War. It’s an ugly word. One syllable brings with it images of fire, death, mourning, pain, and oh so much more.
The morbid among us say it’s a means to keep the population down. The fervently patriotic say that it’s a necessary evil, but I don’t like how lightly they use the word evil. Then there are the pacifists who say all killing is wrong and we should all just get along. I have a friend who went to a Christian college where a guest speaker proposed forming a pacifist army that would travel around the world and stand between the warring armies… as if armies still lined up facing each other on field . We both decided that they would help the ammo makers sell more ammo, but not much else.
With all that – bullets, blood, death, and pain – ringing in your head, have you ever stopped to ask yourself why the Christian church, my church, uses war analogy so freely and so consistently?
I can remember sitting through sermons and reading books about spiritual warfare. We are at war, they say. And the penalty for losing this war is not just death, but the damnation of mankind. Forget World War I. That was just a drop in the bucket. This war is the real War to End all Wars. The one, the only, the Great War. When I finished listening to those sermons and reading those books, I was jazzed, pumped, and otherwise ready to knock some heads together. I was going to go out there, grab something blunt, and bash the living daylights out of some demons. Hoo-rah.
And therein was the crux of my problem. Demons don’t have heads for cracking or much of anything worth bludgeoning. There I was, ready to don a barbarian loin cloth and flex and grunt my way through legions of demons, but legions of demons don’t roam the streets of the Pacific Northwest. I was a soldier with no front line, a gunner with no enemy to put in my sights.
When the dust settled and I had time to peer through the rhetoric, I found that what I was supposed to do bore very little resemblance to what I wanted to do. Paul (the apostle, not the dude who lives three housed down from you), said that the weapons we fight with are not the weapons of this world. He also said that our enemies aren’t flesh and blood at all but powers and principalities and other things that sound impressive and creepy in a vague way. Jesus said that we’re supposed to love our flesh and blood enemies and do good to the ones who hurt us. Jesus was fond of saying very difficult things.
I found that it was too easy to take the war rhetoric wrong, to make it about hurting and killing instead of saving and healing. What I wanted to read when I read those books and hear when I heard those sermons was that I could fight and win this war. I wanted it to be real, and by real I meant tangible.
I’m going to say something that you’re probably not expecting: I’m for Christian war rhetoric. The reason why is simple, we are at war, and it is real. It’s not the kind of war where people rush machine gun nests and become heroes. The heroes of this war are as likely to be little old ladies with unassuming smiles as strapping young men with arms like oak trees. Because Paul was right, this isn’t a war you fight with swords.
This is a war you fight on your knees. Prayer breaks down fortresses that the eyes can’t see and is the most underrated activity a Christian can do. Not active enough for you? Fight the war at your local food bank, your homeless shelters, and the red light districts of your towns. Seem too easy? Try something harder. Try telling your coworkers what makes you different. Tell them about the gospel of Christ. Don’t argue the faith with them. Tell them what you believe. I assure you that you can’t convert anyone. You have to rely on the movement of Holy Spirit for that. But you can plant seeds, open eyes, and save lives. In short, you fight this war by loving those around you. Sick, huh?
We’re at war. Not the kind of war people like fighting, not the kind were you can see who or what you’re fighting against. But a war nonetheless. I guess I’m writing this to remind myself more than tell you anything you don’t already know. I forget sometimes. I get so caught up in the cycle of work and play and sleep that I don’t see the war raging around me. I need to remember two things: the war is real, and the war is fought with love.
Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to go try to wash the mental picture of me in a loin cloth out of my head.
The morbid among us say it’s a means to keep the population down. The fervently patriotic say that it’s a necessary evil, but I don’t like how lightly they use the word evil. Then there are the pacifists who say all killing is wrong and we should all just get along. I have a friend who went to a Christian college where a guest speaker proposed forming a pacifist army that would travel around the world and stand between the warring armies… as if armies still lined up facing each other on field . We both decided that they would help the ammo makers sell more ammo, but not much else.
With all that – bullets, blood, death, and pain – ringing in your head, have you ever stopped to ask yourself why the Christian church, my church, uses war analogy so freely and so consistently?
I can remember sitting through sermons and reading books about spiritual warfare. We are at war, they say. And the penalty for losing this war is not just death, but the damnation of mankind. Forget World War I. That was just a drop in the bucket. This war is the real War to End all Wars. The one, the only, the Great War. When I finished listening to those sermons and reading those books, I was jazzed, pumped, and otherwise ready to knock some heads together. I was going to go out there, grab something blunt, and bash the living daylights out of some demons. Hoo-rah.
And therein was the crux of my problem. Demons don’t have heads for cracking or much of anything worth bludgeoning. There I was, ready to don a barbarian loin cloth and flex and grunt my way through legions of demons, but legions of demons don’t roam the streets of the Pacific Northwest. I was a soldier with no front line, a gunner with no enemy to put in my sights.
When the dust settled and I had time to peer through the rhetoric, I found that what I was supposed to do bore very little resemblance to what I wanted to do. Paul (the apostle, not the dude who lives three housed down from you), said that the weapons we fight with are not the weapons of this world. He also said that our enemies aren’t flesh and blood at all but powers and principalities and other things that sound impressive and creepy in a vague way. Jesus said that we’re supposed to love our flesh and blood enemies and do good to the ones who hurt us. Jesus was fond of saying very difficult things.
I found that it was too easy to take the war rhetoric wrong, to make it about hurting and killing instead of saving and healing. What I wanted to read when I read those books and hear when I heard those sermons was that I could fight and win this war. I wanted it to be real, and by real I meant tangible.
I’m going to say something that you’re probably not expecting: I’m for Christian war rhetoric. The reason why is simple, we are at war, and it is real. It’s not the kind of war where people rush machine gun nests and become heroes. The heroes of this war are as likely to be little old ladies with unassuming smiles as strapping young men with arms like oak trees. Because Paul was right, this isn’t a war you fight with swords.
This is a war you fight on your knees. Prayer breaks down fortresses that the eyes can’t see and is the most underrated activity a Christian can do. Not active enough for you? Fight the war at your local food bank, your homeless shelters, and the red light districts of your towns. Seem too easy? Try something harder. Try telling your coworkers what makes you different. Tell them about the gospel of Christ. Don’t argue the faith with them. Tell them what you believe. I assure you that you can’t convert anyone. You have to rely on the movement of Holy Spirit for that. But you can plant seeds, open eyes, and save lives. In short, you fight this war by loving those around you. Sick, huh?
We’re at war. Not the kind of war people like fighting, not the kind were you can see who or what you’re fighting against. But a war nonetheless. I guess I’m writing this to remind myself more than tell you anything you don’t already know. I forget sometimes. I get so caught up in the cycle of work and play and sleep that I don’t see the war raging around me. I need to remember two things: the war is real, and the war is fought with love.
Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to go try to wash the mental picture of me in a loin cloth out of my head.
Comments
BV
What happened in the middle is that I finally figured out what I wanted to say (I often start writing just to see what will come out), and then saw that I couldn't say everything I wanted to say in what most would consider a reasonable space for a blog entry.
To make the shift seemlessly from where I started to where I wanted to end would have probably doubled the post in length. So I cheated and jumped tracks... and was caught doing it.
Next time I have an idea that's as long as this, I'll probably post in installments to avoid that jarring shift in the middle.
-Tom