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On Friday, November 11 our nation, and many nations around the world, pause to remember men and women who have served in the armed forces to fight for our country. Social media feeds are full of pictures, stories, and poppies inviting people to honour those involved in our military efforts.

Covenant Christian Community Church, along with the rest of our Brethren in Christ Churches and our extended Mennonite family, are a part of a long tradition of anabaptists who are convinced that following the way of Jesus calls us to a way of peace and non violence. As one theologian and scholar said very simply, “I’m pretty sure that when Jesus said love your enemy he probably meant not to kill them.” But our conviction goes beyond not-killing. The way of Jesus is the way of reconciliation and actually pursuing peace not just eschewing violence.

Because of our desire to pursue peace, Remembrance Day causes some tension for many anabaptists. We are grateful for our freedom . . . even our freedom to believe and practice non violence without fear of repercussion. We don’t know that we would have that freedom were it not for men and women who did fight. We don’t know what our lives would look like. Jesus said, “Greater love has no one than this, that they lay down one’s life for one’s friend.” We want to join our nation in honouring those who embodied this kind of sacrificial love. But in so doing we don’t want to honour war or celebrate the context in which they died.

William Tecumseh Sherman was the United States Army General. During the American Civil War he succeeded Ulysses S. Grant as the commander of the Western Theatre. He lived and saw the horrors of war and believed it to be necessary. But in speaking to the Michigan Military Academy in 1879 he shared these words:

I’ve been where you are now and I know just how you feel. It’s entirely natural that there should beat in the breast of every one of you a hope and desire that some day you can use the skill you have acquired here. Suppress it! You don’t know the horrible aspects of war. I’ve been through two wars and I know. I’ve seen cities and homes in ashes. I’ve seen thousands of men lying on the ground, their dead faces looking up at the skies. I tell you, war is Hell!

The hellish nature of war begins with the posture we take when we engage in it. The posture of war demands that we see the other as less than human. War demands that we see the other as an impersonal entity to be conquered, rather than a brother or sister with whom to pursue reconciliation. During WW2, as the United States moved onto the Japanese Island of Okinawa, Okinawans fled to the end of the island and threw themselves off of a cliff in order to avoid the American army. They had been taught that the Americans were barbaric cannibals who would torture them in inhuman ways if they ever caught them. Americans had been told similar things about the Japanese. I’m afraid to know how many of the stories about inhuman treatment were true. The entire posture of war demands that the other be seen as an it rather than a them.

The practice of war demands a plan to kill the other. Whether engaged in a military conflict as an aggressor, defender, or as a “peacekeeping” force - a willingness, readiness, and preparedness to kill is a part of engagement. The practice of war is a practice that brings killing.

And no matter how much it is engaged in with the promise of peace, the pain of war is undeniable. We are face to face with this reality on November 11. Mothers and fathers, brothers and sisters, spouses and children who will never again see the face of their loved one. And many combatants who live who deal daily with nightmares, survivor’s guilt and PTSD. Relationships are broken for combatants and noncombatants alike. Korean families remain despite 63 years of armistice after the Korean War. We are still dealing with ongoing conflict because of how borders were redrawn in the shadow of the second world war. The undeniable pain of war is it’s greatest result.

But the pervasiveness of war is perhaps the greatest concern. Because this posture of seeing the other as less than in the image of God. This practice of seeking to harm the other. The pain that comes from the conflict - these aren’t limited to nations and armies and declarations of war. These pervade our homes in marital conflict and intergenerational conflict. These devastate our schools and workplaces as people push others aside in the quest for another dollar, a better seat in the cafeteria, or more popularity. And sadly, churches are not immune and are sometimes even the worst offenders. The principles that are embodied in war are everywhere.

But we are invited into something more. We are invited to embrace something more powerful than the war which has haunted our lives and our world since the beginning of time. The way of Jesus invites us into the only thing that has true power in the world - the way of peace.

