Micah 4: 1-4 Psalm 145 Remembrance Sunday, 2013. barb m. janes Louise, an apron tied around her neck, was helping Mother with the last minute Christmas baking. School was out for the holidays, and tonight Louise would be an angel in the pageant, along with all the other members of the Junior Choir. There was a knock at the front door, and Mother went. Louise took that opportunity to dip a finger in the cookie dough it tasted so good. And then she heard her mother scream. And scream and scream. It was a telegram. Louise s brother was killed in action, and her mother was screaming. The telegram boy was already on his bicycle, pedalling away. Louise stood still, frightened of a mother she had never seen before, a mother screaming and crying, a mother furious and shattered, a mother who picked up the decorated Christmas tree and dragged it out the front door and heaved it into the snow with the horrifying words, There will be no Christmas. For decades, the taste of cookie dough, the sight of young children in their white choir robes, the smell of balsam haunted Louise, who tried and tried but never really had a merry Christmas her whole life long. They shall beat their swords into ploughshares, and their spears into pruning hooks, dreams the prophet Micah; nation shall not lift up sword against nation, neither shall they learn war any more; but they shall all sit under their own vines and under their own fig trees, and no one shall make them afraid; for the mouth of the Lord of hosts has spoken. Swords into ploughshares, the dream of a prophet in a time when the iron age was in full bloom, and iron tools had revolutionized farming. But iron also made warfare more costly. Israel to whom Micah was speaking was not a great power, but had a nice place in the arms trade, being a major arms dealer for other people s conflicts. Most of the people of Israel were 1
poor farmers, but a minority grew wealthy in the arms trade 1 then, as now. Micah offers a different vision, a poetic dream that tools made with human ingenuity from the minerals of the earth might be used to feed the world and bring peace. This morning, we have remembered the men and women of this congregation who died in two world wars. Most of them were still in their twenties. Such loss. Such sacrifice. Such freedoms we enjoy today in this country, freedoms we should never take for granted. To take pause, to remember and to show respect is a small thing to do and a big thing to do. As well as the two world wars, we might also remember other veterans the veterans of the Korean war, and the veterans who have served wearing the blue beret and upholding our commitment to peace. We might remember, too, the conscientious objectors who served in the medical corps and in vital services at home their stance also took courage; many suffered harassment, and some Mennonite churches were burned. The stories of war are stories of chaos and complexity, grace under pressure and terrifying brutality. The Bible is part of that conversation, that debate among the positions of holy war, just war and pacifism there is no consensus in scripture, the conversation continues to this day. And it seems in our time, the stories of war are indeed stories of chaos and complexity, when we have troops overseas without anyone declaring war on Canada, with our enemies not so much other nations but terrorist groups who seek domination by waging battles of fear with suicide bombers in subways and shopping malls and piracy on the high seas. As with the rise of fascism in Nazi Germany, terror still strides the earth, but seems ever more complex, unpredictable, chaotic. Does the prophet Micah still have a word for us today, or is his dream simply the ravings of a naive peacenik? Is he just some wishful-thinking poet? 1 http://bloomingcactus.typepad.com/bloomingcactus/2010/11/isai.html 2
William Carlos Williams, another poet, says, It is difficult to get the news from poetry...yet every day, people die from lack of what is found there. Can we teach our children the poetry of scripture, the poetry that dreams of using our powers for good, of swords being beaten into ploughshares and spears into pruning hooks? I believe we can no longer afford the luxury of cynicism. And it s so tempting to go there when we read of a $90,000 cheque changing hands to buy a Senator out of trouble, or the infamous $17 dollar glass of orange juice charged to an expense account paid by you and me, or our city s golden handshake for the departing CAO, or another city s mayor whose addictions have spiralled from comedy into operatic-scale tragedy. The cynical jokes are irresistible and delicious and distracting. We are distracted by cynicism that puts us above the fray and onto the judgement seat, that keeps us from dreaming great dreams of God s peaceable kingdom, where the lion and the lamb live together, where each person can live under their own vine and fig tree, in peace, unafraid. Unafraid. During the American civil rights struggle, a child psychologist was drawn to a young girl, Ruby Bridges. At the age of 6, she was one of the first African American children to attempt to integrate the schools. Each day, she would walk to school, and each day on that walk, she was spat upon, insulted, subjected to the most vile racist insults by the white parents of her classmates. To and from school, day after day after day. And throughout this abuse, Ruby held her head high, and smiled. Child psychologist Robert Coles was astounded, and went to New Orleans, interviewed and spent time with Ruby and with her parents. He interviewed her teacher, asked how she thought Ruby could tolerate such continual adversity and abuse. Listen to the verbatim from that teacher: I was standing in the classroom looking out the window. I saw Ruby coming down the street with the federal marshals on both sides of her. The crowd 3
was there shouting as usual. A woman spat at Ruby, but missed. Ruby smiled at her. A man shook his fist at her. Ruby smiled. And then she walked up the steps, and she stopped and turned around and smiled one more time. You know what she told one of those marshals? She told him she prays for those people, the ones in that mob. She prays for them every night before going to sleep. Coles asked Ruby about her prayers. "Yes," Ruby said, "I do pray for them." Coles asked, "Why? Why would you pray for people who are so mean to you and say such bad things about you?" "Because Mama said I should." Coles pressed. Ruby said, "I go to church. I go to church every Sunday, and we're told to pray for people, even bad people. Mama says it's true. My minister says the same thing. 'We don't have to worry,' he says. He came to our house, and he say, 'God is watching over us.' He say, 'If I forgive the people and smile at them and pray for them, God will keep a good eye on everything and he'll protect us.'" Coles asked if she thought the minister was on the right track. "Oh, yes," Ruby said. And then she explained, "I'm sure God knows what is happening. God's got a lot to worry about, but there's bad trouble here. God can't help but notice. He may not do anything right now, but there will come a day, like they say in church, there will come a day. You can count on it. That's what they say in church." There will come a day. You can count on it. That s what they say in church. That s what the poet Micah says, and the poet Isaiah, and the poet Jesus there will come a day, when swords are turned into ploughshares, when we use our powers for good, when peace is not just a longing for a future but a present reality. A day when telegrams come no more, and cookie dough tastes good again, and we can have Christmas and welcome the Prince of Peace. There will come a day. 4
Remembrance Day: Prayers of the People O God, our help in ages past... We remember. We remember with thanks the freedoms we enjoy and the peace we take for granted. We remember those who served in so many ways The women and men in the military, The medics, the Red Cross, Rosie the riveter. We remember those whose consciences led to a different path the conscientious objectors who served as witnesses to peace, and absorbed the hurts and judgements of a world at war. We remember those who returned from war with scars too deep for words. We remember those whose shop windows were smashed in Toronto, because they were Italian and thus the enemy, those whose churches were burned because they were Mennonite and thus not loyal. We remember those stripped of home and livelihood in this land, because they were Japanese, and thus the enemy. We remember the horrors of the trenches, the horrors of POW camps, the horrors of the Holocaust, the horrors of Hiroshima and Nagasaki. We remember the joy of return, the relief of peace, with all its promises. We remember all who gave their all. O God, our help in ages past, our hope for years to come... Help us to give our all in building a world where love can live, Where your peaceable kingdom is more than a dream, Where swords are beaten into ploughshares, And all the world is fed, And no one is afraid. Give us the courage to give our all, That this dream may be more than a dream. Amen. 5