A tree-mendous dilemma

 

“Rejoice always. Pray without ceasing. In all circumstances give thanks ...” First Thessalonians

First of all, let me confess: My wife and I have not had a real, live Christmas tree in over thirty years. Our last “live tree” (which is a weird way to describe something that was hacked to death on some tree farm) was a “fresh” tree we bought on a lot near the house for Christmas 1990. We set it up in the living room, and as the tree thawed out, it began to drop needles. By morning, most needles had fallen off the tree, and it made the anorexic Charlie Brown Christmas tree (before decorating) look magnificent by comparison.

I’ll confess, too, that the “gentle Jesus, meek and mild” character I usually display in life can disappear in a flash when I am upset. That morning I saw the floor, now blackened by an infestation of fallen needles, and the likewise now naked tree standing in our living room, and I lost my cool (as had the sad little defrosted tree before me).

I should note that we were of a tradition that “the tree goes up the weekend before Christmas,” (which was a Tuesday in 1990). We were at the tail end of Advent (Christmas begins after sundown on December 24), and I was at my wit’s end. Many people enjoy the smell of spruce in the house, the tacky feel of tree-sap on their hands, and the joy of stringing lights on their yuletide evergreens. I am NOT one of those people.

Since the tree looked like a catastrophic fire hazard more than the festive holiday centerpiece it was intended to be, I ripped it up, tossed it to the curb, and we made a quick trip to the nearby mall where we bought the last artificial Christmas tree in the county. It was a display model, but I didn’t care. They didn’t even have a box for it, so the clerks dismantled the tree, tossing the pieces into black garbage sacks that we hauled out to the car.

We set it up, threw on the lights and ornaments, and have had artificial trees ever since; I’ve never looked back. No regrets. I do feel like it’s cheating, somehow, but be that as it may, I’ll live. I’ve got the tiniest tinge of guilt, of course, about putting something fake up for the holiday, but I trussed up that sense of sinfulness with some tinsel and stuck it into a far-away crawl-space in the undercroft of my soul. It’s both out of sight and out of mind.

Over the years we have had a variety of artificial trees. Each model has been an improvement over the last. The last few trees we’ve had go together in a matter of minutes, and are sized to fit the spaces we’ve had for them as we’ve moved. There are just two of us now and the kids and grandkids live far away, so we’ve tried to cut back a bit on our decorating. I’ve never been one to go all Clark Griswold, anyway. We no longer wait until the weekend before Christmas to put up the tree. Like the rest of the world, the outdoor lights go up on the least rainy day just before Thanksgiving, (we simply wait to plug them in for when the holiday season arrives) and the  tree goes up the weekend after Turkeyday.

The other morning I was sitting by our current tree and enjoying it when suddenly a section of lights went all supernova, shining about twice as bright as normal. As I pondered what that meant (was I about to be visited by an angel?), the lights went dark. Here we were, a week before Christmas, and a section of fake stars on our fake tree had gone out. What was I to do?

Rejoice in the Lord always. Again, I say, rejoice! Life’s too short to grieve or grump. Even fake trees die. Will we undecorate and replace it, or will we enjoy that which is imperfect, awaiting that which is perfect to arrive? 

Here in this, our valley, and in all circumstances, I will simply give thanks, do what I must, and wish you all a very (genuine, heart-felt) Merry Christmas!

Keith Axberg writes on matters concerning life and faith. Author of: Who the Blazes is Jesus? Good News for a Vulgar World (available through Amazon in Print and e-book)

The Third Sunday of Advent

Stir up your power, O Lord, and with great might come among us; and, because we are sorely hindered by our sins, let your bountiful grace and mercy speedily help and deliver us; through Jesus Christ our Lord, to whom, with you and the Holy Spirit, be honor and glory, now and for ever. Amen. [BCP p. 212]

Sins. Last week and this we are reminded of our sins. What a distasteful little word. Many preachers have abandoned it, preferring to speak of shortcomings, weaknesses, foibles, errors, or other such nonsense. I can’t blame them. I often do the same. I prefer God as Therapist – One who seeks to fix my stinkin’ thinkin’. No one wants to come to church and be told they are a miserable little lot of good-for-nothing worms.

We do love to sanitize life, though, don’t we. Rather than admit that my first goal is now and ever has been to meet my own filthy lusts and have all things “my way” (with a nod to Frank Sinatra), I’d rather talk about my shortcomings. It makes it sound like I’m at least trying. I like talking about errors or mistakes, for we all make them, don’t we? There’s nothing wrong with that; we’re only human. For most of this stuff, it’s a matter of No harm; no foul.

