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by Ken Sehested
Mark 11:1-11

This week we come to the dramatic events of Lent’s finale. Holy Week. Jesus’ so-called triumphal entry into Jerusalem. In order to figure out where this parade is taking us, we need to remember some clues that have been given earlier in the story.

The first thing we need to remember is that the nativity stories of Jesus’ birth were not originally sung as lullabies. Rather, they were provocative hints at the political intrigue unfolding with the birth in Bethlehem.

How do we know that? Recall that at the time of Jesus’ birth the great Caesar Augustus ruled the known world from his throne in Rome. Many inscriptions describing Caesar’s divine status can still be found. On some of those artifacts you can read about the Caesar’s “gospel”—literally, euaggelia, the same root word in Greek we Christians use when we speak of evangelism. In Rome’s imperial world, “gospel” was the good news of Caesar’s having established “peace and security for the world.” Before Jesus, Caesar was described as “savior” who brought “salvation” to the world. Because of this, citizens were to have “faith” in their “lord” —the words “faith” and “Lord” are the same ones in the Jesus story. Elsewhere Caesar is referred to as “redeemer” who has “saved the world” from war and established “peace on the earth.”*

From this distance we may sing about the “holy infant, so tender and mild,” the original night of Jesus’ birth was anything calm and bright. It was an explosive season of plots and counter-plots and a fierce ideological struggle to decide who, really, was to be lord.

The second thing we need to remember is the season of Jesus’ final visit to Jerusalem was the fevered occasion of Passover. Passover was the story of the Hebrews escape from Egyptian bondage. It was like Memorial Day, July 4th and Thanksgiving all rolled up into one. And the fact that the Jews were again in bondage: Ruled by Roman might enforced by Roman legions right there in their own country.

Remember what the people shouted as this parade began: “Hosanna. Blessed is he who comes in the name of our Lord! Blessed be the kingdom of our father David! Hosanna.” These are shouts of thinly-veiled political subversion, with the memory of the great King David brought to bear against the reality of the great Caesar Augustus. And the word “Hosanna” isn’t a word of piety—it’s not like saying “O, thank-you Jesus!” The word means “come and liberate us!”

The third thing you need to remember is that a unique characteristic of Mark’s gospel is what scholars refer to as the “messianic secret.” Over and over in Mark’s account Jesus is forever shushing people—don’t go telling anyone about the miracles I’ve performed. He was, in effect, a marketer’s worst nightmare.

And the fourth thing you need to recall comes up ahead, at the ending of Mark’s Gospel. There are actually several ancient manuscripts that have very different endings. But most scholars agree that the oldest of these ends with this description of the three women who came to anoint Jesus’ dead body. After an unexpected conversation with an angel in Jesus’ tomb, they are told, the story says: “And they went out and fled from the tomb; for trembling and astonishment had come upon them; and they said nothing to any one, for they were afraid.” It is an abrupt closure to a brutal story of torture and a gruesome murder. The storyline simply collapses in fear and trembling.

There is a realism to this truncated account that is compelling, especially in the fairytale cult that dominates so much church life in our age. This truncated version of the resurrection story somehow more commonly captures much of our own lived experiences—standing at the precipice of despair, fleeing hearts filled with misgivings, minds racing to make sense of how such a promising future could end in such ruin. Is there no word to sustain the weary?

My most enduring Lenten memory dates back to 1991 during the first war in the Persian Gulf. There were honest reasons to believe that the resistance to going to the invasion against Saddam Hussein might stay the unleashing of the dogs of war. We were wrong, terribly wrong. And more than a few of us were afraid, very afraid, of what would happen. That’s when I decided to build on a project my organization was already sponsoring, a “Call to Prayer and Fasting,” urging people to pray daily and fast weekly to forestall the run-up to open warfare. I decided to fast for the entire season of Lent, living on bread and water, as a symbolic act of resistance.

By the way, that’s when my acquaintance with Joyce was forged into a friendship. Prior to a trip to Washington, DC, I called Joyce to ask if I could bunk at her place. That’s when I found out that she, too—without any knowledge of my commitment—had decided to engage in a liquids-only fast for Lent. While I was there, she tried to convince me that my fast would allow going out for pizza and beer because, hey, it’s only grain and water!

To end my fast on Easter morning I invited several friends to join me for a simple sunrise liturgy and communion service in a park adjacent to the Mississippi River in Memphis. We gathered in front of a monument to those who, in the 19th century, came to Memphis to care for the dead and dying caused by a yellow fever epidemic. Many who came were themselves infected and lost their lives.

