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Protest in the Heart of Grand Rapids: Baez and Harris Come to Park Church

By 1968 intense opposition to U.S. involvement in the Vietnam conflict spread across the land. Some of my colleagues and I found ourselves counseling young men concerning their relationship to military conscription, known as “the draft.” If the local draft board proved sympathetic, a young man might escape being “called up” to this ugly war, especially if he could show evidence that his religious views led him to oppose war in general.

One young man in Park Church, experienced conscientious objections to the war but he had no personal record of conscience toward war. He felt it ethically dishonest, in face of an imminent draft, to lay claim to pacifism. He was the son of a mortician. His assignment? The mortuary on the battle field.

One day, Park Church received a request from folk singer, Joan Baez, and her husband, David Harris, to hold an opposition to the war concert in the sanctuary. It happened. I well remember the two of them walking into a packed house, she physically diminutive and he a towering figure.

But the decision to host the event at Park Church, across the street from Veterans Park, came only after much conversation and disagreement.

This account is based on my recollection of events. Maybe a recent conversation with Loyd Winer, Chair of the Board of Trustees at the time, is likely closer to the facts. He says that after the Trustees said “no” to the overture, the Custodian, Mr. Brodien, came to him saying, “I’m a black belt in karate. If there is any trouble I can handle it.” So, Mr. Winer approached an agent for Joan Baez. It was agreed that if the agent would write a $5,000 check (no small change in 1969) to cover any property damage to Park Church, the protest concert could proceed. When all came off peacefully, Mr. Winer returned the uncashed check to the agent. This is Mr. Winer’s memory of the process.

Traditionally, Congregational churches had no central council or board, no hierarchy of decision making. Park Church inherited that tradition. Who then would decide whether or not to allow Baez and Harris to hold the concert in its sacred precincts? Surely the membership of the congregation at that time would not have held a homogenous view on the prosecution of the Vietnam conflict. What to do? This is how I remember it.

The Senior Minister, Rev. McKenney called the Trustees together. They voted by a narrow margin to disallow the event. Why? The ostensible reason involved fear of damage to the building, either from disruption inside or brick bats outside in the street. One must keep in mind the fact that pro and anti–war feelings ran high in those days.

The Board of Deacons also met. After all, they too had influence over events held in the sanctuary, the spiritual center of the church. After deliberation, the Deacons voted narrowly to allow the Baez/Harris protest event to take place.

What to do? Though I served as Associate Minister in the church, and one assigned with primary emphasis toward youth who soon would face the draft, Rev. McKenney gave me no invitation to attend these meetings. In an unusual process, the Trustees and Deacons came together for a joint decision. They concluded that as long as the sponsors of the event put up a bond, the protest concert could take place in Park Church.

As Baez and Harris swept into the right–hand front door of the church, I merely observed. But given the prominence of this folk musician and partner in the protest movement, one felt Park Church caught up in the current of the history of the time.

Why should the Trustees, apart from ideology or attitudes toward the “war,” have been apprehensive? Central to their legitimate concern—the sanctuary windows. These twelve large, blue– toned, authentic Tiffany windows from the turn of the century were irreplaceable. How horrible to think of bricks or stones hurled at them, even though they were protected by translucent plexiglass. Any Trustee, given the time of protest and counter protest, might well have had second thoughts.

All took place in peace.

Opposing War Selectively

In 1968, when I took up the role of Associate Minister at Park Church in Grand Rapids, the opportunity to preach from that ornate, uplifted pulpit from time to time presented itself. On August 11, 1968, I spoke from the text, “Give to the emperor the things that are the emperor’s and to God the things that are God’s” (Luke 20:25).

In almost defense attorney–like mode, I sought to present a Christian case for Selective Conscientious Objection to war. I argued in my opening sentence, “Mainstream Christianity has stood for the past fifteen centuries as a selective conscientious objector to war.” I chose not to attack the morality of the Vietnam conflict per se or to take up the cudgels for the pacifist tradition in the faith. I claimed this text from St. Luke differs both from, “Resist not an evil doer” (Matt 5:39) and from, “Let every person be subject to the governing authority” (Rom 13:1).

The context in that moment included young men facing their local draft boards and seeking “conscientious objector” status from the ugly Vietnam war. Many boards took the stance that unless the alleged objector held conscience against all war their rejection of that particular conflict did not hold water, since that amounted to a political judgment, not a moral conviction about killing in general.

I noted that the tradition of selective objection to armed conflict in the history of the church found itself borne out in the situation at hand. I remarked, “It is fair to say that the large majority of organized resistance to the Vietnam War is not inspired by an ideological pacifism, but rather by specific moral objections to this particular undeclared and bloody war.”

