Chapter 1. Walking on dry ground. It seemed like an eternity. Slowly walking up the stairs, I felt like every step took a lifetime. While looking down to see if my camouflage uniform was pressed, my boots polished, and my buttons straight, I was rehearsing in my mind how in the world I was going to do this. What was I going to say? What was going to happen to us? Would he yell at us? Would we go to jail? There were so many unknowns.
I was tempted to fear, but my mind went to the biblical account of Israel at the Jordan River, how the waters did not recede until the feet of the Levites actually touched its banks. It was amazing. The closer I came to the door of our commander's office, the more my fears parted, and I was able to walk in on God's grace as on dry ground. Just moments before we headed up the stairs, we had slipped away into a somewhat remote room to pray.
We begged God for the grace and strength to walk in the light we had received. Getting up to our feet, we felt the empowerment of the Holy Spirit to go forward in confidence. Our army building was an old Nazi dancehall and brothel from the 1930s. For years, I had hurried around this odd museum-like building without a thought.
But now, slowly going up the stairs, I noticed the strata of chipped paint, the sounds of creaking wood, and the peculiarly noisy clumping of leather boots as I led our small band of pilgrims up to face our commander. I was trembling, but God's grace was sufficient, and His Spirit quickened me. Grabbing a person to serve as a witness on the way, in one breath I forced a deep sigh, prayed a million prayers all at once, and then knocked on the commander's door.
As Chief granted us permission to enter, we proceeded in file, stood at attention, and saluted. I then laid the packet containing the army regulations on his desk. "We are here to present our request for conscientious objector discharge, sir." Silence. Our commander was a very curious man. Tall and lanky, he was usually very serious. He carried himself in a dignified way that seemed to command respect.
Occasionally, you might get a dry joke out of him as he puffed from his pipe, but it seemed he was always in deep thoughts, forever gazing out somewhere just beyond the scope of congeniality and interpersonal connection. Certainly now, as we stood before him, there was no sign of levity or personal warmth. Handing the thick packet of mimeographed army papers to him and trying to sound as confident as I could, I said, "Sir, you have before you Army Regulation 600-43.
It deals with the rules and regulations that order the entire process for a soldier requesting conscientious objector discharge." Big silence as he slowly flipped through the record. I've never been good with silence. Instead of savoring the seriousness of the moment, I often say something I probably shouldn't say, simply out of nervousness. This moment was no exception. Nervously, I blurted out, "Sir, I'm sorry if this is a shock to you.
We don't mean to disgrace you or the unit, but we feel this is something we must do." Still nothing, just quiet. He was still looking down, casually thumbing through the pages. During the next few moments, I literally felt I might explode. My mind was racing. I wondered, "What will he say next? What can he say?" Hardly looking up, he finally mumbled, "Okay, we will be sure to expedite this process as much as possible.
You're dismissed." As easy as that, we were headed back downstairs, wondering what was going to happen to us now. Returning to our unit, I felt an uneasy, sobering aura. It was a combination of the startling sensations of temporary normalcy and familiarity mixed with the obvious deduction that my life was never going to be the same again. Without a doubt, it was the start of a long process that would forever change the course of my life.
Actually, these changes all had begun about a year earlier, when God had started working powerfully on my heart. My wife, Tanya, and I were professional musicians in an army band in Europe. Among other things, we were assigned to a rock band stationed in Germany. It was an unusual job. We would play concerts in officers' clubs, beer tents, music halls, and various military installations across Europe. However, when we were serving back at our home base in Germany, my other job was serving as a unit armorer.
This meant that I was in charge of the maintenance and distribution of the M16 machine guns, M203 grenade launchers, and various other weapons assigned to the soldiers of our unit. As far as army assignments go, we had an exceptionally good one. We traveled all over Europe, and on occasion, we even played concerts for presidents and other dignitaries. We felt pretty strongly that we both would make a career of the army band. But that was before God intervened in our lives.
The changes really all began when my wife and I moved into the little village of Hochspeyer, just outside Kaiserslautern, Germany. By the providential hand of God, our house was situated deep in a valley not accessible to television reception. With this menacing distraction out of the way, we started to read the Bible together and had meaningful talks every night. During that time, God began to illuminate our minds, and subsequently, our lives began to change.