Euphemisms have their place, certainly. The Church has done such a fine job of making people feel guilty for being human that any talk of sin falls on deaf ears, because we simply don’t want to hear it. Puritanism arose partly out of the idea that anything and everything we do has sin at its root, so we try to root out everything we think or do lest it rip us away from God’s very presence. The greatest fear of the puritan heart is that somewhere, somehow, someone may be having a good time – those wicked sinners! 

So it’s important that we find other words to help convey the truth that, yes, we sometimes say, think, or do bad things. The standard word for that is sin, but sometimes those things are better described as slips, faults, or character defects. The point is, we have them, and this Collect invites us to acknowledge that, and to realize we are often blind to the harm such does to ourselves and to others, and perhaps to God as well.

We think God is omnipotent (all powerful), and yet it seems to me that God seeing us enslaved by sin is terrified, for God has seen what sin has done to people in all times and places: sloth, lust, anger, pride, envy, gluttony, and greed. I prefer to call those vices sin (with a lower case S), and the state of being that draws us toward those sins as Sin (upper case, Sin personified). Sin blinds us to the harm those vices do, and I think it scares the perdition out of God. We are hindered, not just by being entangled in sin, but because in our blindness we don’t know where we’re going, or what we’re doing. 

So we pray on this third Sunday of Advent for God to jump up the way a parent jumps up when they see their toddler wander toward the street. Parents don’t jump up to chastise their child; they jump up to save their child! We’re begging God to help us as we stumble about like drunken sailors on a short pier, or children who’ve lost their ball, unbeknownst to them, in the middle of a mine field in an active war zone. We light the third candle; God, jump up (stir up your power) and help us, we pray! We praise you for your grace!

God always stirs up something good

The Second Sunday of Advent

Merciful God, who sent your messengers the prophets to preach repentance and prepare the way for our salvation: Give us grace to heed their warnings and forsake our sins, that we may greet with joy the coming of Jesus Christ our Redeemer; who lives and reigns with you and the Holy Spirit, one God, now and for ever. Amen. [BCP p. 211]

Mercy. The image of a merciful God is supposed to conjure up feelings of warmth and grace, but for some reason, it has the opposite effect on me. The idea of God having mercy implies I’ve done something I shouldn’t have, or left undone something I should have done. To think of God as being merciful irritates me. Isn’t that weird?

I’m reminded of the Prayer of Humble Access that is seldom said in church these days. It was a regular part of the 1928 prayer book liturgy I grew up with, but now it’s only found in the Rite I Eucharistic service, and only now as an option (that most priests opt out of):

We do not presume to come to this thy Table, O merciful Lord, trusting in our own righteousness, but in thy manifold and great mercies. We are not worthy so much as to gather up the crumbs under thy Table. But thou art the same Lord whose property is always to have mercy. Grant us therefore, gracious Lord, so to eat the flesh of thy dear Son Jesus Christ, and to drink his blood, that we may evermore dwell in him, and he in us. Amen.

We do not presume … we are not worthy … but since we’re here (which is how I interpret the phrase: but thou art the same Lord whose property is always to have mercy … The word "but" wipes away everything that comes before it. It negates everything up to that point). I love this prayer, but confess it sometimes strikes me as being a bit thick with false humility. Do we “really” not presume? Do we “really” think we’re not worthy? Do we “really” compare our lives with God’s own holiness and come to the table, trembling with a sense of inadequacy? Perhaps some do, but I confess I don’t, not as much, anyway. I once did, but coming to Holy Communion has become so commonplace for me that I don’t think about it. I DO presume to come, unthinkingly. I DO come with a sense of overblown worthiness.

So today’s Collect invites us to pause a moment and consider that we really do come before a God who is truly merciful, not because we deserve mercy, but because God chooses to love us despite ourselves.

I had trouble telling the truth as a child. I was always afraid I would get into trouble, so I would lie, even when asked if I did something for which there was no cause for alarm. It was a habit. “Kids lie; they always lie,” says a character in the movie The Client. My mother knew when I was lying. The fact is, I was never good at it and, over the decades, have become much more honest. I discovered that it was far easier to tell the truth. If I did something for which I needed to make amends, I’d make amends and make efforts not to repeat that bad behavior. Guilt became a thing of the past, for the most part. My mother constantly had mercy on me. She never banished me from the family table. She never sought to prove me wrong or a liar. It was more important for her to be someone I could depend on (as my bio-mother had abandoned the family), and that grace inspired me to amend my life, even though I didn’t know that’s what I was doing.

