This is the text of the sermon delivered at the Thomas Jefferson Memorial Church - Unitarian Universalist. You can listen to the podcast if you prefer to hear a sermon rather than read it.
Opening Words:
On this
Memorial Day, as even those who abhor war pause to recognize those who’ve died
in service to their country, we offer these as opening words. They are adapted from Stephen Mitchell’s
translation of chapter 31 of the Tao te Ching.
Exploration:
In a
relatively recent movie that explores the potential dangers involved in too
single-minded a pursuit of security no matter the cost, there’s a scene in
which two battle-weary soldiers are talking.
They’ve both seen too much … been through too much. They’re both questioning it all. And one says to the other, “Isn’t that the
mission? Isn’t that the ‘why we
fight’? So we get to go home?”
Okay, so
this was Iron Man talking to Captain America in the newest Avengers movie, but
it sounds about right, doesn’t it? My
dad didn’t talk much about his service in World War II – he was a radar
technician in the Navy – but he did say that the guys on the ships, and in the
air, and on the ground weren’t thinking all that much about the big picture of
the war. It wasn’t geopolitics that had
their attention, it was trying to survive … trying to survive this firefight or that long bout of boredom.
Yes. Absolutely.
No question. The men and women
who served in World War II wanted to defeat the Axis powers – they believed
that they were the good guys and that they were trying to stop the bad guys –
but mostly they just wanted to be able to go home. They wanted everyone to be able to go home. Not everyone could, of course. Not everyone did. That’s why we have Memorial Day.
“The War
to End All Wars,” that’s what World War I was called. President Woodrow Wilson is often credited
with the phrase but it’s really H.G. Wells we have to thank. A collection of articles he’d written in the Times of London was titled, The War That Will End War, and later he
used a shortened version, calling the campaign “the war to end war.” British Prime Minister David Lloyd George is
reputed to have been a little more pessimistic, saying, “This war, like the
next war, is the war to end war.”
Sounds a
little oxymoronic when you say it that way, doesn’t it? But don’t you think that that’s somewhere in
the minds of most of the people who are doing the fighting? (And the dying?) This
war will bring peace in our time. This war will put a stop to all those
unconscionable atrocities. This war will ensure that our nation is
safe. (And maybe all nations?) This
war … and then I can go home. Then I can
go home and we all can go home. And
we’ll never have to do this again.
Maybe
that’s one of the ways faith, our
theme for the month, gets into our conversation this morning. The soldiers’ faith that the war they’re
fighting has meaning. That the danger they
are putting themselves into is worth it.
The faith that if they were to die in this battle, in this war, they
would not be dying in vain.
And there’s
the faith too, I suppose, that those around them have their back. Faith in their comrades, faith in their
training, faith in the skill of their leaders, faith that they will somehow get
out of it all alive. Faith that they’ll
ultimately get to go home.
Which is
certainly the faith on the home front.
Anyone who has seen a loved one go into war knows that they can’t let
themselves think too much about the dangers she or he will be facing. It would be too much, unbearable. So they hold on to the faith that they will
see their daughter, mother, sister, son, brother, father, friend again. Faith in the face of war.
I think
we can agree that at least among the people who are actually called on to fight
our wars, nobody – or, at least, next to nobody – really likes war, really wants
war. Even those who concede a need for
war are, in the final analysis, hoping for peace.
You’ve no
doubt heard the phrase, “They shall beat their swords into plowshares.” It’s found in the Hebrew Scriptures, the Book
of Isaiah, in a passage where the prophet is describing a future in which the
people of the world all come to God’s holy mountain to seek out the guidance
and leadership of the God of Jacob:
“And [God] will judge between the nations and will settle
disputes for many peoples. They will beat their swords into plowshares and
their spears into pruning hooks. Nation will not take up sword against nation,
nor will they train for war anymore.”
Let’s
“unpack” that a bit. First, notice that
a reason for the change that’s being described here is that God is now in the
driver’s seat. God, a higher authority,
will be settling disputes among peoples.
No more petty squabbling and limited self-interest. Nations won’t any longer be trying to save
face, or protect strategic oil reserves, or show the world how tough they
are. Instead, God will be judging between nations and will be settling disputes among
peoples.
Now, for
those of us who don’t find the word “God” all that relevant or meaningful,
remember that our Universalist ancestors would remind us that God is Love – “God”
is just another word for “Love.” So Isaiah
could have been saying that it’ll be Love that is judging between the nations,
and Love that will be settling disputes.
Love will be in the driver’s seat.
And as Jimi Hendrix told us, “When the power of love
overcomes the love of power, the world will know
peace.”
