I remember when I first learned that war was wrong. I was nineteen years old, in love for the first time, sexual for the first time, holding my lover in my arms. I looked at his body, long, smooth, and perfect lying next to me, and I knew that it was Holy. This body I knew so well, that could bring us both so much pleasure, was sacred for that, yes--but also because it was whole, and it was living and it was inherently a thing of beauty and goodness. And war, it followed immediately, which could shatter that beauty in an instant, was a blasphemy. All I needed to understand that war is a blasphemy was to love one human being in the flesh, as an adult. The peace testimony is different; my peace testimony took many more years to come to me. But I have known from the age of nineteen that war is a blasphemy. * * * Yesterday, I was in my kitchen making pickles. What with boiling kettles of water and processing pounds of vegetables and brine, mak