From Normandy to Iraq

by Michael Hare Duke

Reflecting on the history of the international Anglican Peace and Justice Network (APJN), it is clear that, over the years, it has engaged with issues of politics, economics and theology, and has struggled to bring sense out of this mixture. Those of us from around the worldwide church who have served on the APJN have met with World Bank representatives in New York and Washington to discuss world debt, we have met in Israel and Brazil to seek a way of justice for dispossessed and landless people, we have listened to the story of the political conflict in the Philippines, and more. Behind the facts and experiences of people searching for justice in each case, we have tried to give a new meaning to the idea of peace. This has taken us into the confusions of theology where, as in the case of Northern Ireland, the religious language of peace seemed to harden the battle-lines. The same conclusion emerged from our first visit to the Holy Land.

We have had to come to terms with the very small contribution that we can make in terms of political action. Although we would often have wished to campaign for a clear policy line, we have had to recognise that making peace in one direction often seems to promote conflict in another.

We have had to come to terms with the very small contribution that we can make in terms of political action. Although we would often have wished to campaign for a clear policy line, we have had to recognise that making peace in one direction often seems to promote conflict in another. In the end we have been left with a paradox, summed up in a meditation by Richard Skinner, poet and spiritual writer:

Peace is not. . .

Peace is not a thing to possess,

but a way of possessing:

Peace is not a gift to be given,

but a way of giving:

Peace is not a topic to teach,

but a way of teaching:

Peace is not a theory to learn,

but a way of learning:

Peace is not an opinion to hold,

but a way of holding:

Peace is not a resolution of strife,

but a way of striving:

Peace is not a creed to preach,

but a way of preaching:

Peace is not a God to serve,

but a way of serving:

Peace is not a question to ask,

but a way of asking:

Peace is not an answer to seek,

but a way of seeking:

Peace is not a journey's end,

but a way of journeying.

This is where theological insight is crucial. As Christians, we are following not a God of battles but a crucified Saviour. Crusades mounted from a moral high ground are not the way of Christ's Kingdom. This begins from the life and teaching of Jesus who said: “Love your enemies”; who forgave his crucifiers and promised new life to the dying thief. But can this ever be practical politics?

I have just returned from a holiday in Normandy, where, coincidentally, we found ourselves caught up in the celebrations of the sixtieth anniversary of the Normandy landings, which the French call La Liberation. They still remember with gratitude the success of the Allies in rolling back the tide of Nazi domination from a conquered Europe.

[I]t began to come clear to me that [World War II] was the last war in which the American nation as a whole could have a justifiable pride. . . There are no cheering, grateful crowds comparable with the French either at the time of the Liberation or at its anniversary.

There was a massive American participation in the celebrations and it began to come clear to me that this was the last war in which the American nation as a whole could have a justifiable pride. Since then there has been: Vietnam, which has left behind a searing memory; Korea, which had its problems; Somalia; the first Gulf War; and now the invasion of Iraq. All have had, at best, ambivalent incidents and uncertain outcomes. There are no cheering, grateful crowds comparable with the French either at the time of the Liberation or at its anniversary.

In a Normandy town called Briquebec I found a memorial pyramid which was built of the sand from Omaha Beach and contained a whole collection of the detritus of war: spent cartridges, tin hats, bits of military hardware. Since its purpose was to mark the beginning of the new century it contained 2000 objects and was dedicated by the Maire on 31 December 1999.

On it was a poem whose theme was the attempt to prevent the winds of time sweeping away the sands of Omaha Beach that were impregnated with the tears and the blood of those who had come from far away to save France at the cost of their suffering. The Pyramid, it says, stands as a memorial to their wounds and broken wings so that people in the future may recall the tattered fragments that make up a record of the gift of those whose youth made possible the life of liberty. Some time I want to work at a worthwhile translation, but even as it is the powerful sentiment of gratitude for what the strangers did shines through. It is a story to celebrate and can perhaps atone for some of what has followed.

Every nation has a history which combines glory and shame. The important thing is to acknowledge both, so that there is triumph and penitence. But that is hard for the adolescent individual or group to achieve. Part of the gift of age is to be able to acknowledge the wrongs done in the past.

There are some lines in T.S. Eliot's “Four Quartets” which describe the gifts reserved for old age:

And last, the rending pain of re-enactment

  Of all that you have done, and been; the shame

  Of motives late revealed, and the awareness

Of things illdone and done to others' harm

  Which once you took for exercise of virtue.

  Then fools' approval stings, and honour stains. (Little Gidding)

Is it possible, without offence, to suggest that the USA is still only quite young, adolescent, and finding repentance too difficult?

The celebrations in France honoured the achievements of the American service men and of the nation as a whole. When that message has been understood, can our friends hear the criticisms that we also need to make so that we can be adults working together for the peace of the world and not claiming a moral superiority for our form of religion, our political system, or our way of managing the resources of the planet?

The Rt. Rev. Michael Hare Duke is the retired Bishop of St. Andrews in the Scottish Episcopal Church. He may be reached by email at bishmick@aol.com .