The end of war

  A war ended yesterday.  Thanks be to God for that.

  It seems like it did so quietly, with a whimper, as the last combat troops left Iraq behind and returned home.  It is my wish that the memories of war would remain trapped in that desert country, but I am aware from what I have read that memories and trauma linger, often painfully, as the country expects the troops to return seamlessly to the lives they left behind, despite all they have been through worlds away.  We expect them to place the chaos of war and the death of friends in some safe box and leave it tucked away, doing no harm, while they continue on with life-as-usual.  From what I read, the chances of that happening are slim to none, with slim catching the last train home.  The pain, the terror, the emotions do not depart as the soldiers did--rather they linger, appearing in the dark of night or at the appearance of harmless sounds like popcorn or fireworks.  The war is gone, but the scars remain.

  Perhaps the war ended so stealthily because it has lingered so long, on the edge of national consciousness.  Perhaps it went so meekly because thousands more troops remain entrenched in Afghanistan, fighting an impossible war against an unknown enemy.  Perhaps it slipped out the back door simply because it could never match the emotion it triggered when it started.  I remember being in England when Iraq was invaded--I remember the protests and the fear, the uncertainty and the passion--could we ever match such passion with our celebrations at the end of the war?

  I wonder how we will look back on this war.  The 4,500 soldiers who were killed, each family that was affected, each community that was shattered by a visit from a soldier informing them of the death of a loved one--those scars will never disappear.  In time, perhaps, they will heal, but I am not a believer that anyone will ever get over the grief.  They will pass through it, as one passes through a long, dark valley and eventually returns to the warmth of the sun, and hopefully find a place of peace, but grief never fully dissipates.  Nor should it, I believe.  We hold onto the memories, onto the life that was lived, and the way it changed us.  We cling to these things, and to the hope of resurrection, of life beyond the shadow of death.  But we don't simply 'get over it'.  We're not made that way.

  War has ended, and I believe that God rejoices in that.  God's peace is greater than the absence of war, though--it includes a wholeness of society, of creation, a wholeness that requires more than simply quiet, but takes people actively working to love one another, to love God.  The first step is certainly the cessation of hostilities--but God always asks more of us, and so God presses us to work together, to love one another, to pray for one another and look beyond what separates us.  I believe that salvation comes through the Son of God, our Savior, Jesus Christ, and yet I also believe that I am called to pray for, and to love, those with whom I share this planet, no matter their religion.  I am to live for their benefit as well as for the benefit of my Christian brothers and sisters.  I am to seek shalom in my own life, as well as the lives of those who surround me.  In all things, I am to proclaim Christ.

  Will we look back on this war as a good thing, as an action of liberation?  Or will historians still debate whether the cost was worth it?  I cannot begin to imagine how Iraqi society has been transformed.  A recent wired.com article puts the civilian death toll in Iraq around 120,000.  Everything has changed there...  a ruthless dictator has been tried, convicted and killed for the crimes he committed against his people.  Supposedly, freedom reigns there.  I hope that it lasts.  Is the price of freedom worth the enormous cost of human life, both in Iraqis and Americans?  I don't even know how to begin to answer that question.

  Was it worth it?  Was it the right thing to do?  Was it faithful?  I don't know how much those questions matter now.  Even if the answers are all no, there are still 4,500 families grieving, with thousands more families trying to help rehabilitate injured soldiers.  Countless more are helping veterans recover from the mental trauma of war.  I cannot even being to imagine what their experience is like.  The scars of war remain, some fresher than others, and I believe that the church is called to be a place of healing and peace for those in need of it.  How can we selflessly serve those in need of healing?

  And may we pray for the war in Afghanistan to end, too, that the soldiers may come home and depart no more, that peace may reign on this planet.