Rev. Eugene N. Nelson, Jr.
The Community Church of Sebastopol
May 30, 2010
Romans 5:1-5
The origins of Memorial Day are often attributed to General John Logan. It is true that, in 1868, he gave impetus to an official “Decoration Day” as it was first called, a time for remembering the Civil War dead and decorating their graves. But Logan never really understood the meaning of the day. A Union general during the war, his anger at and hatred for the South never abated. For him there could be no reconciliation and indeed there never was.
Nearer the truth is this: in 1867, the ladies of Columbus, Mississippi, placed flowers on the graves of all the fallen soldiers in their town – Union soldiers no less than their own Confederates. In the aftermath of the terrible and fratricidal war, it was a most humane and far-reaching act. The northern poet, Francis Miles Finch, celebrated this simple act of charity and reconciliation, and for years his poetic words were memorized in classrooms, North and South. For he spoke of “banishing our anger forever, when we laurel the graves of the dead, Blue and Gray alike.” Someone has suggested that these women discovered a different sort of power, a different path to peace. With their homeland shattered, their future uncertain, they felt powerless to do anything. What do you do when you can’t do anything? Well, you can care still. And they discovered that their caring, taking flowers to the graves of their own sons and to the graves of the enemy who were also someone’s sons, was a surprising opening to reconciliation and peace. One could say that in their simple act they found a way to “wage peace.” How we might do that?
In 1899, on the eve of the 20th century, diplomats from the leading governments of the world gathered together in the Hague for what was called the First International Peace Conference. It was held, not to conclude a war or to settle conflicts, but to focus on building a world of lasting peace. It dealt with issues of disarmament, international law and the peaceful settlement of disputes. A second conference was held there in 1907. The third one was canceled due to the outbreak of World War I. The war somehow got in the way of discussions of world peace, as nations that once met together to talk peace now slaughtered each other’s children in the trenches of Europe. And as we know the 20th century became the bloodiest in history, with over 93 million people killed in wars around the world.
In May, 1999, the world finally got around to holding that third peace conference in the Hague. Over 10,000 people met for a week in the Netherlands to discuss once again issues of disarmament, international law and the peaceful settlement of disputes. The hope was to make the 21st century the century of world peace. How have we done so far? Sadly, if we have learned anything at all about peace over the years, it is this: peace is hard to come by. To paraphrase the Apostle Paul, it is the lack of peace that passes all human understanding.
And so our nation suffers a horrendous and murderous assault from terrorists. What do we do? We mobilize the troops send ships to sea and bombers into the air. Rockets fly through the air into Afghanistan and later into Iraq and Pakistan. Why? All this is done in the name of peace, peace as we understand it, peace on our terms. If we can just eliminate enough of the bad people, destroy enough of the terrorist camps, just get democratic governments in Afghanistan and Iraq, then we shall have peace. I recall some words of author Wendell Berry: “Did you finish killing everybody who was against peace?”
Let’s face it, hammering out our vision of peace often takes the tools of war. Maintaining peace can involve tremendous cost. We have pretty much come to accept the fact that it can be necessary to make war in order to make peace. I recall these words from the Vietnam war: “We have to destroy the village in order to save it.” It’s too bad but it’s the only way we know. And again, often it seems we have no choice. And so this weekend we properly honor those who have paid that price on our behalf, those who, in the words of Lincoln, “gave that last full measure of devotion.” May God bless and hold every single one of them.
Yes, often it seems we have no choice. In our Men’s Bible study this past Thursday, we spent some time reflecting on Paul’s concluding words to the church in Thessalonica, a church for which he had great affection. At the end of that letter, he tells them to nurture and support each other, saying, “encourage the fainthearted, help the weak, be patient with all of them. See that none of you repays evil for evil, but always seek to do good to one another and to all.” This is the same Paul, who several years later, would tell the folks in the church at Rome. “Therefore, since we are justified by faith, we have peace with God through our Lord Jesus Christ…” Paul adds his own voice to our discussion about peace. And on Thursday we struggled with him, trying to understand him, asking, how do you do this? How do you live this peace with God? How to you live in such a way that you never repay evil for evil and instead always seek the good of the other – both here and beyond the walls of this church? Where do you find this peace that Paul is talking about? How do we wage peace?
