Wars and Rumors of Wars (11/15/15)
Last week was one of those weeks. I was in a bunch of meetings. Long meetings. Tuesday, Wednesday, and Thursday evenings. I officiated a funeral on Friday. I was beat. And then I heard the news from Paris. And Baghdad. And Beirut. I hope that I was able to speak a word or two of grace into a gloomy world.
Good
morning! I usually like to start my message with a joke or a funny story, but
after I learned of the attacks in Paris on Friday, I couldn’t think of anything
funny to say. Ecclesiastes tells us that there is a time to laugh, but for me,
in this pulpit, this is not the time to laugh. It is a time to weep and a time
to mourn. And perhaps most of all, it is a time to pray. So I would like to
begin with a prayer that was written by the Rev. Dr. Laurie Ann Kraus, the
Coordinator for Presbyterian Disaster Assistance:
God of mercy, whose presence sustains
us in every circumstance, in the midst of unfolding violence and the aftermath
of terror and loss, we seek the grounding power of your love and compassion.
In these days of fearful danger and
division, we need to believe somehow that your kingdom of peace in which all
nations and tribes and languages dwell together in peace is still a
possibility.
Give us hope and courage that we may not
yield our humanity to fear, even in these endless days of dwelling in the
valley of the shadow of death.
We pray for neighbors in Paris, in
Beirut, in Baghdad, who, in the midst of the grace of ordinary life—while at
work, or at play, have been violently assaulted, their lives cut off without
mercy.
We are hostages of fear, caught in an
escalating cycle of violence whose end cannot be seen.
We open our hearts in anger, sorrow
and hope: that those who have been spared as well as those whose lives are
changed forever may find solace, sustenance, and strength in the days of
recovery and reflection that come. We give thanks for strangers who comfort the
wounded and who welcome stranded strangers, for first responders who run toward
the sound of gunfire and into the smoke and fire of bombing sites.
Once again, Holy One, we cry, how
long, O Lord? We seek forgiveness for the ways in which we have tolerated
enmity and endured cultures of violence with weary resignation. We grieve the
continued erosion of the fabric of our common life, the reality of fear that
warps the common good. We pray in grief, remembering the lives that have been
lost and maimed, in body or spirit.
We
ask for sustaining courage for those who are suffering; wisdom and diligence
among global and national agencies and individuals assessing threat and
directing relief efforts; and for our anger and sorrow to unite in service to
the establishment of a reign of peace, where the lion and the lamb may dwell
together, and terror will not hold sway over our common life.
In
these days of shock and sorrow, open our eyes, our hearts, and our hands to the
movements of your Spirit, who flows in us like the river whose streams makes
glad the city of God, and the hearts of all who dwell in it, and in You.
In
the name of Christ, our healer and our Light, we pray. Amen.[1]
A
couple months ago, my friend Jeff turned 60. Jeff is now semi-retired. He
worked as a geologist, and like most geologists, he worked in the oil and gas
industry. For most of that time, Jeff worked overseas—England, China,
Indonesia, the Middle East, and other places. About five or six years ago, he
moved back to western Pennsylvania to be closer to family.
Jeff
thought that his sixtieth birthday was a pretty big deal, so he invited friends
from all phases of his life. A lot of the guests were friends from his
professional life, men and women who had worked with Jeff outside of the United
States. I had a really interesting conversation with a man named Bob, who had
worked with Jeff in Indonesia.
Bob
was originally from Oklahoma, I believe, and he had worked outside of the U.S.
for a little over thirty years. I asked him what it was like to return to
America after all those years. Of course he’d been home to visit from time to
time, but he hadn’t lived in the United States since the late 70s or early 80s.
But he’d been back in Oklahoma for two or three years and he told me he was
constantly surprised by the amount of fear he encountered everywhere—in
Oklahoma and everywhere else in America. That wasn’t the country he’d left
thirty-odd years ago. He remembered people being happier and more optimistic in
this country.
Fear.