Through the Holy Spirit, God began to reveal many areas in our lives that were contrary to His Word. This awakening was profoundly specific and very sincere. It revealed to us that we were sinners, far from the heart of God. Although we both thought we had known the Lord at one time, the Lord was making it clear to us just where we were spiritually, and it wasn't good. We were living a dangerous double life, caring little for the things of God. The rock band lifestyle was affecting all areas of our lives.
For a while, I tried to appease my conscience by telling the guys in the band that I would not sing certain songs if they had obvious satanic or indecent lyrics. We had professed to be Christians for quite some time, so these types of compromises had become pretty commonplace, and they somehow made us feel better, for a while anyway. Eventually, it became obvious to both of us that something had to change. God was at work in our lives.
The conviction of the Holy Spirit led us to a point of decision, and we both knew we could no longer go on as we had. Finally, one night in a hotel room while on tour in North Germany, we fell to our knees and totally surrendered our lives to Jesus Christ. As we rose to our feet, we both felt a firm resolve to live a life fully resigned to Christ from here on out, with no compromise. That became somewhat of a banner to us: no compromise. It has always been a challenge to keep this resolve. Tanya.
I met my wife in high school. In so many ways, we grew up together. We were both musicians. Myself, a 6-foot-3-inch sloppy, disorganized young man, and she, a 5-foot-2-inches, barely 98 pounds, and neat as a pin. We were opposites in many ways. However, early on in our relationship, it became obvious that we were made for each other for the divine purpose of completing one another. Through the years, our love for each other has continued to grow.
She is not only my wife; she is my spiritual companion, my confidant, and my best friend. When these big changes started to happen to us in Germany, we had been married only a few years. Those early years of our marriage were years of deep introspection and intense challenges. In retrospect, it is clear that God specifically designed those years to shape us for His future use. How I thank God for my wife, my faithful companion through the years.
After we surrendered ourselves to Christ, one of the first areas in which we both felt God's specific leading concerned the nature of some of the music we were performing. Our army rock band had regularly played in clubs and beer tents, all naturally bad environments. Eventually, we had even started to take jobs after hours at private bars and parties. It didn't take long for us to realize that we could no longer continue in these ungodly practices.
We marveled at how God's grace abounded, and we were able to leave this lifestyle behind with little effort. Fortunately, there were always plenty of people in line wanting to get into this assignment, so this was one more wide-open door to walk through. Step by step, we walked in the light God was giving us. Incredibly, leaving the rock culture was an easy door for us, but there would be harder challenges ahead. The big one.
As our nights of Bible reading continued, it was not long until we made our way to the Sermon on the Mount. When I read Jesus' words about loving our enemies, I did not know what to think. I can still vividly remember leaning over on my lopsided arm pillow and reading it out loud to Tanya. "Listen to this one," I said. "You have heard that it was said, 'An eye for an eye and a tooth for a tooth.' But I tell you not to resist an evil person. But whoever slaps you on your right cheek, turn the other to him also.
If anyone wants to sue you and take away your tunic, let him have your cloak also. And whoever compels you to go one mile, go with him two. Give to him who asks you, and from him who wants to borrow from you, do not turn away. You have heard that it was said, 'You shall love your neighbor and hate your enemy.' But I say to you, love your enemies, bless those who curse you, do good to those who hate you, and pray for those who spitefully use you and persecute you, that you may be sons of your Father in heaven.
For He makes His sun rise on the evil and on the good, and sends rain on the just and on the unjust. For if you love those who love you, what reward have you? Do not even the tax collectors do the same. And if you greet your brethren only, what do you do more than others? Do not even the tax collectors do so. Therefore, you shall be perfect, just as your Father in heaven is perfect." Matthew 5:38-48.
After reading it, I looked at Tanya and said, "So what are we supposed to do with that?" "Well, it sounds pretty clear, doesn't it?" she calmly answered. "Yes, but we're in the army." I began to ponder this passage seriously and pray. I evaded the question for a little while by reasoning that the theologians must have a very good explanation for this one. Surely, it had to mean more than what it literally said.
I started to gather books in hopes that I would soon find a good biblical defense for just war and the role of a Christian in the military. I was sure such books would be easy to find. After all, the Church had always believed in the idea of a just war, or at least that's what I thought. Many hours of my childhood were spent hearing heroic stories of brave men gallantly defending what were portrayed as just causes. It all seemed so right. I could hardly imagine thinking any other way. Childhood.
