There are no enemies, only mortals forced to make critical decisions of
allegiance and survival amid the horrors of armed conflict (Cf. the
back cover of "Gods and Generals" by Jeff Shaara). The American civil
war, which sacrificed more American lives than both world wars
combined, was an orgy of bloodshed performed under banners of freedom,
liberty, honour, and duty. Brother slew brother as the American dream
was melted down and refashioned into a meat-grinder, churning out
widows and orphans while opposing sides continued to worship one God
while serving quite another.
Both sides—as happens in
virtually every war—did only what they thought was required of them for
the cause of justice. What they failed to see was that the pseudo
honour and duty to die and to kill for freedom was in fact a powerful
disguise for Mars, the god of war. Mars called Christian men to abandon
their first allegiance to the Lordship of the Prince of Peace so they
could join the slaughter of other sons of God, because no other option
seemed to exist. The issue was not the impasse over secession or
slavery, but whether lethal violence is an option when we come to an
impasse. If the greatest commandment is to “love the Lord your God with
all your heart, soul, mind, and strength and to love your neighbour as
yourself”—if Jesus Christ’s core requirements for discipleship are
“love your brother, love your neighbour, love your enemy,” then any
honour or duty that calls upon us to betray the orders of our Heavenly
King is surely treasonous to the kingdom of God. Any flag of freedom
waving us into battle in the name of God or country is surely a
blasphemous idol, for it makes sacred the very enemy Christ died to
overcome: the spirit of death.
On July 3, 1863, that spirit summoned 200,000 Christian men into a
pitiless battle fought on hills and valleys with such apt names as
“Devil’s Den” and “the Valley of Death.” Great men of godly character
on both sides died bravely in the days of Gettysburg and are
memorialized with monuments, museums, and manuscripts detailing their
courage and valour. Without disputing that, we must take two steps back
and reframe those events from the point of view of the gospel—Christ’s
own vision of a kingdom of love that we are called to live “on earth as
it is in heaven.” As I stood atop the infamous hill called “Little
Roundtop” overlooking the bloody ground that no one should call a
“final resting place,” the cries of young men slain (Or was it the
cacophony of demons created from their ashes, taunting me?) wormed into
my guts. Surely, this is a portal to hell, for the voices testified as
witnesses. On this land, having offered up prayers for mercy and
receiving priestly absolution, good Christian men brutally dismembered
one another and purposely killed 50,000 of God’s own children. Why?
Because while the Lord Jesus Christ commanded them to love, to bless,
and to pray for their brothers and their enemies, they chose instead to
obey a louder, more compulsive voice, a voice that masqueraded as the
voice of freedom for both sides. They chose to leave the fountain of
blood drawn from Emmanuel’s veins in favour of a more compelling
mission: creating rivers of blood from the veins of their own brothers
in Christ.
“Well,” I hear some ask, “What should they have done?” as if all other
options were futile or unrealistic, as if Christ’s central message is
simply too impractical or idealistic to be taken seriously or obeyed
explicitly under such circumstances. The same questions echo throughout
history, right into the current wars being waged around the globe.
“What if…?” questions mount up in a chorus of objections. “What if we
hadn’t stopped the slave trade?” “What if the allies hadn’t stopped the
Nazis?” Fair enough. Here is another “What if…?” question to try on—a
modest proposal for peace: “What if all the Christians of the world
were to refuse to kill each other?” (Menno Simons). What if implicit in
“losing one’s life for Christ’s sake” is the clause “even in the face
of violent opposition?” In fact, this is exactly what taking up the
cross and following Jesus means. Those who trade the cross for a sword
may be worthy of labels like “honourable” or “valiant,” but it is Jesus
who refuses them a much more coveted title: “disciple.” It is precisely
into these dilemmas that Christ asserts his lordship, claiming that no
man can serve two masters. Whether mammon or patriotism, we are
confronted with a Master who would have us serve no other gods before
him—before his command to love, to forgive, to show mercy, to lay down
the sword, to die before we would kill.
The debate is raised powerfully in Jeff Shaara’s previously mentioned
Civil War novel "Gods and Generals." On the one hand, we hear
“Stonewall” Jackson telling Robert E. Lee, “General, duty has called
me, and I can think of nothing that will please the Almighty more than
my performing my duty. I will do whatever I must to defeat my enemies…
I will do everything in my power to make it as brief as possible. If
they do not run, then they will die.” (p. 135) Though couched in a work
of fiction, the words express the very real sentiments not merely of
civil war heroes but of many Christians today who espouse “just wars.”
The logic is simple: “My pledge of allegiance to flag and nation has
given me a duty to defend freedom at any cost. And it is God’s will
that righteous men should adhere to their duties.”
By way of rebuttal, I offer another verbal exchange, also from the
novel, a dialogue between General Albert Johnston and General
Chamberlain:
Johnston stood, went slowly to the door, pulled it open, turned to
General Chamberlain and said, “Captain, we are all men of honor.
Remember that. God will judge our choices.”
Chamberlain moved to an empty chair and stood behind it, resting a hand
on the back. He rubbed the smooth dark wood, looked up and into the
face of his former commander. “Sir,” he said, “it is not God who will
assemble us on the battlefield, nor position our troops, nor place the
cannon, and it is not God who will aim the musket.” (131)
If our God is indeed Jesus Christ, then before and above every call to
duty, honour, and patriotic zeal, we must listen to the One who issues
a greater calling:
Blessed are those who have the spirit of the poor, for theirs is the kingdom of Heaven.
Blessed are those who mourn, they shall be comforted.
Blessed are the gentle, they shall own the earth.
Blessed are those who hunger and thirst for justice, for they shall be satisfied.
Blessed are the merciful, for they shall find mercy.
Blessed are those with a pure heart, for they shall see God.
Blessed are those who work for peace, they shall be called sons of God.
Blessed are those who are persecuted for the cause of justice, for theirs is the Kingdom of Heaven.
Blessed are you, when people insult you and persecute you and speak all kinds of evil against you
because you are my followers.
Be glad and joyful, for a great reward is kept for you in God.
This is how this people persecuted the prophets who lived before you.