Holy Cross Monastery, West Park, NY
Br. Robert Leo Sevensky, OHC
Epiphany Last C - Sunday, February 27, 2022
On February 24, 2022, under the orders of Vladimir Putin, the armies of Russia invaded Ukraine, a neighboring independent, democratic state. Already we know that hundreds have lost their lives in this evil act of aggression, but where it leads, not only for the people of Ukraine but for the entire world, is still an open question. Threats of the use of nuclear arms have been made in recent days and the possibility of this war spreading into a worldwide conflict is not unimaginable. And this morning, by perhaps another cruel irony—or is it a consolation?—we are asked to consider these events in the light of the Christ’s Transfiguration, in the light of the divine glory revealed on the holy mountain to the chosen witnesses.
I'm not sure that this is a wise undertaking or even a possible one. I would much rather speak this morning about faces that are shining with God's love, such as Thomas Merton famously glimpsed at the corner of 4th and Walnut in Louisville KY and that you and I may have experienced in our own lives. Or I would speak of the conversation reported in today's gospel in which Jesus discusses his departure, that is his exodus, with Moses and Elijah, connecting it with the pivotal reading that we will hear seven weeks from this very morning at the Great Vigil of Easter, the story of the liberation of the children of the Hebrews out of slavery into freedom and their deliverance at the Red Sea.
Unfortunately, these past weeks and the days leading up to Thursday have changed my focus and perhaps the focus of all of us. I seem to have become obsessed by the events unfolding in Ukraine: reacting with grief, outrage, sadness, even at times despair and frustrated by the inability or unwillingness of a wider world to intervene in ways that can effectively stop the violence and the brutality of warfare. Part of my obsession is due to my own personal, if distant, connection to Ukraine. At least three of my grandparents were born in areas of what is now Ukraine. My mother and her family were members of the Ukrainian Orthodox Church as were other relatives through marriage. Even my father and brother were officers in various Ukrainian-American social organizations in Northeastern Pennsylvania. This language, this culture, doesn't feel entirely foreign to me, even if I do not personally know anyone who is endangered.
But beyond this personal connection is the real and frightening reality of a profound change of our world order as we have known it at least since the end of the Second World War. In my lifetime not Korea, not the Cuban Missile Crisis, not the Vietnam War, or even the events of 9/11 seemed to hold the potential of such a toxic shift. I hope I'm not being alarmist, but no one in 1939 would have predicted the scale or the cost of the war that resulted from the invasion of Poland. Nor can we predict where this current incursion might lead. Nor can we any longer simply dismiss this as posturing on the part of a troubled nationalist leader.
It is complicated, I know. I realize that no nation is going to send troops to aid Ukraine on the ground. No foreign nationals are likely to fly there to take up arms along with the civilian population, as writers and artists and others did in the Spanish Civil War. And even in our interconnected world, and maybe because of this very interconnection, countries are reluctant to do more than impose sanctions and perhaps provide arms. There is so much being written and broadcast now on this conundrum and the current situation that I feel I need say no more. But I would like this morning to venture some ‘faith based’ responses to this tragedy.
First, whatever our nationality or political stance, we are called to witness to what is going on. We cannot close our eyes to this evil action and its effects. This may be the first war where millions of civilians carry with them in their smart phones the possibility of documenting the most egregious and outrageous actions and sharing them with the world. And as painful as it is, we have some obligation to join in witness to what is going on. Witnessing is a profoundly spiritual act.
Second, we are called to express solidarity with those who have been displaced, distressed, or destroyed…which is to say, to stand with those who have been attacked as well as with those who, for whatever reason, have been forced into the role of oppressor or who have paid the price for raising their voices in protest. That solidarity can be public or social. It can happen via some charitable outreach, which may be quite private or hidden but which addresses both human needs and human rights. Our solidarity must be felt and perhaps ‘telt.’ But above all it must be real. Which is to say, we must take a stand in whatever way we can.
Thirdly, we must face the enigma of war in all its horror through the eyes of our faith. And this is no easy or simple thing to wrap our heads or hearts around. I share three quotes which may serve as a starting point.
The first is from the Buddha as recorded in the Dhammapada (verse 5, trans. Eknath Easwaran): “Hatred can never put an end to hatred; love alone can. This is an unalterable law.”
Second, listen to Jesus as he speaks to his disciples on the eve of his own death: “Put your sword back into its place; for all who take the sword will perish by the sword.” (Matt 25:52) And again: “Blessed are the peacemakers, for they shall be called children of God.” (Matt 5:9)
Third, listen to conclusion of the lecture that Jimmy Carter gave on receiving the Nobel Peace Prize in 2002: “Ladies and gentlemen: war may sometimes be a necessary evil. But no matter how necessary, it is always an evil, never a good. We will not learn how to live together in peace by killing each other's children. The bond of our common humanity is stronger than the divisiveness of our fears and prejudices. God gives us the capacity for choice. We can choose to alleviate suffering. We can choose to work together for peace. We can make these changes—and we must.”
War…sometimes necessary, but always an evil, a tragedy, and never, ever a good in and of itself. There we are.
So, what do we do? Well, we pray. We pray because that’s what people of faith do. And I firmly believe that somehow, in its mysterious way, our prayer opens for God ways to act in this world and in our hearts—including in the heart of our brother, Vladimir Putin—that might not otherwise have been possible had we not prayed. I think our world is praying…with sighs too deep for words and tears too numerous to count; with moral resolve; in faith that the future is not closed, and that change can happen. And in the hope that transfiguration remains a real possibility for all of us. All of us.
On Wednesday we begin our observance of Lent. As is so often the case, we don't get the Lent we think we want or need, one that's nicely prearranged by us with devotional readings for each day or with plans to give something up or take on something new that we've chosen, perhaps in consultation with a pastor or spiritual director. No. At least for this year, we get a different kind of Lent, one scarred by violence and the threat of large-scale destruction, marked by an uncertainty that rivals, or even surpasses, the fears of the pandemic that started two years ago, and that even at its outset elicits a sense of exhaustion, of weariness, perhaps even more than a hint of despair.
None of this should surprise us of course. Today's gospel reading of the Transfiguration continues immediately with Jesus coming down from the mountain and being faced with human suffering in the person of a young boy possessed of a demon and in unbelief on the part of his disciples. Jesus’ mountain top experience didn't last very long. Neither does ours. But the story is not over. It's not over by a longshot.
The Archbishop of Canterbury has invited churches in the Anglican Communion to devote themselves today to prayer for Ukraine and for peace and justice there. Pope Francis and other church leaders have asked that this intention be the focus of Ash Wednesday observances. And I think it likely that we will be praying about this for a long time. So let us begin now with the prayer which Archbishop Welby, along with Archbishop Cottrell, have supplied us. Let us pray:
God of peace and justice, we pray for the people of Ukraine today. We pray for peace and the laying down of weapons. We pray for all those who fear for tomorrow, that your spirit of comfort would draw near to them. We pray for those with power over war and peace, for wisdom, discernment and compassion to guide their decisions. Above all, we pray for all your precious children, at risk and in fear, that you would hold and protect them. We pray in the name of Jesus, the Prince of peace. Amen.
May it be so.
