u/Companero_basurero

In 1981, Rev. Josef Jaschik SVD was my professor in German on the one semester in college that I decided to take it as an elective. Since this was at a Catholic university, we were expected to say a prayer at the start of each class meeting. He wisely decided not to teach us the Lord's Prayer (which would have been too long to memorize in a reasonable period of time). Instead, he settled on this short, heartfelt plea from the book of Jeremiah, the only lesson that I still remember today from that long-ago class:

"Du aber Herr, bist in unserer Mitte, und Dein heiliger Name ist angerufen über uns. Verlass uns nicht, Herr unser Gott. Amen."

"But You, O Lord, are in our midst, and Your holy name is invoked upon us. Forsake us not, O Lord our God. Amen."

Ruhe in Frieden, Pater Jaschik.

I heard mine about 42 years ago in the country of my birth. The priest was talking about forgiveness on that day. This is (more or less) what he told the congregation:

"My brother was a guerrilla fighter in WW2. He was betrayed to the enemy, picked up for questioning, severely tortured and later died at home. Toward the end of the war, I learned who had betrayed him. It was actually somebody we knew. I went to his house with my brother's pistol. When the guy saw me coming, he sank to his knees and begged for his life, saying that he only betrayed my brother to put food on the table for his starving family. Somehow, I couldn't bring myself to pull the trigger. After several minutes, I turned on my heels and walked away."

"I entered the seminary shortly after that. I really thought that episode was behind me. But one day, while reflecting on what Jesus told his disciples about forgiveness, it occurred to me that it was not enough for me to have spared the life of my brother's betrayer -- because I still hated him deeply. I then resolved to forgive him, but it was easier said than done. Some days, when I was feeling good, a wave of compassion would wash over me and I would tell myself confidently that I had finally forgiven him. On other days, I wouldn't be so generous. But gradually and with the help of prayer, the 'good days' came to outnumber the 'bad days'. I hope that my last day on earth will be a good one."

I just found out that the priest lived to be almost 100, dying only a few years ago. I pray that he died on one of his good days. Thank you, Fr. Gerry, for teaching us that forgiveness. like healing, is a process -- and not necessarily a linear one at that.

I had one semester of German in college exactly 45 years ago. Practically the only thing I remember now is the before-class prayer that we all had to recite. (This was at a Catholic university in Asia.) Please tell me if my memory of what Pater Jaschik (RIP) taught us is accurate:

Du aber Herr, bist in unserer Mitte, und Dein heiliger Name ist angerufen über uns. Verlassen uns nicht, Herr unser Gott. Amen.

Can a fairly well-informed Catholic conclude that the US-initiated war in Iran is a just one, especially when judged according to the norms of the Church's just-war doctrine? To me, it clearly fails to meet the high bars of (a) JUST CAUSE and (b) LAST RESORT -- two of the stoutest pillars of this doctrine, which originated many centuries ago with the writings of Sts. Augustine of Hippo and Thomas Aquinas. For reference, the relevant questions to ask here are as follows: (a) Is the threat real, imminent *and* grave, rather than merely speculative? (b) Have diplomacy, economic sanctions, and international arbitration been fully exhausted?

In regard to (a), please note that "just cause" is synonymous with "a defense against imminent (i.e., clear and present) and grave aggression", and as such, does not allow the neutralization of *future* threats as a substitute -- which is precisely the main justification used by the Trump administration.

The failure to meet the imperative of (b) is even more stark: it's a well-established fact that Israel and the US launched their first strikes while negotiations with Iran in Oman were ongoing. In fact, the Omani mediators had reported just the day before that significant progress was being made in the talks.

I find it both vexing and perplexing that in spite of Pope Leo's strong and frequent denunciations of war as an instrument of national policy, a significant minority of US Catholics still support this war. Perhaps many of these war supporters have convinced themselves that decisions to wage war are purely political in nature and, therefore, should not be subject to any moral analysis in the first place. If so, that would be a very poor reflection indeed on Catholic formation and education in the US, because war *IS* a moral issue since it directly impacts human life and dignity.

Thoughts from fellow Redditors? I would especially love to hear from US Catholics who maintain that the war is just, even when viewed through the lens of the two criteria I mentioned in the first paragraph.

I was able to set the 23rd Psalm to the melody of "The Cruel War" (as sung by Peter, Paul and Mary). At my Catholic high school about half a century ago, we sang a different version at Mass - but also to the same tune. I only remember bits and pieces of that version, so I decided to come up with my own musical paraphrase, keeping to a self-imposed requirement of six syllables per line. Hope you like it. Comments and suggestions are welcome.

The Lord is my Shepherd

And nothing shall I want

He makes me to lie down

In pastures fair and green.

Beside the still waters

He gently leads me on

He restores my worn soul

He rights my wand'ring path.

Though I walk in darkness

No evil will I fear

You are near, rod and staff

To protect and guide me.

