Ken Adams, “A Mass for Peace,” and The Hunger Games

This last Sunday afternoon was filled with Dr. Ken Adams’ final concert at OC, The Armed Man: A Mass for Peace, by Karl Jenkins. “Filled” seems a little too mild – “overwhelmed” is probably the better term for what we experienced.

First of all, thank you Ken for your wonderful service for all these years, and for the inspiration you have been to so many students and faculty who hope to be just a little bit like you – and maybe just half as good as you have been.

Not only was the concert a wonderful tribute to Dr. (and Mrs.!) Adams –a richly deserved tribute, too–but it was also Ken’s “parting shot,” “final message,” and indeed his legacy.

Jenkins’ work combines a variety of texts, both secular and sacred, to describe the tidal wave that sweeps human beings into war. The sacred texts employed from the Christian Mass seem to portray the justifications we attempt to give our tendencies to violence: every side of every war believes God is with them and against their enemies. But these texts in Jenkins piece seemed also to convey the gravity of the impending disaster and bloodshed — the gravity that is often ignored as the saber-rattling on each side, the chest-pounding rhetoric of threat, pride and bravado, reaches a chaotic crescendo. In Jenkins’ work, the crescendo is reached in the “Charge!” The chaos of battle is graphically recreated by a cacophony of . . . noise; random, screeching, vulgar non-musical noises that make you want to cover your ears.

“Charge!” is followed by “Angry Flames,” which includes part of a poem written from a survivor of the atomic bomb dropped on Hiroshima. Then, “Torches,” from the ancient Hindu epic “The Mahabharata”:

The animals scattered in all directions, screaming terrible screams.

Many were burning, others were burnt.

All were shattered and scattered mindlessly, their eyes bulging.

Some hugged their sons, others their fathers and mothers.

Unable to let them go, and so they died.

Others leapt up in their thousands, faces disfigured,

and were consumed by the fire.

Everywhere were bodies squirming on the ground:

wings, eyes and paws all burning;

They breathed their last as living torches.

Then follow four pieces that reflect the aftermath of the battle, and the calm in which we realize the destruction and waste we have created in our latest “war to end all wars”: “Agnus Dei,” “Now the Guns Have Stopped,” “Benedictus,” and “Better is Peace.”


I was stunned after "Charge!" and at the end of the work could only pray for forgiveness for us all.  If you've never heard it, buy the CD or find it on your music service.  Find a way to listen to it.  You won't want to listen to it often, I suspect, but it's well worth having. 


I went last week to see The Hunger Games. The theme of the movie seemed to me to be the utter waste of lives – and the “sacrifices” we are willing to make and even celebrate in order to maintain certain causes – or even charades. In the movie, the whole nation looks on and celebrates the deaths of young people who are thrust into a situation not of their own making – part of which is the necessity to try to kill each other. Some of them are trained killers, and you can see from the beginning that their humanity was long ago drilled out of them. Some kill out of sheer hate, some only reluctantly. But the society looks on – and has in fact turned the event into an extended game show – and celebrates the “sacrifices.” All of the participants – both those killed and those who live – are heralded as heroes. The dead? Well, that’s just a price the nation was willing to pay. Sad, but it had to be done.

Nations go to war and and sell it to their people – sell the sacrifices – by telling them that these sacrifices just have to be made, that they are worth the price. I wonder.

Benedictine nun Joan Chittister wrote: “The vision of a culture lies in what becomes its major institutions, in what it remembers as its most impacting events, in who it sees as its heroes.”

Psalm 11.5: “The Lord tests the righteous and the wicked, and his soul hates the lover of violence.”


I don't really wonder.  I know that these sacrifices are not worth whatever "benefit" we get from them.  We make these sacrifices out of our selfishness.  May God have mercy.

Thanks, Dr. Adams, for leaving us this legacy of a man who loves peace. May we have more heroes like you.

Christmas in Fallujah

Check out this song/video by Billy Joel.

Chills. Brace yourself.

