Whenever President Obama comes before the podium to announce troop deployments or increases in the defense budget, he wears an impeccable suit, tie and shirt. Considering the subject, he would be more appropriately dressed in sackcloth and ashes, to mirror the heartache he is transmitting over the TV to everyone involved, which is all of us.

In the May 2nd issue of The New York Times, first page below the fold, there is an article by John M. Broder, in which he tells how environmentalists think global warming would be more acceptable to the public clothed in more acceptable semantics: Drop talk about the “environment” and talk about “the air we breathe, the water our children drink.” It strikes me as ludicrous to be so precious about using the word “environment” when we are also speaking about war and sending more troops into harm’s way, but can’t bring ourselves to print pictures of coffins, grieving parents, wives, husbands, children.

Suggestion: For Mother’s Day, let journalists suspend all articles and photos whose subjects come within a million miles of a war zone. Let us give our mothers, our entire nation a brief vacation from war. Is it possible to become so accustomed to violence we no longer are shocked to find TV news anchors reporting about troops killed two hours ago, followed immediately by the baseball scores, with hardly a change of voice, as though it is normal never to think of our nation without a war to fight, our best men and women sacrificed to someone’s ambition and financial greed? We speak of peace, then announce a new, demonic weapon in the works to be ready for the next war, and there is no one brave enough to tell our leaders they have no clothes. They were lost in the war; can’t recall which one.

When I want to escape for a moment of sanity, I go back to the ancient traditions of the Quiche Indians, members of the largest of the twenty-two ethnic groups in Guatemala, to review how pregnant women are treated in the autobiography of the 1992 Pulitzer Prize winner, Rigoberta Menchu.

Rigoberta tells us her parents were elected representatives for the entire community. When a woman realized she was pregnant, she and her husband would go before her parents, who would tell them, “We will help you, we will be the child’s second parents.” Together, the leaders and the couple choose the godparents to care for the child if he or she is orphaned. It is also the custom that the pregnant woman’s neighbors call on her every day and take her little things, no matter how simple. They’ll stay and talk with her, and she can tell them any problems she might be experiencing.

Later, when the baby is seven months old, the mother introduces the child to the natural world, walking out in the fields or over the hills, talking about her life all the time, saying something like, “You must never abuse nature, and you must live your life honestly as I do.”

When the baby is born, the only people present will be the husband, the community’s leaders and the couple’s parents. I t would be a scandal for a woman to go to a hospital to have a child.

After the Catholic Action group was established, the people began to go to Mass. The baby will be baptized in church after a ceremony within the community.

For eight days the mother must be alone with the baby. Her only visitors are those who bring food. There will be a number of fiestas to celebrate, a small one for the immediate family, followed by a great one for the entire community, then another large one for special, honored guests.

When the baby is born, his hands and feet are bound to show that they are sacred and must be used only to work or to do what nature demands, never steal or show disrespect for any living thing.

After eight days, his hands and feet are untied, and he is placed in the new bed with his mother, and everyone comes to kiss him. Then, the parents tell the baby how sorry they are to welcome him into the world where there is such suffering. When the child is forty days old, he becomes a full member of the community. The village leaders come and talk, and explain their traditions. They tell the child they will be responsible for him and teach him their ways. They say what seems like a prayer.

Let no landowner extinguish all this, nor any rich man wipe out our customs. Let our children, be they workers or servants, respect and keep their secrets.

A baby boy will grow up with his hoe, his machete, his axe, and all the tools he will need in life. These will be his playthings. A little girl will have her washing board and all the things she will need when she grows up.

Flowers and music, candy, cards and special dinners will tell mothers from coast to coast how loved they are. But the greatest gift we would give them is beyond our capability: Peace. Lasting peace.

That is our prayer for all mothers, for all the world. Happy, Happy Mother’s Day. And peace. Yes, peace. Amen.

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