Emmanuel, God-with-us.
Image credit: Pexels, CC-0
Advent Landscaping
Isaiah certainly has away with words. In the first reading for today’s Mass, Isaiah describes mountains being leveled, valleys being filled, and rough places being made smooth. It is a complete revision to the topography of the wilderness. Even in its earth-bound description, it is cosmic in its scale. Can you imagine the earth moving equipment and explosives needed to reshape this wilderness landscape?
But then again, Isaiah is not primarily talking about landscape. He is talking about the human heart. “Prepare the way of the Lord…make straight a highway…for our God.” He is admonishing us to remove anything that keeps us from seeing God’s glory. Isaiah is announcing that when God comes, nothing, not mountains, not valleys, not rugged passes, should stand between the human heart and God’s presence. Advent is the season when we hear this call anew and is our signal to let grace reshape our inner terrain.
What might all this mean for us during Advent?
“Every valley shall be filled in.” We speak of the highs and lows of life; of the hills and valleys along the way. A valley is a place where we feel spiritually or emotionally low. The place where we encounter discouragement – and often silently or alone. Perhaps it is a fear that prayers are unanswered, a sense we are failing or have failed, or a point we give up and no longer believe that change is possible. To that Isaiah proclaims: God wants to fill those valleys with hope.
Isaiah told the people of Judah and Jerusalem long ago, when the barbarians were at the walls, when the leaders had compromised faith and covenant, when hope was a dying ember that theirs was the God of Hope. The God who comforts His people lifts up the discouraged so as to remind us that He has not abandoned us, that His promises still stand, and that His coming is nearer than we think.
“Every mountain and hill shall be made low.” In our age we speak of mountains of money or we hold mountains as impenetrable fortresses where we are kept safe. But in Old Testament scripture, mountains often represent pride, self-reliance, or stubbornness—anything that rises up and blocks our view of God. Here Isaiah likely has in mind “mountains of pride.” Isaiah says these mountains must come down. Not because God wants to diminish us, but because pride blocks our sight. We cannot see the glory of the Lord when our own achievements or opinions tower in the foreground.
During Advent we might ask is our “mountain of pride” blocking our view of God or serving as a barrier to His voice? What part of our life do we insist, “I know best,” even when God is nudging us in another direction? Pride is just one mountain. Advent is a time to recognize and name your particular mountain and begin the landscaping project.
“The rugged land shall be made a plain.” Rugged, uneven ground makes walking difficult. It interrupts our pace and gait making it easy to stumble and fall. I suggest that these represent the patterns of sin, the habits we excuse, or the choices that keep tripping us up.
Advent is a season when God invites us to let grace smooth out what has become rough in us. The Sacrament of Reconciliation is one of God’s great tools for leveling uneven paths so that His coming is not hindered by obstacles we refuse to let go.
“Then the glory of the LORD shall be revealed.” Isaiah’s whole point is this: When the obstacles are removed, we see God. The glory of the Lord is not something God hides; it is something we fail to see when the terrain of our heart is cluttered or distorted. Advent reminds us God is coming. Clear the way so you can recognize Him when He arrives. Be attentive because God’s coming is not only a future event. He comes to us today in Scripture, in the Sacraments, in moments of grace, in the quiet voice of conscience. But we only perceive Him clearly when our interior landscape is open and straight and uncluttered.
Advent is not simply a countdown to Christmas. It is a spiritual landscaping project. So today, in this Eucharist, let us ask for the grace to let Him fill our valleys, lower our mountains, and smooth our rugged paths. Then we will see, not just with our eyes, but with our hearts, the glory of the Lord who comes to save us.
Image credit: Prophet Isaiah, Mosaic, Right of Lunette, South Wall of Presbytery, Basilica of San Vitale | PD-US | Pexels
Salvation History: a Play told in three acts
I love the readings that are chosen for this celebration. I am convinced that all of Scripture is a single narrative that weaves and wanders its way through people and history to tell us a single story: “God desires that all be saved” (1 Tim 2:4) These readings invite us to step back and look at the entire story of salvation from the first pages of Genesis, through the great hymn of grace in Ephesians, all the way to the quiet home in Nazareth where the angel Gabriel greets Mary. These three readings trace an arc through salvation history and reveal that God’s plan to save us has always centered on a woman, her Son, and the triumph of grace. It is like a grand, universal play written in three acts:
- Genesis: The Wound and the Promise
- Ephesians: The Plan from the Beginning
- Luke: Grace Meets Freedom
Genesis: The Wound and the Promise
Our first reading from Genesis takes us to one of the saddest moments in Scripture: Adam and Eve hiding from God after the Fall. Sin has entered the world. Fear has replaced intimacy. Trust has been broken. And yet God’s first response to human sin is not to abandon us, but to promise a Redeemer.
