Before you climb that mountain....

I lost one of my best friends a few years ago after I bared my soul about some changes I was going through with regard to my faith, my politics, and my worldview.

What it’s like to go to war

I’d been “at war” in Iraq for 10+ years. Most days were low-grade war. Kidnappings outside the city. Airstrikes that prompt you to check in with all your friends in a certain region. A suicide bombing in Baghdad near another friend’s office.

Then there were the babies. Two brains. One eye. Holes in their hearts, spine, and crania.

War is monstrous.

For years, my phone was little more than a bad news machine.

And then I started going to the frontlines.

Friends were killed.

Bodies in the streets.

Constant threat.

I’ll be the first to say, it got to me.

For a year or two, I was probably living at threat level red, even when it wasn’t warranted.

So one day, while visiting the US, I was sitting in this dear friend’s house and I told the truth as I’d seen it. I expressed my doubts: in our religious upbringing; in my faith; and in our previously shared politics.

I didn’t think too much of it. He was one of my best friends. We had 20 years together. Surely he was a safe place to offload some baggage!?

Months later, he let on that he was deeply hurt that I’d come into his home and spat on everything he held dear.

What it’s like to NOT go to war

We got on the phone.

I’ll never forget pacing my kitchen well after midnight in Iraq as he interrogated me about my faith, my politics, and my evolving worldview.

“Here’s what I think has happened,” I said.

“Twenty years ago, we set out on a journey together. We pointed to these amazing mountains in front of us as we came out of university and said ‘let’s conquer those together’.

“For a while, it really felt like we were on the same trek together. But then you got that job and I moved overseas.

“You said you wanted to support us and our work. You said you wanted to set up a kind of basecamp for us—a place of rest and support that we could always return to. And so, we set out further up the mountain.

“We moved to Iraq. Started humanitarian work. We inched ourselves closer and closer to the frontlines. Then every year or two we’d trek back down the mountain to meet you at basecamp.

“We desperately needed the support and normalcy of what you’d created in those foothills. We didn’t begrudge you the salary, the house, the cars, or the career. We wanted to be climbing that mountain. You wanted to be at basecamp. It was a partnership that worked for everyone.

“But when we started to give you reports of what we’d seen further up the mountain, you didn’t believe us.

“‘That’s actually not what Islam is about,’ we might say.

“Or ‘Iraq is a lot more complex than you’re seeing on the news.’

“Or ‘It’s not just Christians that ISIS is killing ya know?’

“We kept climbing the mountain. But you didn’t want to hear our scouting report. You seemed to think your view from basecamp was the view that should be applied to the whole world.

“And as those years went on, basecamp became less about mobilizing support, and more of a resort town in its own right. A world unto itself.

“All we really needed was a place to offload the truth of our experiences out there beyond basecamp.”

The view from the edge

There was a long silence. My voice was beginning to crack.

“Because at times, it’s been horrific. The death. The attacks. The suffocating loneliness.

“But it’s also been glorious.

“Climb above the vegetation and you start to really appreciate the little things.

“Make it to the snow and your simple concept of seasons and the passing of time melts away.

“And once you get above the clouds, you realize how much of your reality has been limited by your line of sight.

“Not everyone wants to live on the edge—that’s fine. But you sent us up that path. The church even said it was a moral mountain that was worth our sacrifice.

“So the last thing we expected was to be threatened with excommunication by those who haven’t seen what we’ve seen.

“Look, the village over the ridge is not the enemy you think they are. I know the stories that circulate throughout this valley. But you haven’t left this enclave in years. You need to call off the attack. It’s good people over there. And we’d all be stronger if we forged an alliance.

“This god we worshiped together, he served us well. But when we left the shire, we learned that the world is not this valley! There are oceans, jungles, and deserts. We’ve scaled the mountains and seen new lands. And they have sunsets our village god can’t fathom!

“But I’m not here to smash the village god. In fact, I thank the village god. He sent me up that mountain in search of a sacrifice…

“How could he have known that we’d keep climbing?”

***

🏡 If you’re reading this from basecamp…

Please be patient with the climbers in your life.

We know that we’re disruptive.

But we mean you no harm.

We love basecamp! And we need the anchors you provide.

But the world is big and the world is good!

We just want to experience more of it together.

🧗 And if you’re reading from the edge…

Be patient with those who haven’t seen what you’ve seen.

You left.

You climbed.

You changed. Be gentle with those who did not.

Then, keep climbing.

You’re not crazy.

We need to see what you’ve seen.

You believe the world is round?

You think we can cure disease?

You say we can get along?

We need you to prove it.

Because it could change everything.

Onward. Upward. Forward.

Jeremy Courtney
Cofounder
HUMANITE

www.humanite.org

PS — I wrote with these two songs on repeat. Want more peace? Let’s bring more of this and this into the world!