Ponderings

As the first leaves of autumn dance in the air, I feel the strange convergence of delight and despair.

In our culture, this season has become a time of new beginnings. The gathering of the harvest marks the beginning of a new year of learning and growing both in school and church. This is a season of anticipation and possibility even as the bitter heat scorches what remains of the season and already we’re beginning to hear the familiar crunch of dying leaves beneath our feet.

As the leaves loose their grip, their free fall symbolizes endings. Also true is the beginning that is enabled in the newly opened space. Carrie Newcomer, folksinger poet, melodically offers the wisdom that,
“Leaves don’t fall, they just let go,
and makes a space for seeds to grow.”

Each autumn as I feel the tug of melancholy while witnessing the dance of shiny new shoes at the bus stop, I am reminded of the importance of the wilderness years. Having escaped the harrows of Pharaoh’s slavery, Moses’ people found themselves in a desert as hopeless as it was endless. The adults were crabby. They were trying to cope with the loss of even a slave’s sense of security, the death of all that was certain. Yet even in the desert, in the midst of the scramble for food and water, in the endless place between here and there, new life is evident. Babies emerge from the womb and squeal their first breath. Children build sandcastles and chase each other abandon. In the darkest night, in the valley of the shadow of death, even there we find shadows bearing witness to the dawn for it is in the pile of fallen leaves that we find the acorn.

One of the gifts of the information superhighway is perspective, and one of the perspectives that is helpful for me in this season of change is the awareness that in Australia, it’s springtime. In fact the school terms in Australia follow their harvest seasons, so that as we’re gearing up to begin again, Aussie students are sprinting towards the close of their third term. Although our Australian friends join us as we celebrate Easter, as we sing about bulbs bursting they are experiencing leaves falling. Hence they’ve offered to us the invitation to consider the addition of another season towards the end of Pentecost, a Season of Creation in which we recommit ourselves to care for the earth while their bulbs are bursting. In the coming weeks of September, we will honor our interconnectedness as we too pause to consider the wonder of the earth itself.

Our celebration of the Season of Creation is timely as we face the coming autumn. Long before the advent of the information superhighway, the wondrous gift of perspective was offered through the beauty of the seasons. And in this season of tumult, perspective is precious.

In a stunning bit of news this week the long feared military tribunal ruled on the fate of bin Laden driver, Salim Ahmed Hamdan. Hamdan’s struggle for a fair trial had gone all the way to the Supreme Court and left him back in the hands of the dreaded military tribunal. The world watched as the verdict came in, guilty. Then the world waited as the panel recessed to decide Hamdan’s fate.

We didn’t wait long. After five years awaiting trial, the deliberation took only an hour. Clearly there was clarity in the decision if not unanimity.

Despite the prosecutions plea that the sentence should be long and harsh to warn the world that “the United States will hunt you down and give you a harsh but appropriate sentence if you provide material support for terrorism,” the sentence was neither.

Convicted of some criminal activity, acquitted of others, the military leaders that held Hamdan’s fate in their hands determined that he should serve five and a half years for aiding Osama bin Laden as his driver, a fraction of the prosecution’s plea. Pouring salt on the prosecution’s wound was the tribunal’s judgment that with time served (already more than five years!), Hamdan’s sentence will be served in full by the end of this year!

Admittedly, I was a skeptic. I had little trust that a military tribunal would deliver anything but retribution. Both the process and the outcome of this particular tribunal evidence a level of humanity and fairness that is a healing balm in a bitter time. The New York Times reported on the significant relationship that developed between Hamdan and his Navy lawyer, Charles Swift. Noteworthy too was the relationship Hamdan forged with the judge, Capt. Keith J. Allred, also of the Navy. Apparently a man of good humor, Hamdan was engaging and committed to forging a path of healing not only for himself but for the world as he worked diligently with investigators aiding their search for the illusive bin Laden. Not only his lawyer, Swift, and Judge, Allred, the members of the tribunal were able to recognize and embrace the full decency and humanity of a man caught in web not of his choosing. Justice, even in glimpses, is a brilliant light.

Glimpses are all we were able to see today, however. Even as the stunning news was hitting the airwaves, the Pentagon and White House were issuing caveats and contingencies. Remember, they added quietly to their speeches, Hamdan is a combatant in a time of war. Verdict or no, sentence completion or not, Hamdan’s fate wrests neither in the American justice system nor in the hands of the military tribunal we mistakenly feared. Hamdan’s fate wrests in the administrative decisions that lie between the White House and the Pentagon.

The New York Times reports that Hamdan’s fate is unclear, “because the Bush administration says that it can hold detainees here until the end of the war on terror” which is tragically endless. When asked if Hamdan would be held after his sentence completion, Pentagon spokesman, Cmdr. Jeffery Gordon, said he “would not speculate on that.” MSNBC quotes an unnamed Pentagon source as saying, “He (Hamdan) won’t be going anywhere anytime soon.”

These taunts are neither innocent nor impotent, and I shudder at the implications. My instinct is to gather the righteous crowd. Yet, despite my predetermined mistrust of the tribunal, the goodness of humanity trumped the drive for vengeance and my skepticism was proven misplaced already once this week. We have witnessed the spirit at work, a power greater than ourselves. What is yet to unfold is still unknown.

As I struggle to hold my skepticism in check, I cling to one of the more riveting scenes this week, the closing exchange between the accused and the judge:
“Mr. Hamdan,” Judge Allred said, “I hope the day comes that you are able to return to your wife and daughters and your country.”
“Inshallah,” Mr. Hamdan said in Arabic, before an interpreter gave the English translation of “God willing.”
“Inshallah,” Judge Allred responded.

Inshallah. God is still speaking.