In Genesis 3:15 the Lord says to the serpent: “I will put enmity between you and the woman,
and between your offspring and hers.” This single verse, called the Protoevangelium – the “first Gospel,” is like a distant star at the edge of salvation history. It points forward to a woman who will be the enemy of the serpent, not his partner; a woman whose child will not fall but will crush the power of evil.
The early Christians saw in this promise the beginning of Mary’s story. Eve’s disobedience brought the Fall; Mary’s obedience opened the door for the Savior. Eve listened to the serpent; Mary heard and trusted the voice of God.
For Mary to stand in perfect opposition to the serpent she must be free, from the very first moment, from the wound and burden of sin. Genesis shows us the problem and announces the promise. The Immaculate Conception is the first precursor to the fulfillment of God’s desire that all be saved.
Ephesians: The Plan from the Beginning
Our second reading from Ephesians tells us that God’s plan of salvation is not something He invented after the Fall. St. Paul proclaims: “He chose us in him, before the foundation of the world, to be holy and without blemish before him.” Think about that. Before the world was made… before Adam and Eve walked in the garden… before there was sin… God intended to raise us up in Christ. Wow!
And in that eternal plan, God prepared one human person in a singular way: Mary, the woman who would freely bear His Son. The Church teaches that Mary was saved by Christ, as we are saved, as we depend wholly and solely on Jesus. But Mary was saved in a unique way. Christ’s saving grace reached into the very moment of her conception, preserving her from original sin so that she could be a wholly free, completely loving participant in the Incarnation. The moment in salvation history where God so loved the world, He sent his only Son into the world as one of us.
Ephesians shows us that grace is not random. Grace flows from a plan “before the foundation of the world.” And Mary is the singularity in the arc of that plan.
Luke: Grace Meets Freedom
And then, in the Gospel, we see that plan come to the full. The angel Gabriel enters the quiet of Nazareth and speaks a word spoken to no one else in Scripture: “Hail, full of grace.” This was not meant as a simple compliment. It is an acknowledgment and description of who she is. Who she is! Grace is not something that occasionally visits Mary; it is her whole being. Her very life is like she feasted on the Tree of Life in the Garden of Eden. Her roots are the deep foundations of grace, her branches and leaves are her graced interactions with the world. “Blessed is the fruit of your womb.” She is full of grace and because of that she is completely free. When Gabriel asks her to become the Mother of the Messiah, Mary is able to give a free, unforced, wholehearted yes: “May it be done to me according to your word.”
This is the moment that Genesis foresaw. This is the moment that Ephesians anticipated. This is the moment when the Word becomes flesh because a young woman, prepared by grace, freely embraced her vocation.
What has been revealed in these readings?
This celebration and these readings are a wonderful source for our ongoing reflection about our lives here in the Season of Advent.
We can be assured that God’s grace always comes first. Before we act, before we choose, God is already at work preparing our hearts. The Immaculate Conception is the great sign that God’s grace precedes and surrounds all our efforts. Are we attentive to that already and always present grace? Are we willing to choose grace and let it form us as a person of faith?
In these readings, Mary shows us what redeemed humanity looks like. Where sin has wounded us, Mary enables us to imagine what healing looks like. Where fear paralyzes us, Mary shows us what trust looks like. She is the fulfillment of the promise of what God desires to do in us and for us.
All this and more, but especially Mary’s “yes”, is the pattern of Christian life. We may not encounter an angel, but each day the Lord asks us: Will you trust me? Will you let my grace work in you? Will you say yes to the plan I have prepared for your life?
Perhaps the “big take-away,” Mary’s life teaches us that holiness begins not with perfection, but with availability and a heart open to God.
It is a lot to think about and reflect upon, but I hope that this Advent you take time to be available to the Lord with an open heart inspired by the life and gift of Mary, Mother of God.
Amen.
Image credit: Catholic News Service | Immaculate Conception | CC-BY
Protecting the Soul of the Warfighter
Over the last month I have had numerous people ask me about my views on the U.S. military action in the waters, Atlantic and Pacific, off the coast of Central America. About half of the conversations began with some form of “since you are a Naval Academy (USNA) grad, former Naval officer, and a priest…” Which makes sense as they hope a fusion of training and experience can offer a more insightful view of the ongoing dynamic.
At one level there is a complex legal question about the legitimacy of kinetic military action at all as opposed to law enforcement action. On the seas, military action is in the purview of the U.S. Navy while law enforcement in the U.S. Coast Guard. A long time friend, also a USNA grad, career naval officer, and PhD in international relations and security affairs – year ago did a Masters degree at Naval Post Graduate School, Monterey – some 35 years ago. While there he wrote an article that was published in US Naval Institute Proceedings: “Interdicting Drugs on the Big Pond.” Of the many insightful points of the article, he noted that the sea-based drug trafficking was quickly outstripping the Coast Guard’s ability to act in its law enforcement role. He observed that, in the role of national security, a path forward was the stationing of Coast Guard officers on US naval vessels to be able to bring authorized law enforcement to at sea encounters. It was insightful as it looked well “over the horizon.”