I asked two young women in our congregation to serve communion. One of them was my daughter Jessica, and her best friend, Courtney Walsh. Both were 14 years old. Later that week I began of more things that needed to be said, especially to Jessica and Courtney, about the relationship between suffering and joy. And so I wrote an open letter: “Announcing Resurrection in a Violent World.” I’d like to read a few excerpts from that piece.

I have the clear sense that, despite your tender age, you intuitively understand the curious relation between suffering and joy, between despair and hopefulness. My reason for writing this letter is so that you may more fully comprehend this confusing, seemingly contradictory reality. For though we celebrate Easter's resurrection announcement, the stench of death is still in the air.

Even before our resurrection flowers have wilted, we will be confronted again with the presence of evil. In 1945, Dietrich Bonhoeffer, a German pastor, was executed two days after Easter Sunday by the Nazis for resisting their authority. This past week, April 4, is the anniversary of  Dr. King’s assassination right here in Memphis. And right now, half a world away, the terror of our country's military power is manifest in unspeakable devastation.

God may be in the heavens, but all is surely not right with the world. Jesus' defeat of the world's power of crucifixion didn't make things all right. You may ask, How honest is it for us to celebrate Easter's resurrection when so much blood continues to be shed? How can we proclaim Easter's promise in an increasingly violent world? Doesn't the world snicker at resurrection claims? In fact, doesn't most of the church secretly ignore this promise? . . .

By asking you to lead in our communion meal this morning, I am trying to tell you something very important, something which most of the Christian community in our culture has forgotten, something which many Christian leaders work hard to suppress. The disturbing message of the eucharistic meal is this:

There is no resurrection by proxy. {Vincent Harding}

There's an old French proverb that says: To love is to suffer. That's a good way to sum up the meaning of the Christian season of Lent. Most of our culture prefers to celebrate Valentine's Day [February 14 that year] rather than Ash Wednesday [February 13 that year]. Most people are repulsed by the thought of smudging ashes on the forehead in the shape of a cross. Most, even in the church, shy away from the mark of crucifixion. Instead of the body-broken, blood-spilt meal which Jesus offered, most prefer the empty calories of candy. Valentine candy is the Gospel of our culture. . . .

Your life in God's Spirit is actually the very reason you will know suffering, the reason you will know sadness and disappointment. Not that suffering is good. It most certainly is not, and you should never, ever seek it. But it will find you, simply because God is looking, through the eyes of your soul, at creation as it was intended from the beginning. And when you see what God intended, what is now visible brings great sadness. And this sadness will cause you to be near those who suffer, to experience their pain, to attempt to bring healing and hope. You can't bring healing and hope from a safe distance. You have to get up close, which inevitably will mean you will feel the pain yourself.

Nevertheless, rejoice! Rejoice, even in your suffering, for God is at work redeeming creation. Rejoice, even in your suffering, for you are one of God's instruments of redemption. Rejoice, even in your suffering, for redemption is not simply your personal possession, but is being extended—through you and other believers—across the whole world.

May you and I both continue to learn these things—and continue to teach these things to each other—all the days of our lives.

The reason the older ending to Mark’s gospel rings true is because you and I live constantly in the face of redemptive plans gone sour, hopes battered and bruised, splendid dreams which turn into nightmares, soothing visions that are scorched by the sun’s relentless glare.

Valued friends fail us, colleagues demean us, loved ones breath their last breath and our own bodies falter under the weight of our years. Often as not life comes at a terrible price to our hopes and dreams. Sometimes we spend more time picking up the pieces than forging into the future. Whatever happened to those sturdy professions of convictions?—convictions now gone soft and compromised and barely remembered.

My friend Kyle Childress tells about stopping at a small gas station along a U.S. highway through central Texas on his way to visit his parents. As he went inside to pay the cost he noticed a hand-written sign on the wall above the cash register. Here’s what it said:

“Dragons I have never met. Only spiders and gum on the bottom of my shoe. I could have handled dragons.”

One of the longer versions of the final chapter in Mark’s Gospel has this closing line: “And [the disciples] went forth and preached everywhere, while the Lord worked with them and confirmed the message by the signs that attended it.”

Now we head into Holy Week—while includes all the unholiness that marks our days no less than the disciples; with fear and trembling that break out in our lives no less than it did for Mary Magdalene and Mary the mother of Jesus and Salome, the original evangelists of the Gospel story who originally fled the resurrection scene because they were afraid.