My head is anointed

My cup runs over full

You prepare my table

In sight of all my foes.

Your goodness and mercy

Shall always follow me

I will dwell in Your house

Forever and ever.

Since the war with Iran started, I've come across many posts on social media denouncing the “evils of Islam” and portraying Muslims as people with distinctly different values from ours – values that are inimical to the founding principles of our country. In this post, I will not try to defend Islam or argue about whether Muslims are a peaceable people. Rather, I just want to show where these denunciations and negative portrayals can lead to. What follows is a true story my mother told me many years ago that took place in wartime Philippines:

One day, shortly after the surrender of the US forces to the Japanese army, my uncle, then in his early teens, was gathering coconuts by himself several kilometers away from home on the island of Negros in central Philippines. Upon hearing a sudden commotion, he clambered up a coconut tree to see what was going on around him. He saw two groups of people arguing with each other: a band of armed guerrillas (part of the anti-Japanese resistance) and a smaller group of unarmed Muslim traders who had just arrived in their sailboats from Mindanao, the main island in southern Philippines and home to most Moros (Filipino Muslims).

The guerrillas were accusing the traders of collaborating with the Japanese by supplying them with information about the movements of the guerrilla forces on the island. The traders vehemently denied this and asked them for proof of this accusation. In reply, the guerrillas basically said that “everyone knows that all Moros are traitors.” With no hesitation, they decided to execute all the traders – in the most gruesome way possible.

My uncle averted his eyes but he couldn't help hearing the pleas and the cries of the traders as they were being executed. He was so terrified he could not bring himself to come down from the tree afterward. When my worried grandfather and a group of helpful neighbors finally found him after sunset, he was still clinging to the tree for dear life. On the following day, he was finally able to give a coherent account of what he had witnessed.

Here's the bottom line: the guerrillas knew they had no definitive proof of collaboration with the enemy on the part of these traders. But for centuries, their people had been perceived as the “others”: they had blackened teeth (from chewing on betel nuts), they spoke the local language with a heavy accent, they wore different clothing, and above all, * they worshiped a different God *. It probably also didn't help that during the Spanish colonial era, Moro pirates would periodically raid sparsely populated towns in central Philippines. So, in the eyes of the guerrillas, the traders had to be killed.

Acts of violence such as the one witnessed by my uncle are an unfortunate consequence of our deeply rooted biases and prejudices against others. I think Pope Leo was absolutely right when he said last year that peace among nations begins with a daily examination of our interactions with each other on a personal level – how we look at, listen to, and speak about other people, especially those who look, think, love or worship differently from us.

Since the war with Iran started, I've come across many posts on social media denouncing the “evils of Islam” and portraying Muslims as people with distinctly different values from ours – values that are inimical to the founding principles of our country. In this post, I will not try to defend Islam or argue about whether Muslims are a peaceable people. Rather, I just want to show where these denunciations and negative portrayals can lead to. What follows is a true story my mother told me many years ago that took place in wartime Philippines:

One day, shortly after the surrender of the US forces to the Japanese army, my uncle, then in his early teens, was gathering coconuts by himself several kilometers away from home on the island of Negros in central Philippines. Upon hearing a sudden commotion, he clambered up a coconut tree to see what was going on around him. He saw two groups of people arguing with each other: a band of armed guerrillas (part of the anti-Japanese resistance) and a smaller group of unarmed Muslim traders who had just arrived in their sailboats from Mindanao, the main island in southern Philippines and home to most Moros (Filipino Muslims).

The guerrillas were accusing the traders of collaborating with the Japanese by supplying them with information about the movements of the guerrilla forces on the island. The traders vehemently denied this and asked them for proof of this accusation. In reply, the guerrillas basically said that “everyone knows that all Moros are traitors.” With no hesitation, they decided to execute all the traders – in the most gruesome way possible.

My uncle averted his eyes but he couldn't help hearing the pleas and the cries of the traders as they were being executed. He was so terrified he could not bring himself to come down from the tree afterward. When my worried grandfather and a group of helpful neighbors finally found him after sunset, he was still clinging to the tree for dear life. On the following day, he was finally able to give a coherent account of what he had witnessed.

Here's the bottom line: the guerrillas knew they had no definitive proof of collaboration with the enemy on the part of these traders. But for centuries, their people had been perceived as the “others”: they had blackened teeth (from chewing on betel nuts), they spoke the local language with a heavy accent, they wore different clothing, and above all, * they worshiped a different God *. It probably also didn't help that during the Spanish colonial era, Moro pirates would periodically raid sparsely populated towns in central Philippines. So, in the eyes of the guerrillas, the traders had to be killed.

Acts of violence such as the one witnessed by my uncle are an unfortunate consequence of our deeply rooted biases and prejudices against others. I think Pope Leo was absolutely right when he said last year that peace among nations begins with a daily examination of our interactions with each other on a personal level – how we look at, listen to, and speak about other people, especially those who look, think, love or worship differently from us.