I continued to press the point. Is the only decision for a Christian person or community to salute and march off or to say, “By God, never!”? Pointing to the “just war” theory that grew up in the Catholic tradition, as distinguished from the vow of Stephen Decatur Jr., “Our Country! In her intercourse with foreign nations may she always be in the right; but right or wrong, our country!”13 I invoked the German martyr, Dietrich Bonhoeffer, who forsook his pacifist stance to involve himself in a plot to assassinate Adolf Hitler.

The Old Testament reading for the day came from 1 Chronicles in which we learn that David, who wanted to build the temple, heard God say, “You shall not build a house to my name, because you have shed so much blood in my sight on the earth” (1 Chr 22:8). Would God have been less displeased if David had shed less blood? Selectively?

In closing, I noted a statement issued by the World Council of Churches, meeting in Uppsala, Sweden, on July 16, 1968, enlisting the “spiritual care and support” of those in military action, as well as for those who found themselves conscientiously opposed to a particular conflict or who believed themselves under God unable to bear arms in any military campaign.

On Being Selective in One’s Service

During the late 1960s and into the 1980s the conflict in Vietnam caused the National Selective Service System to operate at full bore. Commonly known as “the draft,” young men, eighteen years of age and older, were vulnerable to being “called up.” Having registered as required, any day the letter might arrive indicating the recipient’s number in the lottery had been drawn.

Given the nature of the conflict—its undeclared status and its questionable ethical legitimacy—many young people and their advisors sought to discover their status as possible “conscientious objectors” (CO).

During ministry in Grand Rapids, Michigan, I associated with colleagues in learning about the vagaries of the system. We learned that most draft boards demanded proof of a peace orientation prior to age eighteen, not allowing that as a “Johnny–come–lately” one could be a CO. We learned that some five–member draft boards frequently provided for CO status, while others scarcely ever did so. We learned about various avoidances of the draft, e.g., go to Canada, etc. With this and related knowledge we offered counseling. We became aware that having a background with “peace churches”—Brethren, Quaker, Mennonite—gave one an advantage in claiming CO status.

When arriving in Pullman, Washington, in 1971, this subject continued to demand attention. The Peace Discussion Group of the church joined in seeking to understand the Selective Service System “so that it might support people interested in the CO status “and others needing information as to their legal options” (Church Newsletter, February 1972).

Later on a local and tangible fulfillment of this learning process came to fruition. In 1973 a Conscientious Objector Committee was formed. Working alongside the ecumenical Common Ministry on the WSU campus, we hired a young man to complete four months of his two–year alternative service term. Authorized by Lieutenant W. R. Orr of the Washington State Selective Service System, David Richard of Tacoma, Washington, came among us to do “facility improvement of churches” and “person to person work with local agencies.” The nature of the work? “Community service.”

In order to supervise David Richard’s work, a committee—the Ecumenical Committee to Employ a Conscientious Objector—was formed, including persons from our congregation and other like–minded churches in the community. One newsletter from July 1973 stated that David “is hard at work on the third floor of Koinonia House, the location of WSU’s Common Ministry.” He worked on improvement of local church properties, volunteered at a convalescent home and engaged in several other community projects.

Those in the parish concerned about providing young people legitimate, legal options to actual participation in the Vietnam conflict found satisfaction in playing a role in fulfilling this objective.

As late as 1981 I wrote to the congregation saying, “I believe that American Christians need to take seriously the current registration of young men for an eventual draft. At their request Rev. Jim Nielsen, WSU Campus Minister, and I have been assisting high school administrators and counselors in refurbishing their knowledge about this matter . . . For Christian people the prospect of conscription and participation in war raises moral issues we may well help each other think through” (January 13, 1981, newsletter).

David Richard, where are you? I hope your work remains conscientious and community oriented. Thanks for being a witness to peace!

“Good Morning, Vietnam!”

Certainly before, and afterwards as well, the expensive to treasure and blood conflict in Vietnam occupied our attention in 1972 and 1973. Serving in my second and third years of ministry in Pullman, Washington, adjoined to WSU, I was pleased to be located in a congregation that took seriously the social dimension of the Christian faith.

On January 4, 1972, I wrote in “The Communicator,” the weekly newsletter from our congregation:

Christian people everywhere cannot help but be reduced to profound sadness on account of the recent extensive bombing of North Vietnam. Some will find it necessary to defend this action as a necessary evil. I understand that rationale but I am not able to accept it for myself. Let each of us allow our thoughts/feelings to be influenced in depth by the truth as it is in Christ and then express ourselves in appropriate ways. Now is no time to be quiet. If we keep silence the rocks themselves will cry out.

Having come to the conclusion a decade earlier that I did not want to be associated with a denomination that hid out from the issues of poverty, racism and war, concerned only with personal piety, I at that time found the UCC a body amenable to a socially sensitive point of view.

Early in 1973 UCC President Robert V. Moss wrote: “My own view is that the U.S. Armed Forces should withdraw from Southeast Asia immediately only conditioned on the return of American prisoners of war.” He urged UCC members “whatever their views” to communicate with the Nixon administration and Congress on the matter.