There is no getting over our fears and our failures. To be conformed to the way of the cross means constantly stepping around spiders and cleaning gum off the bottoms of our shoes. There is no resurrection by proxy. Our courage is displayed not in denying these frailties but in facing them;
      •ever willing to be still again
      •to listen again for the word that sustains the weary;
      •to announce again that true and hearty word to all grown deaf with grief,

      •to sing again: “Silently now I wait for thee, Ready my God, thy will to see. Open my eyes, illumine me, Spirit divine!”

*See Richard A. Horsley, Jesus and Empire: The Kingdom of God and the New World Disorder, Minneapolis: Fortress, 2003, pp. 133-134 Press. And also John Dominic Crossan, God and Empire: Jesus Against Rome, Then and Now. HarperCollins Pub.: New York, 2007, pp. 28, 108, 117, 148, 204.

Circle of Mercy Congregation
Palm Sunday, 5 April 2009

©Ken Sehested @ prayerandpolitiks.org

 

Ken Sehested
Jeremiah 31:31-34
Circle of Mercy, 2 April 2006

        Friday’s Asheville Citizen-Times featured front-page story was about the first day of our new lottery. The story, titled “Let the Dreams Begin,” was dominated by a photo of the woman who won the area’s first prize. She shelled out $20 at the Hot Spot convenience store and gas station south of where Nancy and I live on Brevard Road. The fact that she only won $3 didn’t seem to dampen her enthusiasm. “This is the only way I’m ever going to be a millionaire,” she said. “I can work all my life, and it isn’t going to happen.” [Hold up paper with headline: “Let the Dreams Begin”]

        Meanwhile, the state of North Carolina raked in $10 million on the first day. Last year the voters were promised the money would supplement spending on education, that it would be added to the profits from thousands of bake sales and raffles and school-sponsored carnivals—and, of course, property taxes that support public education. It wasn’t until all the lottery machinery was in place that the governor announced: Oh, by the way, a full 35% of the profits would go to education. And . . . well . . . the richest school districts would be getting more than their proportionate amount because . . . well . . . those poor owners of expensive homes pay an awful lot of taxes.

        To my knowledge, no one is asking why public education is being held hostage to the lottery. Why not ask the Department of Transportation to rely on bake sales and lottery proceeds to cover the cost of widening I-240? Better yet, why not tie Ft. Bragg and Camp Lejeune’s budgets to lottery proceeds? Or the fund that subsidizes tax breaks for corporate relocation offers?

        It’s funny what goes through the mind when you’re doing pick and shovel work, which I’ve been doing a lot recently. I started a new job, digging a French drain and installing natural stone stairsteps up the slope in Mary Anne and Chris’s back yard. Then came the tricky part: trying to wrestle a rototiller up and down that steep slope to bust up the hardened clay and get it ready for planting a ground cover. After tipping over for the third time, and slicing my thumb, I finally decided it was more dangerous than daring. So I’ve gone to the old-fashioned method, back to the shovel: Spade touching earth, driven deep by force of the boot, driving the blade past the inch or so of fertile ground down through another 3-4 inches of clay and the occasional tree root. When the incision is sufficiently deep, bear down on the shovel handle to separate the sod from the slope; then lay it down, moving to the side another six inches and repeat the process, readying that compacted earth to receive fertilizer and seeds, so that those scrubby weeds and sparse grass will give way to more robust vegetation.

        By my rough calculation, there’s 880 square feet of slope to be tilled, which will require about 2,400 shovels-full of dirt. It’s a big job. How do you keep the mind occupied through such a task? For inspiration, I remember that one of our new folk, John Templeton, walked the entire Appalachian Trail, more than 2,100 miles and an estimated 5 million steps, between Springer Mountain in North Georgia to Katahdin in Maine. John describes the experience as a walking meditation. So I’ll think of this work as a shoveling meditation. And I’ll ponder our state’s new lottery, and what it is that makes people imagine becoming millionaires with the scratch of a coin, where the odds of winning are two-and-a-half million to one.

        Blade touching earth, driven deep by force of boot; then lift, move over 6 inches, and repeat.

        While I’m doing my tilling I’ll ponder other mysterious phenomenon. Like the doctrine of “full-spectrum dominance.” Have you heard that phrase? It was outlined in the Department of Defense’s blueprint for future military operations, issued in May 2000 under the title “Joint Vision 2020.”

