War And Reality

It occurs to me that war -- in its material horror -- cracks illusion and leaves us naked before reality. If we were angels we wouldn't have war, but we are not angels: we are human. We make worldly comfort our treasure, we make ourselves our treasure. Then we make war.

But perhaps, in some grand sense of salvific mystery, we need war: if only to break the illusion that our purpose is in this world, which is the same illusion that makes war inevitable.

The peace that God spoke in his Word is not a material, utopian peace. Rather, it is a peace that exists only in God. It is a peace that is not of this world.

This world is about the cross. There is only one true peace, and the proof of that peace is the cross. This is not bad; in fact it is very, very good: because in being human, and in being free to choose the world -- and thus to be able to choose war -- we are also free to choose a love that raises us above the angels.

Perhaps if we were not free to wage war, we would not be free to choose Christ.

Perhaps, within the deep mystery of creation, our capacity to wage war is a sign of our blessedness.

A disturbing number of the "peace protesters" whom I've seen -- both in person and in video -- are violent, angry, immature, filled with pride and vacant of both peace and Christ. The "peace" they seek is not of God; their interior discord leads them to embrace the unjust, brutal power of the mob. Whereas many of the soldiers whom I've seen are extraordinary, humble people: mature and strong and full of faith, radiating the fruits that prove the presence of Christ. Even while they must kill.

Thus one person enjoys worldly peace, but is full of war; another, fighting and killing and awash in the worldly horror of war, cleaves to the cross with Christ and knows peace.

It's curious.

Which is by no means to argue that war is good: it is not. But it is rather to distinguish the thing we name peace: for where is the peace of Christ? Is it within the heart that treasures the warmth of this world, and that fears above all the loss of that warmth, whether through insecurity or death? Or is it within the heart that treasures something not of this world, but Christ, and that understands that suffering and loss and death are not the end, but only the beginning?

Perhaps war breaks us from the illusion that this earth and its allures are the objective. Perhaps we need war.

God help us.

But of course God does help us, completely and for eternity, at Golgatha.

We live in a vast mystery. Or perhaps that is grandiose; perhaps ours is a middling mystery. But whatever the value of our mystery, within it lies a gentle whispering joy: an eternity of love.