locked in Manzanar...

Early in World War II, President Franklin D. Roosevelt issued Executive Order 9066. It ordered all Japanese immigrants and Japanese-Americans to internment camps located throughout the U.S. for the duration of the war. It happened on what would later become the day of my birth, February 19, not something with which I am proud to share a birthday. Much of this was at the prodding of then California Attorney General Earl Warren (who later became Chief Justice of the US Supreme Court – go figure!) and several others including the Los Angeles Times, who stirred up the public hysteria regarding invasion, especially among the west coast population who were very afraid after the attack on Pearl Harbor. It was the era of yellow journalism. (Have we ever left it?)

This was a very tragic event in our country’s history, an action that as early as a year after the war was recognized by historians and other observers of our society not to have been necessary at all, not to mention the violation of constitutional liberties it represented on such a massive scale. One can only hope that we have learned something from this regarding our current circumstances

I travel by one of these camps at least twice a year on my way up Hwy 395 on the eastern side of the Sierra Nevada. Called Manzanar and now a National Historic Landmark, the camp was one square mile of barb-wired Japanese society in the middle of the cold, high desert of eastern California. Tens of thousands of Japanese nationals and Japanese-American citizens were housed there… against their will. I have often wanted to stop. Late this last March I finally had enough time to visit for a few moments.

The day I visited the wind was blowing hard. Please understand, the wind always blows hard on the eastern side of the Sierras. But even the National Weather Service had noted that these winds would be exceptionally strong. They were. Though there was only wind on the valley floor, you could see it snowing on the peaks. The snow was blowing nearly sideways, eastward toward me. So hard was the wind that you could not see the clouds from which the snow was coming. Gusts were predicted to be 50 mph where I was, and had to be much stronger on the peaks. The snow blurred and obscured the edges of the clouds that dropped it.

Though some of the Japanese children housed there it remember it as a happy place, much of that is probably attributable to the efforts of the community to protect the children, to make their lives as normal as possible in such a remote and desolate place. For the adults, it was different. And so the mood of the place now is somber. I sat and watched the mountain peaks from the high desert valley below, looking into the heart of Manzanar framed by the peaks behind it. I imagined the barbed wire, the machine-gun equipped guard towers, the armed soldiers, the sad funerals. The cemetery is still there. And I remembered a huge wrong perpetrated on many innocent people of Japanese descent. I remembered wondering if there were any Italian or German war relocation centers. That’s what they were officially called. Roosevelt privately called them what they were: concentration camps.

As I sat there, I became sad.

After awhile, my thoughts turned to the church. Without any disrespect for the Japanese people who suffered this injustice, I couldn’t help but wonder if this is a kind of picture for today’s evangelical and fundamentalist churches.

Born in modernity, our churches, many at least, have circled the wagons. The winds of change are upon us. Today’s new paradigm cracks and roars and shifts like the snow in an avalanche and grinds into small pieces whatever is set before it. As the threatening snows of post-modernity or post-colonialism tumble toward us, driven by 50 mph gusts, we had to do something. We had to protect ourselves some way.

“Come out and be separate,” we quoted to our neighbors and each other. “Remove yourselves from this evil generation.” And just as surely as the Desert Fathers did so long ago, we’ve chosen to cloister ourselves in a world of our making that makes sense to few besides us. We’ve raised up the barbed wire of intellectual elitism as protection. We have concocted intellectual schemes to deny what is readily observable to those not coming from our faith perspective, all in an attempt to protect the Bible. We have turned God into a capricious Greek character whose heart would deceive rather than love. When challenged, we have raised our voices louder than those who question, drowning out the issues that plague our children and teens. We have vilified anyone who dares question our orthodoxy and brandished our Sword menacingly. And little by little, we’ve watched our numbers dissipate.

Not only that, the machine guns of the church have pointed inward. The Japanese children were told that Manzanar was for their safety, to protect them from the angry hoards who were upset by Pearl Harbor. They, however, were very bright and very observant and very honest, as most children are. They asked their parents, “If we are here for our protection, why are the machine guns in the guard towers pointed at us instead of outside?” The church, too, has self-appointed protectors of the faith that would just as soon “shoot their own” if they stray outside the barbed wire of evangelical or fundamentalist orthodoxy.

Is our orthodoxy so precious, so critical, so fragile that it cannot endure the test of questions and thought and challenging dialogue? And what about the Kingdom of God that Jesus preached? Does it bear much resemblance to what has become our orthodoxy? Or to him? Do we treat people like he did?

These are some of my thoughts as I sat there and observed. Ironically the driving snow leaves the eastern Sierra breathtakingly beautiful. It will soon turn to water in the snow melt. Will come down the canyons and valleys to the river. It will help slake the thirst of Los Angeles further south. Even the camp will come to depend on it.

I know. Being trapped in those mountains in that wind and snow would not be a good thing. But looking at it from a distance, getting a broader perspective, there is a rugged beauty to it. And honesty. And most of all, future hope. Even though you can’t see the clouds behind the snow. True, not all of what comes with post-modernity is good or harmless. But might there be something about it that causes us to question our modern view of being Christian to our health (and the health of the world God says he loves)? Might we not ask questions of ourselves – and be asked by others – that will turn us from assenters to dogmas and mere practicers of rituals into something better? Like Jesus followers?

Interesting thing. Much of the compound has been taken over by some kind of yellow wild flower whose stalks are just about to burst open. There are thousands upon thousands of these stalks. They cover the ground in places. They are spreading beyond the confines of the barbed wire and guard towers. In fact, there are many more beyond its borders. Ready to explode into bloom.

It’s going to be a glorious blooming!

Grace and peace!

Owen