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Color me boushie, but one of my favorite places for a day trip is Princeton, NJ. The university campus itself is gorgeous, the surroundings impeccable. Not only that, but within stones’ throws of each other, the area features one of my favorite gastropubs (Rocky Hill Tavern), one of my favorite bookstores (Labyrinth Books), and my favorite music store (Princeton Record Exchange). Princeton, I’m yours!

(Or rather, “almost yours.” Two fun Angehr facts: 1) During the fall of my senior year of high school, I applied early decision to Princeton but was put on their wait list, and 2) On their wait list I remain.)

Princeton was spectacular this past Monday: upper 50’s, sunny, and with verdant, post-winter patches starting to peek through. While walking around town and campus, however, I had the current situation in Ukraine on my mind. At the time, Russia's invasion of Ukraine was reported to be imminent; and now, the the savage incursion has arrived. What a strange and sad world where in one corner, a guy like me can toodle through and oogle at beautiful things, while in another place a small and fragile nation will likely be crushed by a larger and nastier one–––and for reasons nobody can fathom unless your last name rhymes with “shootin’.”

At Labyrinth Books I picked up a volume of essays called Otherwise Known as the Human Condition by a person named Geoff Dyer. (Pro tip: Dyer penned a work on jazz, But Beautiful, that I consider to be one of the wisest and most poetic meditations on the music genre that I love. Recommended!)  In one of Otherwise Known's first pieces, the author reflects upon a photo collection centered on the Vietnam War, and in it he observes something I’ve often pondered, namely the differences between Vietnam and World War II. If the latter conflict had a clear sense of purpose, “as the war in Vietnam progressed, it came to be seen as confused, chaotic, purposeless. . . One photographer wrote home to his parents that ‘the risks were getting way out of proportion to the gains. I seemed to be getting the same pictures that I had made many times before, and as I became more accustomed to the war what had initially been interesting and exciting became dull and frightening.’”

Of course, the worst circumstances tend to engender the best art.  From Tim O'Brien's The Things They Carried to Bruce Springsteen's Born in the U.S.A., Vietnam's pain has produced countless stunning totems.

Despite all of that good art, though, I’m worried that as a culture (or cultures) we’re forgetting Vietnam. Instead, we tend to revert back to WW II as our paradigm for all future conflicts. What if, however, WW II was the exception to the rule of war? It featured clear demarcations of good versus evil, good guys against bad guys, and a moral obligation to stop the immoral.

So many other wars look to me as if they fall on the other side of the ledger. Every player is compromised, no one’s hands are clean, who’s right and who’s wrong is complicated, and the risks outweigh any gains. War is hell, and a muddled, amoral mess.

Now don’t get me wrong. By the great majority of sane accounts, it certainly seems that right now, Russia is the bad guy, and Ukraine the innocent one.

But what about us?

I’m no politician, and one of my goals at Liberti Collingswood is that we never become a congregation that’s politically polarized. I’ll keep striving to ensure that people on all sides of the political aisle(s) are made to feel equally welcome (and, occasionally, equally uncomfortable) at my church. Nevertheless, I perceive some grey areas here: for example, the US will stand (as it should) with Ukraine against Russia, while at the same time it appears highly plausible that our banking system has turned a blind eye towards sheltering billions in Russian wealth. Also, how will oil factor in? And why interest in human rights issues there, but not other places?

I imagine that among those reading these words, there will be differences of opinion regarding policy solutions and strategies. But here’s a way in which we may yet find some unity: can we be sad together? Let’s lament that for every Princeton, there are ten Ukraines. For every WW II, a hundred Vietnams.

As much as I long for peace in our time, I pray in addition along with the last words in our New Testament: “Come, Lord Jesus.”

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