Wars and rumors of wars

I know nothing about war.

I mean, I know some, for someone who has never seen or experienced war. It’s like marriage or childbirth or blending families or adopting. You can read all the books but you can’t really know until you’re doing it.

And yet, the subject of war keeps finding its way into my normal, wonderfully peaceful life. And while I’ve been doing much better about not creating imaginary problems, I find myself keeping a wary eye on the future as Antifa continues its threats of civil war to begin on November 4.

The natural disasters and devastating tragedies seem to be almost weekly occurrences these days. The hurricanes seem to be the very hand of the enemy as they have stolen, killed and destroyed lives on a massive scale.

Then Vegas. No one seems to know any more about the situation than they did the day after it happened. Orlando held the unwanted title of the deadliest shooting in US history for about a year and a half before it had to hand over the bloody crown to Sin City.

There have been also a number of personal tragedies in recent weeks that have left me shaken by the shocking fragility of life. Young, vibrant people, whose stories seemed very much unfinished by my human standards, taken too soon, too suddenly, too unexpectedly.

These pounding waves of pain leave even the most faithful believers turning their gazes toward heaven and whispering a desperate, “Why?”

I was riding to an event with a new friend last week. She is my age, has a husband and two children and is currently living with a brain tumor. The doctors removed as much as they could without doing further damage and apparently it’s slow-growing enough that it’s now just a waiting game. I marvel at her grace and composure.

We accidentally stumbled into the topic of politics and once we realized we were there, we quickly moved on to what’s supposed to be another off-limits subject: religion. Growing up in Catholic school outside of the Bible Belt, she found herself in a religion that was unwilling to allow for any questions and walked away from all belief as soon as she was old enough to.

I spoke briefly of my faith and she turned and stared out the window for a moment. She turned back to me, her face decidedly closed to the idea. “If there is a God,” she began, her voice a mixture of sadness and anger, “well, I just can’t make sense of all the suffering in the world.”

I nodded emphatically. “And THAT, my friend, is THE question. It’s not A question. It’s THE question, whether you believe in God or not.”

Her eyes widened. “Really? You wonder that too?” she asked, stunned that I didn’t offer some glib explanation or shame her for questioning.

“Absolutely,” I assured her. “Everyone does. EVERYONE.”

I recently watched Gone with the Wind (probably my favorite movie of all time) for the first time since I was a teenager. It is a work of fiction, to be sure, but many of the stories are based on the experiences of the author’s grandfather who fought in the Civil War and saw, heard, touched and smelled its horrors, making himself a primary source of history and information. Just before war is declared, the men are excitedly discussing its possibility over cigars and brandy.

One character remained reluctant. “Most of the great miseries of the world were caused by wars. And in the end, no one ever knew what they were about.”

I am currently about halfway through the 10-episode PBS documentary on Vietnam. (I’m trying to catch up, Jack!) It is horrifically beautiful, full of interviews with survivors from all sides: US, South Vietnam, North Vietnam and the Viet Cong.

There were so many profound statements made by survivors, I started writing them down. One of the war strategists said they tried to fight the Vietnam War the same way they had fought World War II.

We were prisoners of our own experience. It is difficult to dispel ignorance when clinging to your own arrogance.

And while the US is currently not officially involved in a war, I can’t help but notice the stark similarities of unrest in our country then and our country now.

The Civil Rights movement had reached fever pitch in the sixties. The government and media were spewing outright lies and nobody knew what to believe. (Where, oh where, are the investigative journalists from the good ole days whose only objective was digging out and reporting the truth, no matter the consequences?) The issues were complex and multi-faceted and yet were portrayed as black-and-white, obvious right and obvious wrong. There were numerous battles being fought at all times, there and here. Protests were regular occurrences. And there didn’t seem to be a shortage of opinions about whose fault everything was. The US was tearing itself apart when unity was needed more than ever.

Sound familiar?

In Matthew 24 (also in the book of Mark) Jesus talks about the end times. There have been several ends-of-the-world that we have all lived through in my lifetime. (I think there was one a couple weeks ago. Obviously I missed it.)

As any good leader, Jesus wants His people to be prepared and gives them an extensive list of signs that the end is near. In verse 6, He specifically mentions wars:

You will hear of wars and rumors of wars, but see to it that you are not alarmed. Such things must happen, but the end is still to come.

He goes on to discuss famines and earthquakes and false messiahs and lots of other fun stuff. And yet we are instructed not to be alarmed. Why?

Because apparently, such things MUST happen.

A week ago today, I sat at the funeral of one of my friends. Her untimely death from a brain aneurysm rocked my hometown of Ocala and other places she had lived. She undoubtedly left her mark (or actually HIS mark) on this world and packed more life into her brief 50 years than many experience in a lifetime. As I hugged my deceased friend’s husband, I gave him my standing apology for all the stupid things he has heard and will hear from well-meaning people trying to lessen his pain.

After many friends gave their personal remarks, the pastor stood to give a brief close to the service. It was perfect.

He said the service wasn’t really for Carmen. She’s fine. Healthy, happy, more alive than any one of us in that room. The service was really for us. Crying, questioning, confused and heartbroken. And then he read a beautiful verse:

The secret things belong to the Lord our God, but the things revealed belong to us and to our children forever, that we may follow all the words of this law. Deuteronomy 29:29

It was like going to the doctor for an illness that was easily diagnosed, but incurable. While nothing could be done to lessen our pain in that moment, it was somehow comforting to know that at least SOMEone knew what was going on, even if it didn’t change the outcome.

Such things MUST happen, Jesus said.

If You say so, Lord. But just for the record, sometimes it is NOT well with my soul.

Once a month I give the corporate devotion at a medical office in town. This morning as I was driving back, my phone threw a random song into the speakers of my car. It was a song from my high school days, the verses fraught with inappropriate references to sex and meth and other family unfriendly things. Then suddenly I heard the chorus with fresh ears,

I want something else to get me through this semi-charmed kind of life.

Whoever wrote the song was absolutely right. Those who don’t know Jesus will always be looking for SOMETHING ELSE to get them through this life and its wars and rumors of wars.

We are all fighting wars, even at this very moment. I can think of two specifically I am involved in, both in a momentary cease fire that may erupt again at any moment. Several others have been offered of late that I have opted out of. We don’t always choose war. Sometimes war chooses us.

So this morning, I offer a protein-shake toast:

To a God who is always good, knows all the secret things, loves us enough to let us wrestle in our pain and somehow has it all fully under control.

Amen.