Growing up, I was raised with a deep sense of patriotism. My earliest memories include family vacations to Confederate battlegrounds, battleships, and other such nationally venerable sites. I immensely enjoyed these excursions, and I remember feeling very proud of my American heritage. To consider another way of thinking on an issue such as war seemed more than just unpatriotic; it almost seemed sacrilegious. When I joined the army, I did it proudly.
Serving my country was more than a service to me; it was a privilege. My father is more Southern than Robert E. Lee and more Texan than Blue Bonnets. Patriotism, responsibility, and duty would define much of what motivates him. Without a doubt, small-town Texas runs through every vein in his body. I can still remember the time we visited the Alamo when I was about seven years old. We talked about it for months.
Getting ready for the trip, I ran around the house pretending to shoot every potential Guadalupe invader I could imagine. Once we finally arrived in San Antonio, I could hardly contain myself. Close to the Holy Land, we even stayed in the nearby Davy Crockett Motel. That first morning, I was more raring to go than a new colt. On the walk to the Alamo the next morning, I tripped on a piece of uneven sidewalk and fell, cutting a deep gash on my chest, just a little below my right collarbone.
I laid there crying, and my father picked me up. He doctored my wound and said, imitating a tone of valor, "Well, son, now you can say that you have a scar from the Alamo." It's all kind of funny to me now, but I still have that scar, and every time I see it, I remember that day. After making it inside the entrance of the main building, my father stopped us and directed our attention to some kind of big plaque in the floor.
The best I can remember, the floor was a beige-yellowish limestone, more resembling a castle to me than what I would have imagined for a fort or mission. As tourists were shuffling in and weaving around us, we just stood there, staring down at this plaque. Then, looking up with a grin, my father challenged us, pointing to the floor. "You know what that is?" "No," I replied.
I thought to myself, "How should I know?" Then, lifting his chin high and imitating a soldier coming to attention, my father said, "This is where Davy Crockett died. He was killed right here, on this spot." Wow! My brother and I were both beyond impressed. If there was one man in history I knew all about, it was Davy Crockett. I had an old plastic record player at home that played those small 45s. My favorite record happened to be The Ballad of Davy Crockett.
That Davy Crockett record had more scratches on it than a chicken house floor, but I still managed to play it over and over and over again. Looking back, I now realize how that record must have driven my parents crazy. Topping off the tour was the emblematic and venerable tale of the 26-year-old Colonel William Travis, who was a commander of the Army of the Republic of Texas. It was the account of his famous line in the sand.
As the story goes, when it was realized that saving the Alamo was impossible, Colonel Travis called the remaining soldiers together and offered them a sobering choice. Bravely addressing the soldiers, Colonel Travis entreated, "We must die.
However, our business is not to make a fruitless effort to save our lives, but to choose the manner of our death." He gave the men three choices: give up and risk shame and execution, try to fight their way out, remain in the fort, resist every assault, and sell their lives as dearly as possible.
Then, with all the honor and gallantry of a knight from King Arthur's court, Travis slowly drew a line in the sand, crossed over the line himself, and said, "Those prepared to give their lives in freedom's cause, come over to me." Quickly, a young man, Tapley Holland, was the first to move. He jumped over the line and cheered, "I am ready to die for my country." Co-commander Jim Bowie, who was injured and confined to his cot, entreated his men to carry him over the line so he could offer his life as well.
All but two men crossed the line in that fateful moment. All died the next day. Stories like that make an impact on a young boy. They certainly made an impact on me. As I gazed up at my father, standing there like a corporal in the Foreign Legion, I realized that, although by his posture he was just in a bit, inside he was very serious. This meant something to him. Later we learned in the guided tour that when William Travis had written letters requesting help, he had valiantly signed his letters: "God and Texas.
Victory or Death." These were the axioms of my childhood. Trip back home to Texas from Germany. For Christmas 1990, we flew home to Fort Worth, Texas, to visit family and friends. During this time, I discussed some of these issues with my parents and a minister with whom I had grown up. My father took it very hard. Two times in my life, I had seen my father cry. The first time was when his father died. I was seven years old at the time.
The second time was the night I told him I was considering a discharge from the U.S. Army as a conscientious objector. He was sure that I was ruining my life. Tanya's family took it hard as well. Her father, Blaise Bokros, also had a deeply ingrained sense of patriotism. At the age of 19, eluding gunfire, landmines, and checkpoints, he made his escape from Hungary to the United States during the Hungarian Uprising of 1956.