        “The ultimate goal of our military force . . . will be achieved through full spectrum dominance—the ability of U.S. forces, operating unilaterally or in combination with multinational and interagency partners, to defeat any adversary and control any situation. . . . Given the global nature of our interests and obligations, the U.S. must maintain its overseas presence forces and the ability to rapidly project power worldwide in order to achieve full spectrum dominance.” (By the way, in case you lost count, the U.S. currently maintains 712 military bases outside our own borders. And our military spending now exceeds the combined military budgets of every nation on earth.)

        Blade touching earth, driven deep by force of boot; then lift, move over 6 inches, and repeat.

        Among my shoveling meditations is the statement made by George Kennan, one of our most respected foreign ambassadors of the 20th century who is credited with articulating the U.S. theory of “containment” of the Soviet Union. In 1948 he wrote this assessment:

        “We have about 50% of the world's wealth but only 6.3% of its population.  This disparity is particularly great as between ourselves and the peoples of Asia.  In this situation, we cannot fail to be the object of envy and resentment.  Our real task in the coming period is to devise a pattern of relationships which will permit us to maintain this position of disparity without positive detriment to our national security.  To do so we will have to dispense with all sentimentality and day-dreaming; and our attention will have to be concentrated everywhere on our immediate national objectives. . . . We should cease to talk about vague and unreal objectives such as human rights, the raising of living standards, and democratization. The day is not far off when we are going to have to deal in straight power concepts. The less we are then hampered by idealistic slogans, the better.”

        Blade touching earth, driven deep by force of boot; then lift, move over 6 inches, and repeat.

        The Kennan doctrine, and the “full-spectrum dominance” theory, is what led in September 2002 for the Bush Administration’s “National Security Strategy.” That document, just recently updated, provides for the first time in our nation’s history a justification for preemptive war. In other words, no longer does just war theory apply on when it is legally defensible to go to war. We now have in place, as national policy, the authorization to go to war at any time, against any nation, for reasons not open to discussion or debate.

        Blade touching earth, driven deep by force of boot; then lift, move over 6 inches, and repeat.

        Which reminds me of the comment made during a 2003 news conference, when an aide to Defense Secretary Rumsfeld responded to a reporters’ question about the sagging morale of U.S. troops in Iraq: "This is the future for the world we're in at the moment. We'll get better as we do it more often."

        Blade touching earth, driven deep by force of boot; then lift, move over 6 inches, and repeat.

        In my shovel-tilling meditation I’ll also be pondering texts like the one we focus on today, where Jeremiah relays the Divine promise that one day the law of love and life will not involve obedience to some exterior command but will in fact be inscribed on the heart of every individual.

        My whole life has been one long pondering of the space between text and context: looking to see what is happening in the world, then looking to see what is written in Scripture; and asking, What does one have to do with the other?

        Blade touching earth, driven deep by force of boot; then lift, move over 6 inches, and repeat.

        As a young adult, however, I began to sense that the text had little meaning in face of the context. What does the heart have to do with the array of power relations in the world? What does giving your heart to Jesus have to do with realities of war, of continuing racial disparity and economic injustice? Back when the airlines still had them, I used to intentionally book a seat back there in the smoking section, thinking there would be less chance that I would sit down next to someone who might ask me if I had been born again, if I had given my heart to Jesus!

        Why do we, right here in this Circle, spend so much time with this ancient, outdated, often hard-to-understand text? Who do we continue to gather around this Book when we could be out there cleaning up polluted rivers and tutoring disadvantaged children and  caring for homeless people; and resisting the School of the Americas or spending a lot of money making friends in Cuba or sending cards to people in prison?

        Why all this talk about spiritual formation, about “getting saved,” when the world is falling apart? Shouldn’t we dispense with all this sentimental talk about the heart and focus on straight power concepts?

        One of my favorite lines from contemporary music comes from the Greg Brown song sung by Dar Williams, Richard Shindell and Lucy Kaplansky: “Oh Lord, I’ve made you a place in my heart, and I hope now you leave it alone.” In most of what passes for spirituality in our time—whether it’s the old-fashioned type of piety or the newer-age variety—there is a radical disconnect between religion of the heart and life in the flesh. A lot of people—when they talk about “giving your heart to Jesus” —what they mean is having a religious experience tinged with certain kinds of emotion. Is that true? Let’s examine some key biblical images.

      The Bible has two different pivotal images or metaphors for material reality—what Kennan called “straight power concepts”: horses and houses.

