Rev. Eugene N. Nelson, Jr.
The Community Church of Sebastopol
May 28, 2006
Isaiah 2: 1-5; Micah 4: 1-4
On the one-year anniversary of the attacks of 9/11, President Bush went to New York, where, with New York harbor and the Statue of Liberty as a backdrop, he spoke of American determination and resolve not to give in to terror and violence. America would not be intimidated, he said. America would continue to be a beacon of hope for all the world to see. America would continue to pursue democracy and the blessings of freedom throughout the world. Indeed, America would remain, in spite of any threat; a shining light for all those around the world who dreamed of freedom. He then concluded his speech with these words: “The light shines in the darkness and the darkness has not overcome it.”
It was an eloquent speech, perhaps one of his most eloquent, a beautiful speech. But his conclusion – the light shines in the darkness – has troubled me for some time. When the President spoke of the light shinning in the darkness, what was he speaking of? America. In this speech, clearly America is the light that shines in the darkness for all the world to see. But we know these words are hardly original with this or with any other administration. These words come from the first chapter of the Gospel of John. You recognize them: “In the beginning was the Word and the Word was with God and the Word was God…All things came into being through him and without him not one thing came into being. What has come into being in him was life, and the life was the light of all people. The light shines in the darkness and the darkness has not overcome it.” Now when John speaks of the light shining in the darkness, what is he talking about? Jesus. Jesus is the light that shines. Jesus is the light no darkness can overcome.
But the President took this image from the Gospel of John and transformed it. In his speech, America replaced Christ as the light shinning in the darkness or at least was now equal with Christ. You could call this an absolutely brilliant blending of religious and national images, especially in a time of war – Christ and America – now both of them the light of the world. Or you could call it rather ominous, even frightening. In the concluding moments of his eloquent speech, the President of the United States essentially told us that now the purposes of God and the foreign policy goals of the United States are the same. We are now the light, we are now the agents of God… and we went along with it. As I recall, very little was said after that speech. I know I kept my silence. Such is the power that the narcotic of war can hold over us, and we have been at war for quite some time now. Indeed, it would seem that we have perhaps entered into a state of perpetual conflict, which leaves us then in a perpetual state of fear, which leaves us in a perpetual search for security, seemingly at any cost, as we are seduced by the allure of military might and its promise of deliverance. Former war correspondent, Chris Hedges, in his book War Is a Force Which Unites Us, describes the seductive power of war and martial power as a narcotic that can provoke whole societies into a self-righteous delirium, a delirium, by the way, in which dissent is seen as treason and any discussion as betrayal.
But is it treasonous or unpatriotic for people of faith to ask, “What if America isn’t the light of the world? What if that title still belongs to Jesus?” How to remain Christian, how to proclaim Jesus as Lord, in the midst of empire? Because from the earliest days of the Christian church, Caesar has always insisted there is room in the world for only one Lord. And those who dared to say, “Jesus is Lord,” were labeled as unpatriotic, even as treasonous, and indeed many found themselves hung on Roman crosses. How to proclaim Jesus as Lord in the midst of empire? Is it naïve or unrealistic to suggest we are called to love God more than our own security? But it is so easy to get hooked on war, especially when war is presented as a divinely inspired crusade.
I recall a scene from the film, Patton. A column of U.S. tanks and support troops engages a German column in an all-night battle at close range. The next morning General Patton arrives and tours the battlefield. There is burned out equipment everywhere. Dead and dying men cover the ground. Some of the fighting had been hand-to-hand, and German and American soldiers are locked together in a deadly embrace. A horrific scene, like something out of Dante’s Inferno. Patton takes it all in, and says, “I love it. God help me, but I love it so.”
Let’s face it, war can be exhilarating, something that calls forth heroism and noble sacrifice, that stretches our energies beyond what we supposed possible, that dampens selfishness and encourages cooperation. Those of us who consume reports from the front lines as we work in the kitchen or sit in our living rooms at home can get intoxicated by it all, especially when that coverage is sanitized as recent media coverage has been – all glory and honor with no pools of blood or screams of agony or body bags being zipped shut.