That really took me by surprise. I thought it would be something material or
physical; maybe he was surprised by all the stuff we had or how big our houses
were. But Bob said he was surprised by all the fear. And then it all clicked
into place. We have become so fearful. Think about our broken politics and the
ugly, nasty attack ads that each side runs. It’s all about fear. You see a
picture of a candidate, usually with a scowling face. Then you hear ominous
music. The image fades from color to black-and-white, and the announcer’s voice
tells you all the bad things that will happen to you or your country if the
person in the picture gets elected to Congress or the White House. Or how that
candidate will raise taxes and kill jobs. Or the environment. Or something
else.
We
see this fear in other ads, too, where washed-up, second-tier actors try to
convince us to buy silver or gold, because the economy is about to tank. If you
don’t invest your money in whichever financial product they’re trying to sell
you, well, you could lose everything.
When
I was a kid, my parents were home most nights of the week. Like most other
people, they worked forty hours a week, more or less. Today, most professionals
work fifty or sixty hours a week, sometimes more. Now there are lots of reasons
for this, but I think one of those reasons is fear. We’re afraid that if we
don’t work more hours, someone else will take our jobs. That fear may be more
perception than reality, but that doesn’t make the fear go away.
We’re
also afraid of crime and afraid of terrorist attacks. And those are real fears.
Even if it’s unlikely that any of us will be victims of a terrorist attack, the
images are frightening and the images are everywhere. Fear keeps us tuned in to
the 24-hour cable news networks, where we are bombarded by images of violence
and destruction—and commercials for gold and silver.
We’re
afraid of so much. The fear is overwhelming and we want to know when it will
end, when we will have a better, safer life. This is also the backdrop for this
morning’s gospel lesson. Jesus and the disciples are leaving the Temple and
they marvel at the stonework and the buildings. Jesus responds by telling them:
“Do you see these great buildings? Not one stone will be left here upon another;
all will be thrown down.”
Jesus
tells Peter, James, John, and Andrew that the temple will be destroyed; what
they thought was glorious and permanent will someday be gone. And they ask the
logical question: When? When will the temple be destroyed? When will nation
rise against nation, or kingdom rise against kingdom? When will the wars and
famines begin?
There
is, of course, a temptation to look for evidence of these things in our own
times. In our fear, we often view terrorist attacks or political events or
natural disasters as evidence that we are in the end times or that God’s
judgment is being visited upon us, right now. Beloved, people have been saying this
for hundreds, if not thousands of years. The Apostle Paul thought that Christ’s
return was right around the corner.
One
hundred years ago, the continent of Europe was gripped by war. The First World
War visited death and destruction upon the world on a scale that was previously
unimaginable. Between 1914 and 1918 nine million soldiers and seven million
civilians were killed.[2]
Poison gas was introduced as a weapon of war.
One
of the offshoots of World War I was a worldwide influenza pandemic that lasted
from January of 1918 to December of 1920. Researchers estimate the total
numbers of dead as somewhere between 50 and 100 million people.
The
Russian Revolution was another result of World War I. Millions died from
warfare and disease. When the Communists came to power, they confiscated
farmlands and livestock. At the same time, there were massive droughts. Famine
and disease killed millions more.[3]
Wars and the rumors of wars. Death and destruction; famine and disease.
Some
twenty years later, and in many ways as a result of World War I, the
destruction was repeated, but on an even grander scale. Between 1939 and 1945,
some 50 to 85 million people were killed.[4]
The Nazis attempted genocide on a scale that was unimaginable. Of course, the
entire war would have seemed unimaginable a mere 50 years earlier. Again, the
world suffered through wars, disease, and famine, but the end of the world did
not come.
The
disciples asked Jesus when the world would end, but Jesus refuses to answer the
question. Even later in Chapter 13, Jesus says, “Heaven and earth will pass
away, but my words will not pass away. But about that day or hour no one knows,
neither the angels in heaven, nor the Son, but only the Father.” Only God knows
when; he’s not telling. And that may be the key.
Jesus
tells the disciples, “Beware that no one leads you astray.” Later in the
chapter, he reminds them to be watchful. The implication is that God is up to
something bigger—bigger than we can imagine—and we shouldn’t listen to the
false prophets who claim to be Jesus.[5]
Instead, we should watch and wait faithfully, and live as Jesus has taught us
to live.