Prophets preach repentance (change of heart and mind). They tell us to prepare for our salvation. The point isn’t that we can or will do things that will bring us salvation, that will pull us from the fires of hell. No, the point is we are being called to dinner. Our bodies and souls will be nourished by One who knows how to prepare and deliver balanced meals, that we may have strength to carry out the work God has for us. God does not abandon us because we lie, cheat, steal, or harm others (although God COULD). No, it is God’s nature to bring us to the table to share stories of our day’s challenges, our day’s victories, or the things we need yet to work on.

Knowing that God’s not going to whomp us over the head, we come to the table, rejoicing. For the meal is set before us, and we get to hear from one another what great things God has done. A second candle is lit for Advent. We have a little more light and surprisingly discover that God’s mercy is, indeed, a real delight!

Seeing things differently is a superpower

“If there’s anything that I would like to pass on to the younger generation: it’s the idea that seeing things differently is powerful …” Kyle Creek, aka The Captain

I attended a gathering for local writers a couple of weeks back. It was an opportunity for local authors to meet one another. I introduced myself by name and vocation to our coordinator, when a writer sitting across from me looked up from her computer screen and declared, “I’m an atheist.”

I hadn’t planned on distributing leaflets or trying to convert anyone, so I thought her greeting was a bit uncalled for. I don’t think fast on my feet and have learned not to let all the thoughts and responses that ricochet off the boulders that occupy the space between my ears come out of my mouth, so I smiled and simply said, “Good to know,” and sat down.

I presume her greeting was intended to avoid interacting with this stranger; I understand. Many writers are introverts and socially awkward. I count myself among them. I need time to size up a room and the people in it before opening my mouth, time to collect my thoughts, organize them, and edit them for both clarity and positivity. You would not believe just how rude and sarcastic my brain can be, so I’ve found it best to keep it caged and muzzled!

Holidays are hard enough without straining to inflict pain or misery on one another. The days are short and cold, so I find it necessary for my own mental health to be long on patience and warmth in the presence of others. Even when I don’t feel like it (and I often don’t “feel” like it), I think it is important to acknowledge where we’re at, at any given moment, but simultaneously strive to overcome the instinct to lash out, and exude as much forbearance as is required for any given situation.

I spoke with a woman the other day who exemplified what I’m talking about. She needed to return an item at a big box store and to pick up a small lightbulb. It was Black Friday, so she girded up her loins, expecting to do battle. When she got to the store, though, it was crowded, but people appeared to be ... happy? Happy! 

A father and his young daughter were standing in line having a delightful conversation. The cashier was cheerful and helpful. People were gathered around the Black Friday Specials bins, but without jostling one another for position or advantage, or fighting over limited supply items. She was able to make her return without a hassle. En route to find her bulb she came across a store employee walking past her in a silly, orange costume. “Are you a pumpkin?” she asked. 

The woman laughed and said, “No, I’m a turkey.” She turned and showed her tail feathers and continued on her way. 

My friend then found the light bulb aisle with its dizzying array of every bulb imaginable, and secured one of the folks from the paint division who helped her find the correct bulb, with the correct base – service with a smile.

“The store actually looked and felt festive,” she said, “and took me so by surprise. It put ME in a festive mood, too!”

If I have any advice here at this early stage of our holiday season, it would be to recognize that joy and cheer are superpowers that lie within the heart of most of us. This is not to dismiss grief, sadness, the deep gloom of depression, or high anxiety that afflicts so many. This isn’t a call to put on a brave face and deny what’s going on in heart and soul. 

We don’t know the burdens others carry, the wounds others have endured, the struggles others have faced, so if we can restrain ourselves even just a little bit, we may be of some little service to our friends and neighbors, our families and even strangers. Exercising just a little more grace in word and deed could well be the superpower our world needs right now.

Be kind and patient this season; it’s your superpower, and doesn’t even require a cape, costume, or turkey-tail-feathers. That’s good to know here in this, our valley.