The posture of peace looks into the eyes of an aggressor and sees humanity - one formed in the image of God - one who is loved. The posture of peace is the posture that we heard about a few weeks ago when Jon Hand was here. Here told us about Dirk Willems who, in the midst of an escape from prison - where he was held because of his anabaptist conviction - turned to see his jailer fall through the ice. But he didn’t see his pursuer fall through the ice. He didn’t see his enemy. He saw a man created in the image of God and went back to save him. In saving the jailer because of their shared humanity he gave himself up and was eventually executed for the very faith that led him to save the other man’s life. The posture of peace sees the image of God in the eyes of the other.

The practice of peace refuses to plot harm against the other. Rather it seeks peace and reconciliation in the face of aggression. There is a powerful story of a group of missionaries who sought to share the hope of Jesus with the Waodani tribe of first nations people in Ecuador. This tribe was so violent to themselves and others that a neighbouring tribe called them “Auca”, which meant “savage”. It took quite a while to contact this remote tribe and when connection was made the response was that five American missionaries - Ed McCully, Roger Youderian, Nate Saint, Pete Fleming and Jim Elliot - were killed. They had guns with them and refused to fire against their attackers and died at the end of the Waodani spears. But that was not the end of the story. Within two years Elisabeth and Valerie Elliot, Jim’s wife and daughter, along with Rachel Saint, Nate’s sister, moved in among the Waodani. They learned the truth of Jesus and moved from being “savage” to being a people of peace. But it only happened because five men refused to shoot back and because family members refused to wish harm on the other. The practice of peace pursues peace and reconciliation rather than plotting harm against the other.

This is ultimately the power of peace that no vengeance or defense can offer. Peace offers healing in the face of hurt, rather than more wounds. One of the most powerful pictures of this was lived out in Strasburg, PA in 2006. On October 2, Charlie Roberts walked into an Amish school. He boarded the windows and doors and proceeded to shoot ten little girls ages 6-13 before shooting himself. In addition to Charlie, five of those girls died. Charlie’s parents, in the midst of being devastated by their sons actions, began to think about how they would have to leave their small community. They weren’t going to be able to show their faces again. And then Henry Stoltzfoos showed up at their home. A stalwart in the Amish community and a relative of some of the girls who had been shot, came to the Roberts home in order to support and console the parents of the man who had perpetrated so much hurt to his family and friends. He embraced Charlie’s father and for over an hour he comforted him, even while living in his own grief. But Henry wasn’t alone. Publically and privately the Amish community sought to forgive and support the Roberts family. As donations came in to support the families of the girls who had died, the Amish families designated a portion of that money to Charlie’s wife and children who were now left without a husband and father. But the most powerful demonstration of the power of peace came at Charlie’s funeral. As media jostled for position to get pictures of the service at the cemetery a group of around thirty Amish men and women stepped out, backs toward the media, and formed a wide human wall of black fabric, wide brimmed hats, and white bonnets to preserve the privacy of the grieving family. After the service they stepped forward to offer their condolences. The first in that line were a couple whose two daughters had died in their arms. The stepped forward to Charlie’s parents and quietly said, “We’re sorry for your loss.” Their forgiveness. Their commitment to pursuing healing and reconciliation began to bring peace to a family and a community in a way that vengeance and violence never could. That is the power of peace.

Remembrance Day brings with it tension for anabaptists who are committed to pursuing the way of peace we believe Jesus calls us to. But it is a tension we must embrace. How can we honour those, like my great Uncle Ralph Underwood, who laid down their life for a friend; while not honouring and celebrating war? We each need to wrestle with that question ourselves. On Friday, barring unforeseen circumstances, I will be at the cenotaph in Penetanguishene. I cannot celebrate Canada’s ongoing involvement in conflicts or honour our military might. But I go to remember those who have been willing to lay down their lives. I go to weep with those who weep. I go to grieve over the violence - physical, emotional, and psychological - in our world . . . globally, locally, and even in our own workplaces, school, and homes. I go to pray for peace. I go to remind myself that war is hell and that I, as a follower of Jesus, need to live in a way that demonstrates to our world that there is a different posture, a different practice, and a different power that has the potential to transform our world.