But the scene from Patton reminds me of another scene from a war film, this one the classic, All Quiet on the Western Front. Paul Baumer kills an enemy soldier at close range. But as he gazes into the face of his dead enemy, he makes a disturbing discovery…namely that his enemy was a man much like himself. Says Baumer, “I had thought you just an idea. But here I see you, face to face, and you must have had a mother, and been afraid to die, and been very much like me.”
I remember back to 1979, when Billy Graham was interviewed following a trip to Europe and the Soviet Union. He was asked about the military arms race. In response Graham called it, “a sheer, absolute insanity,” and he then went on to plead with Christians everywhere to support every effort toward disarmament and peace.
A rather surprised reporter observed, “Mr. Graham, you’ve never really involved yourself before in controversial political issues. Why now?”
Billy Graham responded simply, “Because I have been reading my Bible.”
“They shall beat their swords into plowshares, and their spears into pruning hooks. Nation shall not lift up sword against nations, neither shall they learn war any more.”
I selected two different Old Testament prophets, preaching essentially the same message, just to underscore how deep, how basic, is the Biblical dream for peace. “Blessed are the peacemakers, for they will be called children of God.” There are few themes that receive more attention in the Bible than that of peace. God means for us to beat swords into plowshares. God intends for all God’s creation to live in peace.
It’s a tough one for people of faith these days. As I said, we’ve been at war for a long time and I know I haven’t really said much about it from this pulpit as some of you remind me from time to time. And I suppose it is because on the one hand I want to be supportive of those wonderful women and men serving in Iraq and Afghanistan and other places. They are in my prayers daily. Yet, there are also those pesky prophets – that Biblical word – calling us to be peacemakers, speaking against the shear absolute insanity of war.
In 1914 when war broke out in Europe, well-known English journalist, C.E. Montague, felt he could not sit idly by while his nation went to war. He was overage, his hair was gray, so when he tried to enlist he was turned away. But he would not be deterred. He dyed his hair, made himself a fake I.D., went back and was accepted into the army. Before he left for the front his colleagues at the Manchester Guardian gave him a farewell dinner. They saluted him with this toast: “There are many whose hair turned white overnight through cowardice. We drink to the only man on record whose hair turned black overnight through courage!”
Montague went off to Europe to find honor and glory in war. He returned from the trenches of Europe with his idealism shattered, his spirit tortured. He wrote a book about his experiences, it’s title: Disenchantment. And in that book he joined the Old Testament prophets in wondering why we cannot fire up the human spirit as much in it’s search for peace an in its descent into to war.
“They shall beat their swords into plowshares, their spears into pruning hooks…” There is a South African song, coming from the dark days of apartheid, with this oft repeated refrain: “We are the ones we’ve been waiting for, we are the one’s we’ve been waiting for.” In a world billions of dollars are spent on war while children still go hungry and lack medical care, where liberties are eroded and prisoners are now mistreated in the name of security, where preemptive military strikes seem to be preferred over diplomacy and where civilians and soldiers continue to be maimed and die violently, it just might be, when it comes to peace, that we are the ones we’ve been waiting for.
Swords into plowshares – friends, we are people of that vision. We are people of this word. And in these times, in any time, we have a subversive story to tell. Let there be no doubt. We know who is really on the throne. We know who is the true light of the world, and who finally is the only hope for security and peace.
Years ago Mickey Gilley sang to us about looking for love in all the wrong places. Well I fear the same could be said about our search for peace. We have looked to governments, we have looked to bigger and better military weapons – shock and awe, and all that – and we have looked at the same old clichés about the glory and honor of war, and the world suffers still. It was G.K. Chestertan who said, “Nothing is real until it is local.” In a word, it begins with us and more begins with us than we might know.
We are the ones we’ve been waiting for. It is time to take as many risks for peace as for war, to make seeking peace heroic and important, and to discover at last that it all begins right here, in the human heart, with you and with me.