As a child, he had witnessed both his father and grandfather being carried off to concentration camps. He naturally carried a great dislike for the abuses of communism and Nazism, and he greatly appreciated what he found in America. When we talked to him, he sometimes seemed to recall childhood memories of the atrocities of warfare. At times, he even seemed to agree with us that war was wrong. He often expressed his frustration over the horrors of war and how devastating it is to the victims it claims.
One time, when we finally got him talking, he related one of those wartime stories. He told us that the war years were very hard on his family. When his father was taken away to a concentration camp, life became almost impossible for his mother and his two other small siblings. They had to scrounge around for everything. Eventually, even their little farmhouse was destroyed, and the family was forced to move in with his grandmother. He said that in some ways, this wasn't so bad at first.
Apparently, his grandmother's house was one of the biggest houses in the little farm town of Genghis Fatah. The only problem was that its size, unfortunately, also made it the perfect command post for the occupying German army. Shortly after Blaise and his family moved in, the Germans took the house over as a command post and communications center for that whole region. He said that, all things considered, these German soldiers actually were very kind to him and his family.
Only about five or six years old at the time, Blaise actually was quite amused as he walked around and stared at all the new household additions: radios in five or six windows, wires running everywhere, a huge anti-aircraft cannon on the right side of the front yard, and his favorite addition, a long, shiny black convertible car for the commander, complete with little flags parked right outside on the front lawn.
He tried to touch it once or twice, earning a chastening, "Halt, nicht berühren!" He couldn't speak German, but figured this certainly must mean he couldn't just jump right in and try his hand at the wheel. He actually enjoyed those days, but he told us that they were to meet a sudden end. I could see a change in his face. An intensifying, sobering distance came over him as he told us of his last day in that house.
He said that one day, while he was out in the front yard playing near the anti-aircraft cannon, he looked up and saw a plane high up in the sky. It flew over the house, came back, circled the house again, then flew away. It meant nothing to him at first, but then, suddenly, he noticed that all the German soldiers went into a panic. Alarms blaring, men screaming, it seemed they all knew something awful was about to happen.
As his mother and sisters and grandmother were quickly tucked away into the safety of a bomb shelter, young Blaise thoughtlessly wandered about, hoping to get a better view of the cannon that was now in motion. All the popping, clicking, and swinging into full action was simply more than he could resist. "Achtung!" A German soldier noticed him under the cannon.
Screaming, the soldier grabbed him quite forcefully by the arm, nearly dislocating his right shoulder, and quickly threw him into the bomb shelter with the rest of his family. Almost immediately, I heard a sound like the world was exploding, he said. Looking deep into his eyes, I wondered whether if I looked deeply enough, I just might be able to see what he was seeing right then in his mind. Timidly, I asked, "So then what happened?" "I came out, and my whole world was gone.
The house was completely destroyed." "You remember that cannon?" he asked. "It was blown completely to the other side of the street." "What about the car?" I asked. "Oh, the car. I'll never forget that car. It was blown upside down. That once beautiful car was on fire and smoking. It was charred black. I remember staring at those wheels. They were still smoking as they slowly rotated around and around." "What about the soldiers?" I probed, looking deep into his eyes.
Looking down at his feet, he said, "Oh, well, there were bodies and body parts everywhere. It was awful." I could tell this was hard on him. Remembering all of this, he consented. "People just don't realize what war does to children. It's cruel." However, as if shaken himself to his original resolve, he would always insist, "But in these cases, war is necessary.
Communism must be stopped." Experiencing a childhood marred by the atrocities of communism and fascism, he could not comprehend how a position of loving one's enemies could possibly work to solve these types of problems. Overall, the trip to Texas was hard. Deep inside, we ached to be able to see things the way we always had viewed them before.
However, in spite of our best efforts to see things their way, or to try persuading them to see things our way, our parents, our friends, our church, and obviously our co-workers all saw the issue differently. Clearly, we were going against the flow. But as we stayed in the Word and in prayer, God's grace kept tenderly leading us onward. As we continued to look to God for answers and direction, I started to think about another trip we had taken a year before to East Berlin.
God used that trip to chip away at my nationalistic paradigm. The images of that trip still continue to replay in my mind.