I am praying for peace in Gaza. Not just for the violence to end, but for peace. Salaam. Shalom. Wholeness, fulfillment. For peace to break out, to just completely confound those whose lives are benefited by the continuing violence. For people to seek peace with the same willingness to die that they seek war.
O God, beat the damned swords into plowshares, melt down the unholy mortars into cymbals and gongs, end destruction and teach the people to seek truth, beauty, you.
Anger and rage, power and unforgiveness are destroying not only the people, but the land itself. Evil wins too often, there. Rightness, righteousness, justice - words get thrown around like weapons, pre-weapons, protoweapons.
I am praying for peace in Jerusalem, the home of our faith, the place where our Lord worshiped, ate, taught, lived, died, rose. For people there, and here, to understand that righteousness is love lived out in care for others. There is no other righteousness. Justice is love - there is no other justice.
I am praying for peace in Israel, in the West Bank and the Gaza Strip. In Iraq and Iran, in Afghanistan and the million other places where violence is the power of the day. I am praying for children trained in hatred and violence, and deep down, trained to fear. I am praying for the church, there and here, to be the Body of Christ, willing to be crucified rather than give up on love.
I am praying for my own mind to be a mind of peace, for my words to be words of healing and hope and mercy, for my actions to bring blessings to others. I am praying to be a force for peace, here in Elkhart. Here in my office, my home, my church.
Pray for peace. Be peace where I am.
Showing posts with label peace. Show all posts
Showing posts with label peace. Show all posts
Tuesday, January 6, 2009
Tuesday, August 19, 2008
Pray for the children
James finished his 5th day of kindergarten today, with the expected exhaustion resulting in a tantrum of massive proportion. Thank you, Jesus, for once I responded with grace and calm. After a tussle in the shower, we curled up on my bed for a story and a snuggle.
He wanted to tell me a story (which means it didn't really happen but he has been thinking about it). In his story, a bully pushed him in the gravel of the playground. "Why do kids push other kids?" he asked at the end of the story. We had just finished a book with a word about God's protection, and he said, "It's not true. God doesn't protect me from bullies."
I listened to him spinning more of the story, and responded that God is not like a Power Ranger, blowing up bad guys, because he hopes that the bad guys will become good guys, and they can't if they are dead. He looked at me with his big brown eyes and asked, "Mom, are bombs real?"
How I wished I didn't have to answer that, but I said that they are. He began to cry. "Why do people drop bombs on each other?" I tried to explain that they do it when they are at war, and he asked, "Do they drop them on children?" "Yes, where the war is, sometimes."
Tears were really flowing by this time. "Do kids get apart from their parents in war?" "Where is the war?" "Does the Devil get in people's brains, is that why they do it?" "Why doesn't God stop them?"
By this time, my heart had broken wide open. I tried to think what to say, wanting so much to ease his obvious pain. "God doesn't stop them. He hopes they will listen to him but they don't want to. He stays close to the hurt people." Out of my mouth poured all the things that we Christians say to try to make it better when God seems so far away. Not enough to explain it away. We talked for a while longer, but finally all I could do was reassure him that there is no war in Elkhart and that I am going to stick to him like white on rice, that if he listens to God in his mind, he won't be one of the ones who hurts people. "We should pray war doesn't come here," he said.
Yes, we should, and for the children where the war is. For the children who maybe might grow up to hurt others because somehow 'the Devil got in their brains.'
God have mercy on us all. God help James, and Maia, and the children of their generation grow up to make peace, to be as passionate about nonviolence as so many are about violence.
He wanted to tell me a story (which means it didn't really happen but he has been thinking about it). In his story, a bully pushed him in the gravel of the playground. "Why do kids push other kids?" he asked at the end of the story. We had just finished a book with a word about God's protection, and he said, "It's not true. God doesn't protect me from bullies."
I listened to him spinning more of the story, and responded that God is not like a Power Ranger, blowing up bad guys, because he hopes that the bad guys will become good guys, and they can't if they are dead. He looked at me with his big brown eyes and asked, "Mom, are bombs real?"
How I wished I didn't have to answer that, but I said that they are. He began to cry. "Why do people drop bombs on each other?" I tried to explain that they do it when they are at war, and he asked, "Do they drop them on children?" "Yes, where the war is, sometimes."
Tears were really flowing by this time. "Do kids get apart from their parents in war?" "Where is the war?" "Does the Devil get in people's brains, is that why they do it?" "Why doesn't God stop them?"
By this time, my heart had broken wide open. I tried to think what to say, wanting so much to ease his obvious pain. "God doesn't stop them. He hopes they will listen to him but they don't want to. He stays close to the hurt people." Out of my mouth poured all the things that we Christians say to try to make it better when God seems so far away. Not enough to explain it away. We talked for a while longer, but finally all I could do was reassure him that there is no war in Elkhart and that I am going to stick to him like white on rice, that if he listens to God in his mind, he won't be one of the ones who hurts people. "We should pray war doesn't come here," he said.
Yes, we should, and for the children where the war is. For the children who maybe might grow up to hurt others because somehow 'the Devil got in their brains.'
God have mercy on us all. God help James, and Maia, and the children of their generation grow up to make peace, to be as passionate about nonviolence as so many are about violence.
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