The Patriot's Dream by Gordon Lightfoot

Granted -- Gordon Lightfoot is a Canadian. We probably shouldn't hold that against him. But these lyrics, from his 1972 album Don Quixote, may speak powerfully to Americans (with apologies to Canadians, who for some strange reason like to insist that THEY are Americans, too). I've wondered sometimes why more US citizens weren't protesting the war in Iraq, and why the anti-war movement took so long to gain momentum. Perhaps it's because we didn't have good songs to move us like we did in the 1960s and 1970s during the Viet Nam war. Maybe we need some good new anti-war songs. In the meantime, try this one out. You can listen to it on Ruckus here (http://www.ruckus.com/ruckus/music/track.do?trackId=482768). But, here's the lyrics.

The songs of the wars are as old as the hills.
They cling like the rust on the cold steel that kills.
They tell of the boys who went down to the tracks
In a patriotic manner with the cold steel on their backs.

The patriot's dream is as old as the sky.
It lives in the lust of a cold calloused lie.
Let's drink to the men who got caught by the chill
Of the patriotic fever and the cold steel that kills.

The train pulled away on that glorious night.
The drummer got drunk and the bugler got tight
While the boys in the back sang a song of good cheer
While riding off to glory in the spring of their years.

The patriot's dream still lives on today.
It makes mothers weep and it makes lovers pray.
Let's drink to the men who got caught by the chill
Of the patriotic fever and the cold steel that kills.

Well there was a sad, sad lady
Weeping all night long.
She received a sad, sad message
From a voice on the telephone.
Her children were all sleeping
As she waited out the dawn.
How could she tell those children
That their father was shot down.
So she took them to her side that day
And she told them one by one,
Your father was a good man ten thousand miles from home.
He tried to do his duty and it took him straight to hell.
He might be in some prison, I hope he's treated well.

Well there was a young girl watching in the early afternoon
When she heard the name of someone who said he'd be home soon.
She wondered how they got him, but the papers did not tell.
There would be no sweet reunion, there would be no wedding bells.
So she took herself into her room and she turned the bed sheets down,
And she cried into the silken folds of her new wedding gown.
He tried to do his duty; it took him straight to hell.
He might be in some prison, I hope he's treated well.

Well there was an old man sitting in his mansion on the hill.
And he thought of his good fortune and the time he'd yet to kill.
He called to his wife one day, "Come sit with me awhile."
Turning toward the sunset, he smiled a wicked smile
"Well I'd like to say I'm sorry for the sinful deeds I've done,
But let me first remind you, I'm a patriotic son."
They tried to do their duty and it took 'em straight to hell.
They might be in some prison, I hope they're treated well

The songs of the wars are as old as the hills,
They cling like the rust on the cold steel that kills.
They tell of the boys who went down to the tracks
In a patriotic manner with the cold steel on their backs.

The train pulled away on that glorious night,
The drummer got drunk and the bugler got tight
While the boys in the back sang a song of good cheer
While riding off to glory in the spring of their years.

The patriot's dream still lives on today
It makes mothers weep and it makes lovers pray.
Let's drink to the men who got caught by the chill
Of the patriotic fever and the cold steel that kills.

I heard an NPR piece a couple of months ago about a new Neil Young album that was wholly a protest against the war in Iraq. I haven't yet heard it. Hope to soon.

THE GENERALS by Shel Silverstein

Said General Clay to General Gore,
"Oh must we fight this silly war?
To kill and die is such a bore."
"I quite agree," said General Gore.

Said General Gore to General Clay,
"We could go to the beach today
And have some ice cream on the way."
"A grand idea," said General Clay.

Said General Clay to General Gore,
"We'll build sand castles on the shore."
Said General Gore, "We'll splash and play."
"Let's leave right now," said General Clay.

Said General Gore to General Clay,
"But what if the sea is closed today?
And what if the sand's been blown away?"
"A dreadful thought," said General Clay.

Said General Gore to General Clay,
"I've always feared the ocean's spray,
And we may drown!" "It's true, we may.
It chills my blood," said General Clay.

Said General Clay to General Gore,
"My bathing suit is slightly tore.
We'd better go on with our war."
"I quite agree," said General Gore.

Then General Clay charged General Gore
As bullets flew and cannons roared.
And now, alas! there is no more
Of General Clay or General Gore.