Dear Friends: During WW II, on February 14, 1945, I walked with my childhood friend from our school in Prague and he invited me to go to his house to play. For some reason, I decided rather to go home. When I came to the door of our apartment, suddenly an explosion occurred on the street I had been walking on just one or two minutes earlier.
Choose life: It’s a good rule of thumb. But the life I have inherited is one that’s built on killing. While I’m safely minding my own business (in a wealthy suburb in the richest nation that’s ever existed), killing and the threat of killing are adding to the wealth of the nation I live in.
And what is history but Stones by boys on fathers’ Ponds, beyond the lily pads Where sit the frogs of conscious Evolution . . . So wars evolve of themselves! While fathers get lost in their Competition, vengeance and Fictional futures of old Realities . . . Father God, for your sake, Please! Awaken Sophia’s Heart’s
My paternal grandfather was a stern, strait-laced Ohio Quaker. My father, his eldest son, lived out most of those values in his own life, including the traditional Quaker repudiation of armed conflict. Yet at the outset of WWII, the youngest son of the family – my Uncle Clinton – chose to join the Army. My father evidently tried to dissuade his younger brother from joining the Army.
I found myself in the south of England recently for work. Saturday night, I learned with both amusement and envy that within a half hour’s drive of my hotel, there were four Quaker meetings to choose from. Of the closest, I picked the one that I thought would be smaller, more of a country meeting.