There are laws and precedence about declaring war, presidential authority to initiate armed conflict apart from Congressional action, and more. In the course of my lifetime we have moved from armed conflict between state actors (i.e. nations, including civil wars within nations) to armed conflict with non-state actors such as ISIS, Hezbollah, Abu Sayyaf, Tehrik-e-Taliban Pakistan and more. There are laws to designate such organizations as terrorist groups. This January President Trump designated several drug trafficking organizations as Foreign Terrorist Organizations (FTOs) and Specially Designated Global Terrorists (SDGTs), and has declared the U.S. to be in an “armed conflict” with them. The legality of such executive orders I leave to others eminently qualified and more knowledgeable than me. Even if one accepts such designations, operations in international waters is one question, and that is just the start of the list of questions.
In the conversations one thing keeps cropping up – a conflation of the Law of War and rules of engagement (RoE) for combat. Any veteran who served in the last 20-25 years can tell you they have operated under these guidelines. RoE outlines the specific conditions and circumstances under which military personnel are authorized to use force. These rules are not static and can change depending on the specific mission, location, and conflict, and can include guidelines on lethal and non-lethal force, geographic restrictions, and specific instructions such as “do not fire unless fired upon” directives. RoE are based on international laws, but are specific military directives – and are not independent of the Law of War but are based upon them. A RoE can never violate the Law of War to which the United States is a signatory. The primary international agreements determining the Law of War are the Geneva Conventions of 1949 and their Additional Protocols of 1977, which protect victims of conflict (wounded, POWs, civilians) and set rules for conduct, alongside earlier Hague Conventions of 1899 & 1907 that govern methods and means of warfare, forming a core body of treaties supplemented by customary law. The laws of war reflect the mandatory, minimum level of lawful conduct, and all combatants are legally obligated to obey them at all times and in all conflicts. “Following orders” is not a defense.
Those agreements are incorporated into the Department of Defense Law of War Manual. Let me quote two passages:
- “The requirement to refuse to comply with orders to commit law of war violations applies to orders to perform conduct that is clearly illegal or orders that the subordinate knows, in fact, are illegal. For example, orders to fire upon the shipwrecked would be clearly illegal.”
- “It is forbidden to declare that no quarter will be given.” A no quarter order is an order directing the warfighter to kill every combatant, including prisoners, the sick and the wounded. The DoD manual is specific, “Moreover, it is also prohibited to conduct hostilities on the basis that there shall be no survivors, or to threaten the adversary with the denial of quarter.”
What did the Secretary of Defense order/direct/make clear about the strikes in general? How was that understood and communicated down the chain of command to the Special Operations units that executed the kinetic strike against the boats, especially the September 2 engagement in which the initial strike severely damaged the vessel but there were at least two survivors who were clinging to the side of what was left of the vessel? Executive declarations and subsequent orders aside, the Law of War established the bottom line of conduct that may not be breached. Any order to violate those laws and to carry them out constitutes a violation of the Law of War and subjects those people to action under the Uniform Code of Military Justice (UCMJ).
The “bottom line”nature of the Law of War as implemented via international agreement and incorporated into the Department of Defense Law of War Manual is essential. Essential because no president or senior officer may abrogate the law or its intent because of what is at stake – the soul of the warfighter.
The laws of war are an effort to contain the brutality of combat and war. These limits make peace possible. Recently I produced a series of articles on the War in the Pacific. When one reads about Guadalcanal, Biak, Saipan, Pelilui, Manilla, Iwo Jima, and Okinawa one wonders how the war in the Pacific was so unrelentingly horrific and so different from the war in Europe (the Russian front aside). I would suggest that the Japanese military did not share a common value with the Allies that gave credence to anything remotely similar to the Law of War. Before WW2, the law of war was defined by the Hague Conventions and the 1929 Geneva Conventions on Prisoners of War. To be clear, Japan signed the 1929 POW convention but did not ratify it, though they pledged to follow rules. The history of the War in the Pacific and in Asia make clear that the Japanese army never made the slightest pretense of complying with the laws of war. Theirs was a checkered history of rescuing sailors from the ocean; some were simply shot. Of those rescued and those captured, the records were consistent. They tortured prisoners and used them as slave labor and for a few unlucky, performed biological experiments. Those responsible were subject to War Crime trails.
