The Devil's Hoof Is Cloven For A Reason

If Jesus is right when He says ––"Blessed are the peacemakers, for they shall be called sons of God"–-then I am not blessed, nor am I destined to be a son of God. That this smacks of fatalism is one way of describing my position; one might even call it nihilism, the belief in nothingness. But either description would be grievously errant. For I believe in peace, just as I believe in love, grace, and the far scarier facts of judgment and regeneration, particularly the regeneration of the cosmos in a Grand Redesign. I believe.

But I am not a peacemaker. At least, I am not a Christian Peacemaker Teams member, nor would I ever want to be.

You'll recall that for the last four months, four members of the Christian Peacemaker Teams were held hostage in Iraq. Last week, three members were rescued in a tactical military operation, the fourth member, Tom Fox, having been killed by his captors days earlier.

Allow me to contemplate the comments of one of Mr. Fox's rescued colleagues, Norman Kember, who said in a grateful statement after his rescue:

"I do not believe that a lasting peace is achieved by armed force ..."

Mr. Kember's statement is of course familiar. His statement is not what one would call unique or fresh; it is not a new insight or revelation received from on high. But I want to ask, not whether Mr. Kember's statement is true, but whether it is meaningful. Is it?

Mr. Kember is a member of a thoroughly political organization which calls for Christians to commit to non-violence "by getting in the way." The Christian Peacemaker Teams website is even decorated with the provocative banner:

"What would happen if Christians devoted the same discipline and self-sacrifice to nonviolent peacemaking that armies devote to war?"

It is surely a catchy banner; the question clearly engages the mind. But what can we draw from the question posed by Mr. Kember's group? One thing we can draw is that these pacifists believe armies built for war ought to be emulated: that we should consider devoting ourselves to that attitude of self-sacrifice and discipline expected of soldiers.

In other words, if Mr. Kember, as a soldier of peace, has the attitude of a soldier at war, Mr. Kember's pacifism is quite sincere and undeniably regimented.

Is it at all interesting to note that CPT's way of peace is to emulate those who wage war? For into the melee comes, with the same strength of conviction as any embattled, flag-draped warrior, the peacemaking squads with their message that no lasting peace can ever come of violence. Of course, their very message is born of violence, for they would not be so motivated––imitating the pugilistic armies of the world––to spread peace if there were no armies in violent conflict (but that is a silly, useless observation on my part). And, of course, their very message of peace only makes sense in a violent world (but I am also a fool to note that). If war is not peace, then peacemaking only makes sense as an antidote to what is not peace, that is, war. 

Surely it is the hope of the members of CPT that they may so thoroughly interrupt violent conflict that they will finally render all the world's aggressors impotent, forcing by sheer charity all the violent to admit that peace is the only true "final solution"; that war is bereft of power to bring real change; that armed conflict is wearisome and loathsome; that non-violence is bliss. Is it stupid of me to point out that non-violent peacemakers want to teach us all a better way, and that their lessons make no sense if we are not doing things the wrong way? Isn't their goal to make a better world; to prove to the bellicose that they are wrong, that their bellicosity is proven fruitless by the fruitfulness of peace? If so, does it not mean that peacemakers are the result of conflict? In other words, is not peace the fruit of fighting, of even violent fighting? If not, how does the lesson of peace make sense, for surely one does not teach what is right to anything but what is wrong; surely one does not teach how to properly wash dishes to one who is improperly trimming the hedgerow: You teach proper dishwashing to those who improperly wash dishes. But is not the proper understanding of dishwashing only meaningful to those who have done violence to dishes by washing them with mud, smashing them with abrasive rocks, scouring them with gunfire? Is not a lasting piece of Wedgwood china born of countless pieces of broken ceramic?

In other words, has not the long history of fighting, of bloodshed, brought us to the point of admitting that a lasting peace can only finally come by being peaceful? If so, isn't it the case that this is the lesson not of peace, but the sword? Indeed, it is the case. 

What of Mr. Kember himself? Rescued as he was by military action, what if he goes on to preach a lasting peace, and he succeeds in ushering a new age of tranquility? What if his life––saved as it was by a bullet in a well-oiled chamber––what if his life becomes the perfect and final statement of peace to which all people fall in repentance and contrition, tossing their sidearms and nuclear weapons into the abyss and embracing their enemies with love and grace? Would it not be the case that a lasting peace was indeed achieved by violence, the violence which was his rescue? For surely his saviors––the rescue team members and all the vast millions of soldiers who are left in their wake (the very wake of history)––brought to him, with all their tactical skill and firepower, his salvation, as they kicked in the very door of a cell that held peace hostage. It matters not whether the actual rescue event was free of violence, for the rescue team itself is by definition a force of violence, a force against kidnapping, abuse and tyranny. That rescue team has been trained and shaped by the centuries of violence that preceded it; just as it is shaped by the violent milieu in which it moves every day. Thus the only conclusion for Mr. Kember, if he indeed represents a lasting peace, is that it must be the case that violence contradicts him: violence can produce a lasting peace, or else there would be no Mr. Kember to show us otherwise.

And Jesus also said: I have not come to bring peace but a sword. A sword that has cloven a wide cleft between brother and sister, mother and father; and even between peacemaker and peacemaker. Jesus is not a peacemaker, at least not how we understand peace. His peace, or so St. Paul says, is a peace "that passes all understanding." In fact if Jesus is anything, He is a maker of pieces, shattering the world and its idols of self-righteousness.

Peace.

©Bill Gnade 2006/Contratimes - All Rights Reserved.