On January 17, 1973, “The Communicator” reported actions in support of a petition entitled, “Concerned Voters to End the War.” We wrote to Representative Tom Foley, Washington State Fifth District Representative:

The undersigned support this petition urging Congress to take a more active role in ending the Vietnam War. Specifically, we urge Congress to enact legislation terminating funding for military operations in Vietnam if a peace agreement is not signed by January 20, 1973.

The eight–member committee placed the petition at the entrance to the Student Union Building on the WSU campus in order to obtain further signatures.

One of my political heroes at the time, Senator Mark O. Hatfield, Republican from Oregon, addressed the National Prayer Breakfast on February 1, 1983. Seldom have pertinent prayer and proper politics been better welded together. In part, he said:

If we as leaders appeal to the god of civil religion, our faith is in a small and exclusive deity, a loyal spiritual Advisor to power and prestige, a Defender of only the American nation, the object of a national folk religion devoid of moral content. But if we pray to the Biblical God of justice and righteousness, we fall under God’s judgment for calling upon His name, but failing to obey His commands.

We sit here today, as the wealthy and the powerful. But let us not forget that those who follow Christ will more often find themselves not with comfortable majorities, but with miserable minorities.

Today our prayers must begin with repentance. Individually, we must seek forgiveness for the exile of love from our hearts. And corporately, as a people, we must turn in repentance from the sin that has scarred our national soul.14

Senator Hatfield made no explicit reference to the Vietnam conflict. But when he spoke of “the sin that has scarred our national soul” there could not have been anyone in the room to mistake his reference.

Eventually the voices in the pews and the streets were heard. With agonized withdrawal the conflict ceased, but only after massive loss of life and treasure. The guns fell silent. From the silence came the sounds of sorrow.

Clergy Day at Trident

The Naval Submarine Base Bangor, the west coast Trident nuclear submarine base, lies to the west of Seattle and Tacoma near Bremerton, Washington, on the Hood Canal. One day I received word that a “clergy day” would take place at the base to which we were all invited. I went.

I remember climbing onto a bus along with other clergy. Ironically enough, our tour guide proved to be a young Japanese–American officer. As we began to wind our way around the base he pointed out the wild turkey and the white–tailed deer inhabiting, what one could soon see, a piece of God’s good earth worthy of national park designation.

Only one difference. Along the base road ran a continual fence of thick barbed wire. Then behind that a few yards another similar fence. And behind that, at regular intervals, turrets imbedded in the earth with large caliber guns projecting from the emplacements.

The tour continued. At length, we arrived at the center of the base where stood an impressive chapel and related buildings. We were introduced to five chaplains, each of whom occupied impressive offices staffed by his own private secretary. One had the impression that these chaplains felt they had reached the pinnacle of their religious profession

We then were ushered into an auditorium where the captain of the base was introduced. He taught Sunday School each week, we were informed. He spoke to us about the base operation.

When the captain concluded his welcome and remarks, he asked for questions. I raised my hand and when recognized I asked, “If a chaplain on Sunday morning from the chapel pulpit were to raise some question about what goes on at this base, how would that be handled?” The captain did not hesitate. I remember distinctly to this day what he said. Matter of factly he replied, “That chaplain would be down the road the next day.” So much for the Protestant tradition of freedom of the pulpit.

This incident confirmed in me a long–standing opinion that military chaplains, no matter how much good they do, are “kept persons.” Just as journalists in the Afghanistan conflict “imbedded” with the troops on the ground where objectivity lost its grounding, so with the military chaplains. How much better for all concerned if the clergy were able to maintain their civilian identity, operating independently as did journalists during the Vietnam conflict, when the public received objective reportage.

During my ministry in Tacoma I participated several times in silent protest demonstrations along the Burlington Northern Railroad at the entrance to the base. These protests took place as train loads of parts entered the base to build or resupply the Trident submarines of genocidal potential. In leadership, James and Shelley Douglass, founders of the Ground Zero community, whose house was situated near that entrance. A noteworthy participant at times in these protests, Archbishop Raymond Hunthausen, Bishop of the Seattle diocese.

On a Sunday following the “clergy day” at the Bangor base, I used a good portion of the pulpit word time to tell of the clergy tour and of my repartee with the camp chaplain. During the discourse one of the church members rose from his pew and noisily walked out. I had conversation with him at his home in the week following. We agreed to disagree agreeably.

In his book, The Nonviolent Coming of God, James Douglass refers to a speech Seattle Archbishop gave at the University of Notre Dame, in which he said, “Our nuclear weapons are the final crucifixion of Jesus, in the extermination of the human family with whom he is one.”15

A Delegate to Synod

Representing the Washington–N. Idaho Conference, UCC, as delegate in 1977, I participated in the Tenth Annual Synod in Washington, D.C, and the Eleventh General Synod in Indianapolis, Indiana, of 1979.