Keith Axberg writes on matters concerning life and faith. Author of: Who the Blazes is Jesus? Good News for a Vulgar World (available through Amazon in Print and e-book)

First Sunday of Advent

Almighty God, give us grace to cast away the works of darkness, and put on the armor of light, now in the time of this mortal life in which your Son Jesus Christ came to visit us in great humility; that in the last day, when he shall come again in his glorious majesty to judge both the living and the dead, we may rise to the life immortal; through him who lives and reigns with you and the Holy Spirit, one God, now and for ever. Amen. [BCP p. 211]

Advent is as good a place to start as any. Here in the northern hemisphere, our days have grown shorter and colder. The weather is shifting from the blustery chills of autumn to the stormy wetness of winter. The snows haven’t started falling yet, for the most part, but they’re coming. Growing up in Seattle, we didn’t normally worry about snow until January or February, what with the warmer waters of the Pacific keeping us moderately warm, albeit wet with constantly gray skies, fog, drizzle, and a variety of other forms of moisture that knew how to find its way through clothing, skin, muscle – to the marrow of our very bones.

Darkness always creeps in slowly – just like sin. It’s normally late in October, like around Halloween that I first notice the darkness outdoors. I like a well-lit house, and when I look outside and see the dark, I have an instinctive need to drop the shades and draw the curtains closed. I don’t want the world outside to know what I’m doing inside. To be honest, most of what I do would doubtlessly bore my neighbors to tears, but I don’t even want them to know that about me. Some people are open books and don’t worry about what others think, say, or do about them. Not me. I’m an old, retired parish priest who has happily traded in the fishbowl in which clergy often live for a castle made of big, hard, dark stones into which a few slits have been cut, but only for defensive purposes. I don’t like being that way, but, frankly, that’s how God has put me together, so I make do as best I can with the gifts and curses the good Lord has lay at my feet or in my heart.

“Almighty God, give us grace to cast away darkness …” We enter the Season of Advent with a prayer that unites us in two things. One, that we are in darkness, and two, we are in need of light. Notice, however, that casting off darkness isn’t something we can do willingly or easily. In fact, the prayer implies we can only begin to cast it off with a dollop of God’s grace. We begin our journey into the new year acknowledging that we need help, and, boy, isn’t that the truth?

As I have gotten older, I have found a need for more and better lighting when I am working on projects around the house. Things I could once see clearly and easily have become dim. I often find I need to take off my glasses for working close up to something, and I need a bright flashlight to help me see what I’m looking for in drawers or cabinets. Our Collect for the First Sunday of Advent lets us know right off the bat that our eyes are not as sharp as we would like them to be, so we look to the source of all light for the light we need. That’s the first step.

The second step is acknowledging, too, that we are mortal. That may seem pretty obvious to most people, but the fact is, I don’t spend much time pondering my mortality (let alone my morality which, personally, I think is fairly decent, as long as we use a sliding scale). This prayer reminds us that, not only are we mortal, but God decided to jump in and join us in our mortality! As one wag put it, God didn’t just come to us “in great humility,” but in great humiliation – born a baby who would be completely dependent on the limited abilities of a complete novice (the Virgin Mary) to bring him into this world and raise him up to be for us what we can never be on our own – a Deliverer like Moses, a prophet like Elijah, and MORE. 

If this is true, what are we hoping for? What is our aspiration? Our desire of God?

“That in the last day … we may rise to the life immortal …” To spend eternity with God! Our prayer is to become centered on the One in whom we live and move and have our being. We addressed our prayer to “Almighty God,” which seems a bit off-putting, as we are anything but holy, anything but clean, anything but righteous or faithful, and yet we ask the One to whom we pray to pull us up and to lift us out of our darkness, and lostness, and weakness, and pull us in toward God’s very own bosom, in Christ’s “glorious majesty,” so that, in the words of St. Augustine of Hippo, we may find rest for our restless hearts in God.

That’s a nice way to start the year off, not focused on the worminess of our sordid lives (or wherever we find ourselves on Perdition’s slippery path), but on the glory and majesty of God who is not content for us to be tossed into fiery pits, but desires, instead, for us to come up higher and sit with the heavenly hosts and regale one another with tales of all that God has done.

Candle one is lit; the year begins with fire.

Sometimes it's hard to be thankful

“Gratitude should go forward, rather than backwards.” Bill W.

Thanksgiving is upon us. For what are we thankful?

I’m struggling to come up with an answer to that question this year. It seems events overseas and around the country have gotten so chaotic and violent, I just don’t know what to think, what to do, or how to respond.

I feel guilty anticipating holiday feasting, football, and family gatherings when all around us, wars rage across the pond, the homeless are dying in our neighborhoods, and the plagues of gun violence, drug addiction, and drug-resistant diseases are banging on our doors.

