Wednesday, February 29, 2012

The Pentecost Of Calamity

Although Ralph Waldo Emerson used the word "Pentecost" in his poem, "The Problem," for which I don't have a date but probably somewhere in the mid-1800s, Emerson having died in 1882, it was another author, Owen Wister, who borrows Emerson's poetic reference to "Pentecost" and throws it into yet another context, that of war. In a book titled "The Pentecost of Calamity," Wister, a friend and contemporary of Theodore Roosevelt, Wister is writing in 1915 to encourage America to get involved in World War II. He paints a disturbing portrait of the German people who have been "Prussianized" and brainwashed with a Germancentric map of the world. German textbooks teach that America consists mainly of three people groups: negroes, Indians, and Germans. Germans want to do away with the English language of pirates and elevate the German tongue which is thought to convey a blessing on the speaker. The Germans already in the early part of the 20th century believe in the ideals of building a super race, a super nation, a world run mainly by Germans, according to Wister. Wister says that the warfare already raging in Europe is purifying the motives of the French and English who are fighting to stop Germany's hostile advance.

Wister says: "But Calamity has its Pentecost. When its mighty wind rushed over Belgium and France, and its tongues of fire sat on each of them, they, too, like the apostles in the New Testament, began to speak as the Spirit gave them utterance. Their words and deeds have filled the world with a splendor the world had lost. The flesh, that has dominated our day and generation, fell away in the presence of the Spirit. I have heard Belgians bless the martyrdom and awakening of their nation. They have said: 'Do not talk of our suffering; talk of our glory. We have found ourselves.'"

Wister goes on to say: "These are the tongues of fire; this is the Pentecost of Calamity. Often it must have made brothers again of those who found themselves prone on the battlefield, neighbors awaiting the grave. In Flanders a French officer of cavalry, shot through the chest, lay dying, but with life enough still to write his story to the lady of his heart. He wrote thus:
“There are two other men lying near me, and I do not think there is much hope for them either. One is an officer of a Scottish regiment and the other a private in the uhlans. They were struck down after me, and when I came to myself I found them bending over me, rendering First Aid. The Britisher was pouring water down my throat from his flask, while the German was endeavoring to stanch my wound with an antiseptic preparation served out to their troops by the medical corps. The Highlander had one of his legs shattered, and the German had several pieces of shrapnel buried in his side.
“In spite of their own sufferings, they were trying to help me; and when I was fully conscious again the German gave us a morphia injection and took one himself. His medical corps had also provided him with the injection and the needle, together with printed instructions for their use. After the injection, feeling wonderfully at ease, we spoke of the lives we had lived before the war. We all spoke English, and we talked of the women we had left at home. Both the German and the Britisher had been married only a year. …
“I wondered — and I suppose the others did — why we had fought each other at all. I looked at the Highlander, who was falling to sleep, exhausted, and, in spite of his drawn face and mud-stained uniform, he looked the embodiment of freedom. Then I thought of the Tricolor of France and all that France had done for liberty. Then I watched the German, who had ceased to speak. He had taken a prayer book from his knapsack, and was trying to read a service for soldiers wounded in battle. And … while I watched him I realized what we were fighting for. … He was dying in vain, while the Britisher and myself, by our deaths, would probably contribute something toward the cause of civilization and peace.”
Thus wrote this young French officer of cavalry to the lady of his heart, the American lady to whom he was engaged. The Red Cross found the letter at his side. Through it she learned the manner of his death. This, too, is the Pentecost of Calamity."
So Wister makes a very convincing case for American involvement in World War I, which later came to pass, and yet his wartime Pentecost does not have very much to do with the Pentecostal movement and the Pentecostalism of the church. Wister's Pentecost is not the Pentecost of Acts 2 when the apostles were filled with the Holy Spirit and preached the Gospel. Although many of the apostles later died a martyr's death, it was not by wielding swords that the early Christians changed the society in which they lived.
Wister's Pentecost is the sword of kings and emperor, something that is not commanded by the church. After all, the president as chief executive commands the armies of the United States, not the church. If the church were in charge today, who knows what holy wars and carnage would be carried on in Christ's name. Many people have their opinions about the Viet Nam War and various other armed conflicts, but we are fortunate indeed that the founding fathers put checks and balances in place so that we should not rush to judgment.