Lament

I was reading some of the reports of the on-going conflict between Israel and Hamas earlier and I am trying to do what we do. Read about it, shake my head in disbelief, and then forget about it like it isn't real life. Only I seem to be a bit stuck on the shaking my head in disbelief part, unable to forget about it. 257 children have been killed now, 1,080 more wounded... the things we do to each other. 

I remember what it was like when I could distance myself from reports like this, from stories of wars and violence and general suffering. I remember having the strange capacity to flip through channels and ignore such reports, the ability to be unaffected by things. I remember saying and thinking things like "let's just blow them up" as an appropriate response to 9/11 and other armed conflicts involving the United States and some villain dictator or nation. I remember feeling and thinking so cavalierly about war and suffering. And it hasn't been all that long ago truthfully. 

Maybe it is as simple as having children that changes a man's ideology in so many ways. Maybe it is more complicated than that, but it is honestly difficult to say why I can't just forget it anymore. My whole life I have been aware of violence, injustice, war and suffering. My whole life I managed to distance myself from those realities and to lay my head down at night without giving it a second thought. 

But now, I read stories and reports like this one:

"Sayed, Mohammed and Raida Abu Aisheh — ages 12, 8 and 7 — were at home with their parents when they were all killed in an Israeli airstrike before dawn Monday."

It is hard for me as a dad not to read that sentence and imagine the names of my own sons appearing. It is hard as a youth pastor not to read it and imagine the name of three students in the place of Sayed, Mohammed and Raida. I don't them, but I imagine they didn't have anything to do with this conflict other than the family and place they were born into. I imagine that those three kids had hopes and dreams of their own... maybe dreams of a career, dreams of their own family, maybe even dreams of peace. Maybe they weren't unlike my kids and they loved stories about super heroes, playing with their toys, building puzzles and reading books. Maybe they loved to crawl up into the lap of their dad and tell jokes. Maybe they got on their dad's nerves at times and he had to tell them go away and be quiet. Maybe he disciplined them. Maybe he got really angry because they were disobedient. Maybe he and their mom occasionally argued over the consequences for their bad behavior or bad attitudes. Maybe he also liked being their dad and maybe he loved them quite a lot. Maybe he taught them things and believed in them. Maybe they had a sense of destiny and he encouraged that, blessed it, promoted it. Maybe they had bright futures ahead of them. 

I'm just saying, shaking my head and forgetting about it is harder these days. I remember watching a movie called Blood Diamond, a violent, rough, brilliant, moving film... There is a line the main character says as he reflects on the atrocities his countrymen afflict on one another... he says "Sometimes, I look around and I wonder if God will ever forgive us for what we have done to each other."

That line sometimes haunts me. Maybe one day we will have the grace to reach inside of us and find some creativity tucked away in the depths of our souls that might move us in a different direction than violence. It's all so predictable... so lazy... so inhumane. Maybe one day, the way of Jesus, the way of loving those who persecute you, the way of compassion for those who hate you, the way of combatting a system of violence, power and aggression with love will win the day. Maybe one day we will read the story and it will start the same but have a twist, like the great stories always do, and the ending will be different. 

Of course we know that it ultimately will end differently.... and what a day that will be. For now, while we wait for it patiently, I am going home to my wife and three sons... I am going to be less annoyed with them tonight... I may let them stay up late and watch a football game while they snuggle with me. I am going to love on them and be grateful that no bomb shells are going off outside the house and be grateful that they don't live in fear... indeed, grateful that they have the privilege to live at all.

May we never grow so comfortable, so numb, so detached, so distant and so out of touch with our own humanity, that we bear witness to the suffering of our fellow man, shake our heads, and forget about it. May we remember... and may our hearts break for those precious lives that are lost because of the prevailing belief in the myth of redemptive violence.