      For ancient Israel, "horses" represented military might and prowess. One could even say that horses were as strategically important in ancient times as tanks were in World War II. Time after time Israel was seduced away from trust in Yahweh God to a national policy of "peace through strength." Listen to a few of the relevant texts:

      •Isaiah warns: "Woe to those who go down to Egypt for help and rely on horses, who trust in chariots because they are many, but do not look to the Holy One of Israel" (31:1).

      •The Psalmist cautions: "Some boast of chariots, and some of horses; but we boast of the name of the Lord our God" (20:7).

      •And again: "A King is not saved by his great army; a warrior is not delivered by his great strength. The war horse is a vain hope for victory, and by its great might it cannot save" (33:16-17).

      •Hosea gives this word from the Lord: "But I will have pity on the house of Judah, and I will deliver them by the Lord their God; I will not deliver them by bow, nor by sword, not by war, not by horses, not by horsemen" (1:7).

      It might be appropriate for us to paraphrase the text using terms more intelligible to modern ears: "I will not deliver them by Trident submarines, nor by Cruise or Pershing missiles, not by strategic defense initiatives or covert operations, not even by doctrines of full-spectrum dominance."

      Where "horses" for Israel represented military readiness, "houses" on the other hand was the metaphor for economic strength, for an expanding foreign market and international competitiveness, for increased productivity and consumer purchasing, and a larger Gross National Product. A few examples:

      •Isaiah pronounces this verdict: " the Lord looked for justice, but behold, bloodshed; for righteousness, but behold a cry! Woe to those who join house to house, who add field to field, until there is no more room, and you are made to dwell alone in the midst of the land" (5:7-8).

      •Amos makes this judgment: "Therefore because you trample upon the poor and take from them exactions of wheat, you have built houses of hewn stone, but you shall not dwell in them" (5:11).

      •Matthew's gospel notes: "Woe to you hypocrites! For you devour widows' houses and for a pretense you make long prayers; therefore you will receive the greater condemnation" (23:14).

      •The Acts of the Apostles tells this story: "There was not a needy person among them, for as many as were possessors of lands or houses sold them; and distribution was made to each as any had need" (4:34).

      And what about the heart? In modern times, the heart is a metaphor for human emotions, as in "I love you with all my heart," or "she has a broken heart," or "my heart was pounding when I heard the news." For us, the heart is the "romantic" organ and is the most fickle of human organs. It is thought of as the center of emotions, sentiments, feelings. It is often portrayed in shallow terms as if lacking substantial resolve or commitment, as when someone says, "Well, my heart's just not in it."

      In Hebrew thinking, however, the heart was the center of decision-making, the place where every individual factor—rationality, emotions, intuition, social tradition, etc.—flowed together. The heart was the Supreme Court, if you will, adjudicating the various claims of each of the separate factors and handing down a final, irrevocable decision. The heart represented the deepest level of a human personality, representing the true picture of the person. The Latin word credo, from which we get the word "creed," comes from two words which together mean "I give my heart to." Listen to these texts:

      •Ezekiel gives voice to God's word: "And I will give them one heart, and put a new spirit within them; I will take the stony heart out of their flesh and give them a heart of flesh, that they may walk in my statutes and keep my ordinances" (11:19-20).

      •The Psalmist sings: "It is well with those who deal generously and lend, who conduct their affairs with justice. They are not afraid of evil tidings; their hearts are firm, trusting in the Lord. Their hearts are steady, they will not be afraid" (112:5-9).

      •Jeremiah predicts: "Behold the days are coming, says the Lord, when I will make a new covenant with the house of Israel and the house of Judah, not like the covenant which I made with their ancestors when I took them by the hand to bring them out of the land of Egypt.…I will put my law within them, and I will write it upon their hearts" (31:31-34).

      •In Matthew, Jesus makes these striking claims: "Where your treasure is, there will your heart be also" (6:21).

      •From the Acts of the Apostles: "Now the company of those who believed were of one heart and soul, and no one said that any of the things which they possessed were their own, but they had everything in common" (4:32).

      The point of comparing these three biblical metaphors is to illustrate the fact that decisions about horses and houses are made in the human heart. The Reign of God is rightly said to be about human hearts, because it is in the human heart that choices are made about ultimate trust and security. Such decisions are not merely social or political decisions. They are, at bottom, spiritual decisions. In biblical terms, therefore, giving one's "heart" to Jesus is in fact the most subversive, world-threatening thing that can happen to a person.