It is fair to say that the Allies operating in the Pacific and Asia were not free of violations. As the war trudged on and knowledge of Japanese crimes became known and circulated, incidents of fury and revenge happened. Added to this was the battlefield experience that the Japanese would not surrender. In the battles after Guadalcanal, less than 3% of Japanese garrisons were captured and most of those unwillingly. It was only because they were diseased, starving and left behind. The bushido of the Japanese army was that death was preferable to surrender. Slowly the object of war in the Pacific was changed from from victory to annihilation in the face of a defeated enemy who would not surrender.
The Laws of War also serve to help preserve a soldier’s soul. The foundational documents of our nation are based upon the idea of the dignity of the human person. Even more so the foundations of our Catholic faith which holds that human beings possess incalculable worth. It is a foundation that is deeply ingrained in an individual’s moral code.
If our warfighters are ordered to contradict this intrinsic value, we can inflict a profound moral injury on them. These are injuries that burden them, haunt their memories, and they may carry for a lifetime. Even when they follow the Law of War and RoE, they can be haunted by their own actions or inaction in something they witnessed and unable to stop. Armed conflict is something that might be necessary, but I would suggest the experience of it leaves an indelible mark on the spirit and soul. Moral injuries in combat are unavoidable even when following the RoE and Law of War. What is avoidable is the guilt of criminal conduct by deliberately killing the people we are charged to protect.
Be they drug smugglers or not, one should have compassion for the two men who clung to the side of their sinking vessel and faced the uncertainty of what was to be their fate. Their fate is known to God alone. But years from now, somewhere in the quiet of the night, a veteran will be haunted by the actions of that day.
The Law of War and RoE are in place to protect the soul of the warfighter as best as can be expected. They are in place to protect and defend the honor and integrity of the American military, one of the most-trusted institutions in the United States. They are in place to remind us who we are as a nation and who we are as people before God. For we are that and nothing more.
Still in Need of Conversion
In today’s reading from Isaiah, we hear a beautiful vision: “The deaf shall hear… the eyes of the blind shall see… the lowly will find joy in the Lord.” These words are full of hope, and we rightly cherish them during Advent. They promise renewal, justice, and a people restored to God. But if we read the whole chapter, Isaiah’s hope comes only after a very hard truth. Before the healing comes the diagnosis. Before the restoration comes the revelation of what is broken.
Isaiah speaks to a faithful remnant, people who want to follow God and so cling to the covenant. But he also tells them that they are still part of a larger community of people who have become blind, deaf, self-satisfied, unjust, and spiritually forgetful. It is a remarkable tension: Israel is both remnant and rebellious; faithful, yet deeply flawed; and chosen, yet still wandering.
That well describe many of us here in the first week of Advent
We are the faithful remnant. We are here at daily Mass listening to the Word of God. We pray. We serve. We try to love our families and neighbors. We want the Lord to come and find us ready.
But we are also the people Isaiah warns. We are not separate from the blindness and deafness he condemns; some of it lives quietly within us. We hear God’s Word, but we can be deaf to the parts that challenge our comfort. We see God’s blessings, but we can be blind to our own patterns of sin. We pray with our lips, yet our hearts drift into distraction, self-protection, or indifference. We want justice, but sometimes resist the personal conversion that justice requires. We admire God’s mercy, but can be slow to offer it to others.
Isaiah is not just speaking to the miscreants and wayward. He is speaking to all of God’s people, including those conscientiously trying to walk in faith. This is why the Church gives us Isaiah in Advent. Not to condemn, but to awaken. Not to shame, but to shake loose what has grown numb or complacent in us.
The good news is that God does not reveal our blindness to punish us. He reveals it to heal that blindness. Isaiah says: “Those who err in spirit shall acquire understanding, and those who find fault shall receive instruction.”
This is a promise directed not to strangers, but to us. If we admit what is not yet right in our hearts, God will teach us. If we bring Him the parts of us that resist Him, He will give understanding. If we acknowledge our spiritual deafness or blindness, He will open our ears and eyes.
Advent is only a few short weeks, but we can still name our blindness and deafness. And then ask God to show us how we might be part of the problem. We can examine our prayer life. Is it routine? How is our attitude? Are we becoming more jaded? Impatient? Uncharitable?
Advent is not only about waiting for Christ. It is about making room for Him and making room requires clearing away what blocks the door. But it is also remembering that all this is spoken with a hopeful message surrounding it all: God already sees the remnant in us. He can heal what we cannot. He can restore what looks worn out. He can remove what blinds us or renders us deaf.
Advent offers that grace now that we might be ready, not only as the faithful remnant who hope, but as the people who allow themselves to be ever changed and growing so that the promise of Isaiah will be fulfilled in us: “The lowly shall find joy in the Lord.”
Image credit: Prophet Isaiah, Mosaic, Right of Lunette, South Wall of Presbytery, Basilica of San Vitale | PD-US | Pexels
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