Jesus said these things will always afflict us. Nations will rise up against other nations. Pestilence will ravage the lands. Families will be torn apart – fathers against sons and sons against fathers; mothers against daughters and daughters against mothers. The earth will shake, the skies will darken, stars will fall.

Egotistical souls will insist we are living in the end times, but egotists have been saying that for thousands of years. We always feel we are in the worst times, simply because when times are bad, we assume no one has ever had it as hard as us.

“What fools these mortals be,” says Puck in a Shakespearean play. Jesus cautions us against calling anyone a fool, lest we subject ourselves to judgment. But I think Puck is right. I don’t mind calling people fools as long as I remember that I am describing the “we” and not the “thee.”

We are silly creatures, so I don’t mind starting off by acknowledging that I am sometimes a fool, yet I’m alive to tell about it. Life is serious, to be sure, but we need to be careful not to take ourselves too seriously. I’m thankful for that.

When I finished raking leaves in the front yard a few weeks ago, I did more. I drained the hoses, coiled them, and put them away (along with the sprinklers and nozzles). I covered the outdoor faucets with their foam insulating caps. Consequently, when I found hard frost upon the ground today, I could drink my morning coffee – with a smile – for I was ahead of the game (for once). My procrastinatory nature was overcome by a bout of industriousness; I’m thankful for that.

I usually wait until after Thanksgiving to put up my holiday decorations. OK, yes, my Christmas decorations; let’s be honest. While it has been chilly, the sun is shining and the rains are holding off (if one can believe the weather person on the television), so I may get them up a little early. I don’t do rooftop or eavestrough lights any more as I prefer to avoid such heights, but I can put out ground-level decorations at my leisure. I’ve got the health and energy to do what I can do. What’s more, I can do it with good cheer; I’m thankful for that.

I do like to keep up on news of what’s happening around the world and around this country, but I don’t obsess over it. I can’t control wars in far-off places, but I have neighbors with whom I get along reasonably well. We don’t fight. We don’t argue. We don’t endanger one another with our driving. The neighborhood dogs are either well-behaved or kept on their own properties. The deer don’t come through too often, but when they do, they leave their calling cards with the neighbors and not with us. The raccoons amble through on occasion, but they leave our trash bins alone (so far). I’m thankful for all that.

The fact is, I find complaining embarrassingly easy to do, but I’ve learned to take life one day at a time; I’ve learned to give thanks for what I have, and not to worry about what I may not have. I have far more than I need, so gratitude really ought to be on the tip of my tongue, rising up from the bottom of my heart – daily. It doesn’t always happen, but it does often enough, for which I am thankful.

What’s more, I am grateful for having an opportunity to regularly share a little bit of myself with you, my readers and publishers here in this, our valley. I am thankful for you, one and all!

Keith Axberg writes on matters concerning life and faith. Author of: Who the Blazes is Jesus? Good News for a Vulgar World (available through Amazon in Print and e-book)

The Scourge of Retribution

I don't normally speak on matters of politics or current events as there is little on the world or national stage I can do or affect. No one in DC is checking in with me, seeking permission to do something, or finding sound reasons not to do something else. In a world of seven billion people, I have no doubt I am somewhere in the lower half of the six billions on anyone's Speed-Dial.

Events in the Middle East are complex, and as I have never been to Israel or any other place East of the Atlantic coast of the USA, I cannot speak with any authority on what's happening there. I have my opinions and thoughts, of course, but they are bound up in second or third hand information, gleaned from a variety of media sources, and seen or heard through a thousand filters.

I am reminded of a parish that offered to send their priest to the Holy Land one time (as he'd never been, and they thought it would a nice gesture on their part). The gift came with one string, however. He could only refer to his experience no more than once a month in his preaching. Apparently, the parish has done that once before and the previous priest came back from his ten day trip as an expert on geography, history, theology, the cultures of Jews, Muslims, Christians (Catholic, Orthodox, Anglican, Evangelicals, etc.), and the parishioners really didn't want to have to suffer through that a second time.

I have not been to the Middle East and could never afford to visit the Holy Land, so such a trip will simply have to wait until the Second coming, at which time (in theory) I'll get to see if from a couple thousand feet (and rising). So I'm no expert in what's going on over there. I have never been a part of a minority or oppressed class of peoples. I often joke that when it comes to racism, all I know is how Norwegians and Swedes treat one another. If that's as bad as I've had it, then I've lived a fairly sheltered life.

