http://www.investigationofaflame.com/
“Investigation of a Flame”
Friday, April 23, 2010
Paul Engle Center
6:30pm Potluck
8:00pm Film & Discussion
Free & Open to the Public
Catonsville 9 Statement
written by Dan Berrigan, S.J.
Some 10 or 12 of us (the number is still uncertain) will, if all goes well
(ill?) take our religious bodies during this week to a draft center in or near
Baltimore. There we shall, of purpose and forethought, remove the 1-A files,
sprinkle them in the public street with homemade napalm, and set them afire. For
which act we shall, beyond doubt, be placed behind bars for some portion of our
natural lives, in consequence of our inability to live and die content in the
plagued city, to say “peace peace” when there is no peace, to keep the poor
poor, the home- less, the thirsty and hungry homeless, thirsty and hungry.
Our apologies, good friends, for the fracture of good order, the burning of
paper instead of children, the angering of the orderlies in the front parlor of
the charnel house. We could not, so help us God, do otherwise.
For we are sick at heart, our hearts give us no rest for thinking of the Land of
Burning Children. And for thinking of that other Child, of whom the poet Luke
speaks. The infant was taken up in the arms of an old man, whose tongue grew
resonant and vatic at the touch of that beauty.
And the old man spoke; this child is set for the fall and rise of many in
Israel, a sign that is spoken against. Small consolation; a child born to make
trouble, and to die for it, the First Jew (not the last) to be subject of a
“definitive solution.” He sets up the cross and dies on it; in the Rose Garden
of the executive mansion, on the D.C. Mall, in the courtyard of the Pentagon.
We see the sign, we read the direction: you must bear with us, for his sake. Or
if you will not, the consequences are our own. For it will be easy, after all,
to discredit us. Our record is bad; trouble makers in church and state, a priest
married despite his vows, two convicted felons.
We have jail records, we have been turbulent, uncharitable, we have failed in
love for the brethren, have yielded to fear and despair and pride, often in our
lives. Forgive us. We are no more, when the truth is told, than ignorant beset
men, jockeying against all chance, at the hour of death, for a place at the
right hand of the dying one.
We act against the law at a time of the Poor People’s March, at a time moreover
when the government is announcing ever more massive paramilitary means to
confront disorder in the cities. It is announced that a computerized center is
being built in the Pentagon at a cost of some seven millions of dollars, to
offer instant response to outbreaks anywhere in the land; that moreover, the
government takes so serious a view of civil disorder, that federal troops, with
war experience in Vietnam, will have first responsibility to quell civil
disorder. The implications of all this must strike horror in the mind of any
thinking man.
The war in Vietnam is more and more literally brought home to us. Its inmost
meaning strikes the American ghettos; in servitude to the affluent. We must
resist and protest this crime.
Finally, we stretch out our hands to our brothers throughout the world. We who
are priests, to our fellow priests. All of us who act against the law, turn to
the poor of the world, to the Vietnamese, to the victims, to the soldiers who
kill and die, for the wrong reasons, for no reason at all, because they were so
ordered—by the authorities of that public order which is in effect a massive
institutionalized disorder.
We say: killing is disorder, life and gentleness and community and unselfishness
is the only order we recog- nize. For the sake of that order, we risk our
liberty, our good name.
The time is past when good men can remain silent, when obedience can segregate
men from public risk, when the poor can die without defense. We ask our fellow
Christians to consider in their hearts a question which has tortured us, night
and day, since the war began. How many must die before our voices are heard, how
many must be tortured, dislocated, starved, maddened? How long must the world’s
resources be raped in the service of legalized murder? When, at what point, will
you say no to this war? We have chosen to say, with the gift of our liberty, if
necessary our lives: the violence stops here, the death stops here, the
suppression of the truth stops here, this war stops here.
We wish also to place in question, by this act, all suppositions about normal
times, about longings for an untroubled life in a somnolent church, about a neat
time-table of ecclesiastical renewal which in respect to the needs of men,
amounts to another form of time serving.
Redeem the times! The times are inexpressibly evil. Christians pay conscious,
indeed religious tribute, to Caesar and Mars; by the approval of overkill
tactics, by brinkmanship, by nuclear liturgies, by racism, by support of
genocide. They embrace their society with all their heart, and abandon the
cross. They pay lip service to Christ and military service to the powers of
death. And yet, and yet, the times are inexhaustibly good, solaced by the
courage and hope of many. The truth rules, Christ is not forsaken.
In a time of death, some men —the resisters, those who work hardily for social
change, those who preach and embrace the unpalatable truth— such men overcome
death, their lives are bathed in the light of the resurrection, the truth has
set them free. In the jaws of death, of contumely, of good and ill report, they
proclaim their love of the brethren. We think of such men, in the world, in our
nation, in the churches; and the stone in our breast is dissolved; we take heart
once more.