      We do a lot of very important things in this community of faith. A few of them are ambitious, even controversial: like starting a partnership with a church in Cuba; like supporting Linda as she undertook her resistance that will land her in jail in a couple weeks; like working with other congregations in Asheville to overcome racial and economic disparity.

      Many of the important things we do are much more modest: like celebrating St. Nicholas Day to provide our children with a different image of Jesus’ birthday; or raising funds to support the work of Helpmate in their struggle against domestic violence; or volunteering with Room in the Inn to provide shelter for homeless women—just to name a few.

      But none is more important than the heart question. None is more important that the constant forming and reforming of our vision.

      Week in, week out, blade touching earth, driven deep by force of boot; then lift, move over 6 inches, and repeat.

      [Hold up newspaper with “Let the dreams begin” headline]

      Sisters and brothers, this is not a dream. This is a fantasy. The real dream—the dream that has the power to confront and transform all our broken places—begins here, in this Circle, around this table.

©Ken Sehested @ prayerandpolitiks.org

by Ken Sehested

 

A few weeks ago, Senator Richard Burr [R-NC] took over as Chair of the US Senate Intelligence Committee, whose responsibility is to oversee the Central Intelligence Agency. But already we are troubled by his actions in that job.

Mr. Burr stepped into this role at a critical time: A little more than a month ago, the Committee released a 500-page summary of its “Torture Report,” publicly documenting the inefficacy and brutality of the CIA’s torture program. The full report, which totals some 6,900 pages, remains secret.

In this program, the CIA waterboarded detainees until they convulsed and vomited.  The agency conducted “rectal feedings” of prisoners. In one case, the CIA imprisoned a mentally challenged individual and taped his crying for the sole purpose of coercing a relative to provide information. Another detainee was left partly naked and chained to a concrete floor until he died of hypothermia. The CIA even threatened to sexually abuse detainees’ family members.

Since the Torture Report was released, CIA Director John Brennan has admitted the CIA does not know whether torture produced useful intelligence. According to the chief of one of the CIA’s secret prisons, managers selected “problem, underperforming officers, new, totally inexperienced officers, or whoever seems to be willing and able to deploy at a given time” for the torture program. This casualness resulted in “the production of mediocre or, I dare say, useless intelligence. . . .”

These are clear signs of an agency gone astray. It has never been more obvious that the CIA needs real oversight to ensure that it complies with our laws and with basic moral decency. In his new role, Mr. Burr serves as the CIA’s chief overseer. He bears the moral responsibility for ensuring the CIA does not torture again.

Unfortunately, recent reports suggest Mr. Burr has abdicated his responsibility almost before it began. The Senator has already written to the Administration asking that it return all copies of the full Torture Report to him. He has not said whether this is because he opposes our government learning from its past mistakes or because he is afraid that the full report might some day be declassified—allowing the public to read the full story about the CIA’s use of torture. Either way, the effect of this request is to help the CIA whitewash history.

Worse, Mr. Burr has suggested he is likely to return the Committee’s copy of the “Panetta review” to the CIA. This document is the CIA’s own internal review of its torture program. Although it is classified, it reportedly confirms the findings of the Torture Report—namely, that torture didn’t work and was incredibly brutal, and that the CIA misled the rest of the government about the extent and efficacy of the torture program. Most importantly, the Panetta review is said to contradict the CIA’s public response to the Torture Report.

Given the critical importance of the Panetta review, it seems clear that it should be made public, rather than returned to the CIA (which has a history of destroying evidence related to torture, for example, violating a court order to destroy videotapes of torture sessions before they could be seen by the courts or by Congress). Instead, though, Mr. Burr wants to hand the Panetta review back to the Agency—likely so that it too can be destroyed.

Over the past 15 years the aphorism “freedom is not free” has become a popular patriotic refrain. But we forget that, in 1953, Army Chief of Staff General Matthew Ridgeway used the phrase to identify the difference between those who torture their captives and those who, like us, believe the disavowal of torture is among the “self-evident truths” dating from our Republic’s founding. The “cost” of freedom entails moral accountability.

If we aspire to be a truly exceptional nation, we must be willing to face up to unsavory episodes in our history—to repent of (turn from) wrongdoing and repair torn social fabric. As people of faith we join the National Religious Campaign Against Torture and others in calling for an end to secret prisons designed to mask the stench of torture and subsequent cover up.

Senator Burr is uniquely situated to influence a restoration of our national moral compass in this regard. Urge him to take the lead.

Originally published as an op-ed in the Asheville Citizen-Times

©Ken Sehested @ prayerandpolitiks.org