Perhaps it begins with faith. I once heard it said that the crib and the cross, not the cannon and the shot, are still symbols for the most powerful influence ever brought to bear upon the human family. Do you believe that’s true? Do we really believe that when we start talking about our nation or about our business or about our marriage or about our relationship to our children or our friends? The power of the crib and the cross…do we really believe that when we start talking about peace? Trouble is, peace on Jesus’ terms instead of the world’s terms, runs counter to the world’s way, counter to so much of what we have learned and come to expect.
I’ve told you before about Philip Hallie’s book, Let Innocent Blood Be Shed: The Story of the Village of Le Chambon and How Goodness Happened There. What happened there was that during World War II, the Protestant pastor of the village’s Reformed church and his congregation organized to save the lives of Jews by hiding them in secret shelters and hidden rooms in their own homes. Alert to the evil around them and refusing to be taken in by the perverse propaganda of the anti-Semitic press, they made the risky decision to follow in Jesus’ way. They refused to cooperate with the world around them and instead sheltered Jews.
At one point a Reformed church official came to town and ordered the pastor to stop this dangerous activity. The pastor, Andre Trocme, refused, proclaiming that his allegiance was not to some fearful and compromised church official, but to Jesus Christ. According to Trocme, their conversation went something like this: Church official: What I want to say is this: you must stop helping the refugees.
Trocme: Do you realize what you are asking? These people are in very great danger. If we do not shelter them or take them across the mountains to Switzerland, they may well die.
Church official: What you are doing is endangering the very existence not only of this village, but of the Protestant church in all of France. You must stop helping them.
Trocme: If we stop, many of them will starve to death or die of exposure or be deported and killed. We cannot stop.
Church official: You must stop.
Trocme: No!
Reflecting on this, theologian, George Hunsinger, writes, “The congregation practiced an ethic of fidelity and witness. In other words, they were faithful to Jesus Christ and, by their actions, witnessed to the cross of Christ. Faithfulness to Christ meant a willingness to go against all conventional wisdom, all cultural assumptions, all human authority. Pastor and people were convinced that they had to follow Jesus in the same path of non-violence and forgiveness that Jesus himself walked.” The crib and the cross…waging Peace on Christ’s terms.
Jesus invites us on a new way, opens before us a different path to peace. Says Clayton Schmit - Lutheran pastor and preaching professor, “Not a peace that comes through diplomacy. Not a peace that simply gives evil men and women time to plot another war, but a peace that brings us into a free and certain connection with the God who made us. Not a secular, tentative peace, but a spiritual peace that flows from faith and works its way into the world by the faithfulness of that contrary, cross-bearing, sword-shattering people who bear Christ’s name. Any other peace we may seek is tentative and costly. Any other peace is limited and vain. If you want to work for world peace, wage a peace that is rooted in Christ.”
I think back to those ladies in Columbus, Mississippi. Somehow, in the shadow of so much violence and suffering, hatred and fear, they found another way. And that is Jesus’ invitation to us. Rather than staying stuck in old violent patterns that defeat our spirits and cause us to mistrust, doubt and fear each other, he invites us on a path of openness and transformation. This is a path where we learn to recognize and respect the sacred in every person, including ourselves; where we learn to face our fear with love as well as courage, where we give up the “we-they” game, which only allows us to demonize the “other” and leads to conflict and violence, where we begin to see connections not seen before; where we learn to slow down and be patient, planting seeds of love, compassion and forgiveness with the faith that thy will slowly and surely grow.
I recall the old comedy routine where a clown comes out on to a stage that is totally dark except for a small circle of light cast by a solitary street lamp. Beneath that light the clown paces back and forth, searching the ground with a worried look on his face. A policeman comes on sage, observes the scene before him and asks, “What have you lost?” “The key to my house,” the clown replies. “Are you sure you lost it here?” “No,” answers the clown. He then points to a dark corner of the stage and says, “I lost if over there.” “Then why on earth are you searching here?” “Because,” answers the clown, “there’s no light over there!”
Well, to paraphrase the country song, perhaps we have been looking for peace in all the wrong places, always looking to governments, better weapons and tired, fear-filled clichés, none of which have ever worked. And so, like those ladies of Columbus or the brave church members of the village of Le Chambon, it is time we went out into the dark, took as many risks for peace as for war; made its seeking heroic and important, discovering that, at last, it begins right here, in the human heart, in the confident conviction that if God is for us, then none can be against us, in the faith that God calls us to join him in extending God’s peaceful reign of justice, goodness, compassion, caring, sharing, joy, laughter and reconciliation to all the world. All of which is to say that peace in the world, peace within the church, peace within our own hearts begins here, today, with you and with me.