But there’s something else going on here, too. As Adam and I were bouncing ideas around we
noticed what seemed to us to be an important word – they will beat their swords into plowshares and
their spears into pruning hooks. It
doesn’t say that their swords and spears will magically disappear or somehow be
transmogrified into plows and pruning hooks.
No, the passage says that the people will beat them into their new form.
I looked at nearly twenty different translations, and the verb to beat is used in all but six of
them. Two use hammer – they shall hammer their swords into plowshares – which
is much the same thing; one says that they will forge their swords into plowshares; and two simply say that the
people will turn the one into the
other.
Yet whether the people hammer, forge, or beat their
swords to turn them into plowshares it is clear that it is not going to be an
easy process. It’s going to be
work. Hard work. Call up in your mind the image of a
blacksmith – the forge hot and smoky, the hammer heavy, and the metal hardly
malleable. Listen to the clanging of
the hammer and anvil, the sound of the bellows as they blow air into the fire,
the crackle as the coals are heated, and the shhhhhhhh as the hot metal is put into the cold water to harden it. Feel the heat and the ache in your
arms and back; smell the smoke and the sweat.
They shall beat their swords
into plowshares. It’s not going to be easy.
Adam caught still one more nuance – they shall beat their
swords into plowshares. This vision isn’t of a world in which people
have put down their swords and taken up their plows. They haven’t created a cache of weapons “just
in case” even though they’re now focused on their farming tools. This is
the end of all wars because the people will have beaten their swords into plowshares and their spears into pruning hooks. There are no more weapons. They’re gone.
No longer needed.
Adam shared with me a lyric from a song in the musical Rent: "The opposite of 'war' isn't 'peace', it's
'creation'." Listen to that
again: The opposite of war isn’t peace … it’s creation. The absence of war isn't enough in itself.
It's simply a foundation upon which to build other things. New things.
Life-giving things in the place of life-taking things. Creation in place of destruction. The swords have been re-forged, beaten, into
new forms, and these new forms are tools of creation.
But
that’s not what we see happening around us, is it? It seems, instead, that we are turning our plowshares into swords. And we’ve been doing so for
more than a while. It was over 60 years
ago that Dwight D. Eisenhower gave a speech, only three months into his
Presidency, that has come to be known by the name “A Chance for Peace.” It includes these now nearly immortal words:
Every gun that is made, every warship launched, every
rocket fired signifies, in the final sense, a theft from those who hunger and
are not fed, those who are cold and are not clothed.
This world in arms is not spending money alone. It is
spending the sweat of its laborers, the genius of its scientists, the hopes of
its children. The cost of one modern heavy bomber is this [and remember that
this was in 1953]: a modern brick school in more than 30 cities. It is two
electric power plants, each serving a town of 60,000 population. It is two
fine, fully equipped hospitals. It is some fifty miles of concrete pavement. We
pay for a single fighter with a half-million bushels of wheat. We pay for a
single destroyer with new homes that could have housed more than 8,000 people.
. . . This is not a way of life at all, in any true sense. Under the cloud of
threatening war, it is humanity hanging from a cross of iron.
And yet
we continue to turn our plowshares into swords. And we keep on studying war.
There’s
one cost, though, that Eisenhower left out.
The most important, really.
Humanity’s hunger for the tools of destruction costs not just the sweat
of laborers, the genius of scientists, the hopes of children – it costs the
lives of the women and men who are called on to use those tools as they fight
our wars. Young women and young men,
mostly, who should have had long lives ahead of them. “Virgins with rifles,” Sting calls them in
his song Children’s Crusade. And far, far too many never come home.
Even many
of those who do come home do so with such devastating physical and mental
wounds that the person they were when they left is not the person who comes
home. And you know that you only have to
turn on your TV, radio, or computer for just a little while to learn about some
new study revealing ever more inexcusable treatment – or, maybe better,
non-treatment – of the women and men who have given so much – and had so much
taken – in the service of our country.
However
much you or I want to live in a world at peace, we live in a world at war. There’s a factoid that’s been making the
rounds saying that the United States has been involved in war for 222 out of
the 239 years since 1776. That means
we’re at war 93% of the time, or that we’ve only been at peace for a total of
21 years since our founding. However much you or I want to live in a world at
peace, we live in a world at war.
Yet we
needn’t give up hope. We can choose to
renew our faith; renew our efforts. In
the 8th century BCE a Jewish prophet gave us a vision the
fulfillment of which can fuel our aspirations:
“The people will beat their swords into plowshares and
their spears into pruning hooks. Nation will not take up sword against nation,
nor will they train for war anymore.”
On this
Memorial Day let us remember those who were never able to get back home, and
pray for the day when no one will evermore have to. And let us fire up the forge – we’ve got some
beating to do.
Closing Words: The Young DeadSoldiers, by Archibald MacLeash
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