That’s
not easy. Fear is everywhere. In our fear, we want to hide ourselves away from
the world. We want to find safe places. We want to isolate ourselves from our
problems. In our anger, we want to lash out at those who have hurt us. In anger
and fear, we want to lash out at others before they might hurt us. The fear
feeds on itself; it is all-consuming. Once the fire has been lit, it is not easily
extinguished.
In
responding to the attacks in Paris, the writer Anne Lamott described the
aftermath of the school shootings at Sandy Hook Elementary in 2012. To her, it
seemed as if the world had ended, yet somehow, we survived:
Talking
and sticking together was the answer. It honest to God was. We were gentler,
more patient and kind with each other. If people are patient and kind, that's a
lot. It means something of the Spirit is at work. For me, that is grace made
visible. It doesn't come immediately, and it doesn't come naturally.[6]
The
Bible only tells us a little about what is to come. There are a few cryptic
verses about what the end might be like. There are a few more verses about
God’s judgment. But the overwhelming, resounding message of the Bible is God’s
love for humanity; God’s overwhelming and unconditional love. Love triumphs
over hate. Love triumphs over fear.
So
how do we move forward in these fearful times? By loving one another! Love your
family, and also love the stranger and the foreigner. Love your neighbor, and
also love your enemy. Remember, love is an active verb. How you work that out
is up to you, but Anne Lamott has some suggestions:
So
after an appropriate time of being stunned, in despair, we show up. Maybe we
ask God for help. We do the next right thing. We buy or cook a bunch of food
for the local homeless. We return phone calls, library books, smiles. We make
eye contact with others. This is a blessed sacrament. In the face of human
tragedy, we go around the neighborhood and pick up litter, even though there
will be more tomorrow. It is another blessed sacrament. We take the action and
the insight will follow: that we are basically powerless, but we are not
helpless.
I have no answers but know one last
thing that is true: More will be revealed. And that what is true is that all is
change. Things are much wilder, weirder, richer, and more profound than I am
comfortable with. The paradox is that in the reality of this, we discover that
in the smallest moments of amazement, at our own crabby stamina, at kindness,
to lonely people who worry us, and attention, at weeping willow turning from
green to gold to red, and amazement, we will be saved.[7]
Thanks be to God. Amen.
Benediction
Now, beloved,
as you depart from this place, fear not! Remember that God never turns away
from us. Remember that we are commanded to love God with all our heart, all our
soul, and all our might. Remember that we are commanded to love our neighbors
as we love ourselves. And remember that love is an active verb; love leads to
visible acts of faithfulness, justice, mercy, and peace. So go forth and be
instruments of God’s love and peace and reconciliation. Do not return evil for
evil to any person, but know that we are all loved by God, and that we are called
to reflect that love and act upon that love to everyone we meet. In the name of
Jesus Christ, our Lord, Let all God’s children say, Amen!
[1] Laurie
Ann Kraus, “A Prayer for Paris, Beirut, and Baghdad,” The Presbyterian Outlook, Nov. 13, 2015, retrieved from: http://pres-outlook.org/2015/11/a-prayer-for-paris-beirut-and-baghdad/
[2] H.P. Willmott.
World War I. New York: Dorling Kindersley
(2003).
[3] Ralph Raico,
“Marxist Dream and Soviet Realities,” Mises
Daily, April 20, 2012; retrieved from: https://mises.org/library/marxist-dreams-and-soviet-realities#ref24
[4] Donald Sommerville.
The Complete Illustrated History of World
War Two: An Authoritative Account of the Deadliest Conflict in Human History
with Analysis of Decisive Encounters and Landmark Engagements. Leicester: Lorenz
Books (2008).
[5]
Micah D. Kiel, “Commentary on Mark 13:1-8,” retrieved from: http://www.workingpreacher.org/preaching.aspx?commentary_id=1419
[6]
Anne Lamott, from a Facebook post: https://www.facebook.com/AnneLamott/posts/756415041154808
[7]
Anne Lamott.
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