The experience from which I CAN speak, however, is the human experience of violence and retaliation. Everyone says they want Justice, but for many, that devolves into retribution and vengeance. Jesus saw danger in that kind of attitude. Every act of retribution, no matter how "measured" or how "careful" will be experienced by the "other" as excessive. Punch me with one pound PSI, I should be able to punch you with equal force, but darned if it won't feel to you as 1.1 pound of PSI. That requires an escalation on each victim's part, and it will never end.

So Jesus says clearly, "Turn the other cheek; walk the extra mile; give your coat AND your shirt." It's not because the bullies or instigators deserve it, but because the response is your own choice. "Yes, you may assault and abuse me, you may take advantage of my friendship and good nature, but I choose to respond THIS way." Of course you may lose everything. Bullies will ask a foot, take your mile, and respond by making you carry their pack mule. That's a possibility, and maybe even a probability, and at some point a third party may even have to intervene (police, courts), and they (your rescuers) may secretly hate you for putting up with being a "victim." As Jesus says, "Yes, folks may well hate you and revile you." The point is, the cycle of violence and retribution will never end if we refuse to try a different way.

There is an old, staid cliche that defines insanity as doing the same thing over and over and expecting different results. It may be old, it may be staid, and it may be a cliche, but nonetheless it is true. The cycle of violence continues because those who dare try something different often fail, resulting in those who might follow to quit trying, too. We have no trouble getting into fights, but it seems we have no patience to make peace.

I suspect part of the problem is the dehumanizing of the "other." During times of war, soldiers always find ways to remove the humanity of the enemy from their minds. They must do that for self-preservation. The enemy is the "target" (or some racial, ethnic, or dehumanizing epithet). Acts of barbarism are always "justified" by what the other did (first). This eye-for-an-eye, tooth-for-tooth approach devolves into a world that is blind to the escalating destruction that takes place on an ever-escalating ramp to hell.

Jesus says, "Stop! For Christ's sake, STOP!"

Each side expects God to come down and wreak vengeance on the other for their atrocities, vileness, cruelty, etc. Well, I can't speak for those of other faiths (and can barely speak for those of my own faith tradition), but those who walk the Jesus Way would suggest God did come down, and rather than descend with an army of angels to visit death and destruction on the human race, chose to risk birth and living amongst us, and even when we visited torture upon him, did not send out a bugle-call for help, but allowed the cold embrace of death to lay ahold of him, instead. 

One can always find loopholes in the Bible (Hebrew and Christian scriptures) and Quran to justify violence. Jesus no doubt sighed with disgust when he said, "The kingdom suffers violence, and the violent take it by force" (Matthew 11:12). Still, he gave himself up for arrest; he gave his back to the smiters; he endured torture; they took his clothes from him, divided them by lot, and nailed him naked to the hard wood of the cross, upon which he died -- an object of laughter and scorn by passers-by.

There isn't room here to present a comprehensive guide to peace in the Middle East, but I would offer a few ideas for consideration of all involved. (1) Cease Fire. Unilateral, if need be. But stop the insanity where it stands now. (2) Unimpeded Humanitarian Aid (Food, water, shelter, medical care, evacuation of anyone and everyone at risk). (3) Find, identify, and charge a small team (3 people representing Israel, and 3 from Palestine Authority) to sit down with a mutually agreed upon neutral third party (non-major power) and develop a process for transforming the ceasefire to a genuine peace accord. (4) An independent investigation by a neutral third party to identify and secure arrest warrants for all parties (of whatever stripe) who are responsible for engaging in specific war crimes (thinking Nuremburg type of trials).

Anyone who says such an approach is unworkable, ignores the complexity of the history and list of grievances, etc. is not interested in peace. Of course it is complex. Of course it will require risk. Of course these will be stops, and lurches, and set-backs. So what? Of course it may take years to undo the damage of decades of mistrust and bad acts. So what? Of course there will still be people doing everything in their power to make sure nothing works. So what? 

The cancer of violence is shrunk by the application of medicines that may bring unpleasant results at first, but if the tumor shrinks, and the circle of violent antagonists shrinks, isn't it worth the effort?

Jesus thought it was. Ghandi thought it was. Martin Luther King, Jr. thought it was. Standing in the midst of those giants, who am I to disagree? Let's beat our swords into plough shares and spears into pruning hooks; let's give peace a real try, and stick to it.