Religions and the Promise of Peace
The Reverend Don W. Vaughn-Foerster
December 25, 2005

The great paradox of life is that, what we strive for mightily on the one hand, we take away from ourselves with the other hand. And so it is with peace and war. We hunger, we ache, for peace and goodwill not just for ourselves, but for the whole of humankind. And yet we follow, blindly and willingly, after those who use fear, hatred, and war for other purposes -- for dominance, for wealth, for the satisfaction of their own arrogance and hubris. Thus, we are thrown from generation to generation seeking surcease from conflict but comply with killing one another.

The reassuring aspect of all this is that, although religions breed wars in many ways, they ultimately are founded on the deeply human desire for peace. The promise of peace undergirds their teachings and their intent.

In the inclusive Hindu religion, peace is assumed. Otherwise, the many disparate ways of differing approaches to religion affirming one another would be impossible. In Buddhism Gautama Buddha's visions of peace and of humanity's highest potentials require each other. Judaism and Christianity, of course, make major claims for peace. The scriptures of Judaism have a strong and almost plaintive theme of peace running through them. In Isaiah 9:6 we find these words: "for to us a child is born ... and his name shall be called (among other names) 'Prince of Peace.'" Christians have taken these words to prophesy Jesus' birth in Bethlehem; but these words clearly spring from an ancient desire for peace from which Judaism drew inspiration. And Osama Bin Laden to the contrary notwithstanding, Islam at its base is founded on the promise that the human struggle will resolve itself into peace for all persons and all peoples. In some way, all the major religions of the world promise peace.

Sometimes it's hard to tell what kind of peace is being promised. There are at least two major areas where peace is promised. One is in the privacy of our own minds and hearts. Jesus, Buddha, Lao Tse, and others we can call "messiahs of the spirit" are quite strong on this area -- the area of the heart, the area of the spirit. This is the inner realm where, regardless of the destructive events swirling around us, we can be at peace within ourselves. We can know that we are right with the world, the cosmos, with the god we perceive, and with ourselves. The other kind of peace is public -- out in the world where people rub against each other, where different purposes and doctrines vie for dominance. Here, peace is also promised. Sometimes the promise is that a "political messiah" will deliver everyone into an era of cooperation and security whether they agree or not. Sometimes the promise is that one day everyone will be of one mind -- meaning of one religion. Sometimes the promise is that everyone will be able to transcend their differences without losing their personal identity. This latter, of course, is my preference; but the only religion I have found that really seems to preach and promise it is religious liberalism. Unless, of course, you include the erratic efforts of Hinduism and/or Buddhism and some progressive elements of Judaism and Christianity from time to time to do the same.

The great problem in coming to a public peace in which diversity is both strong and complementary lies in the heart. Somehow we can become so convinced that "our way is the only way"; that, to preserve "our way", we must remove or dominate all other ways. There is this dark side to our sense of what we think is right and what we fear must be done. Politically, given the nature of the times, one can almost understand why King Herod (as the story goes) had all the first born male children of Bethlehem slaughtered when he heard that a possible challenger to his throne had been born there. After all, Herod's attitude was not much different from that of the soldiers facing one another across no-man's land before and after their idyllic Christmas interlude. They felt threatened by one another; they were threatened by one another. When the order to shoot was given, they had to shoot or be shot. In the depths of conflict, theirs were not the thoughts of peace and goodwill. And, when they came home, they did not want to remember or acknowledge the angers and fears that they had felt and that had driven them to do what later were seen as despicable acts. My father did not want to remember or acknowledge such things.

What is it we don't want to deal with in this regard? It isn't our doubts about the legitimacy of whatever conflict in which we may have been engaged. It isn't memories about trying to help our friends and "fighting for freedom". Rather it has to be the way we really felt about what we were doing to the enemy and they were doing to us. Mark Twain, the great American humorist, put his finger directly on this raw nerve in a very unhumorous short story entitled "The War Prayer." In that story he wrote down on paper what people really mean when they pray to their god that their side win and that their friends and relatives be protected. What does such a prayer mean when applied to those against whom it is prayed? It means asking God to "help us to tear their soldiers to bloody shreds," to drown the shrieks of their wounded with "the thunder of our guns," to "help us wring the hearts of their widows with unavailing grief," "to turn them out roofless with their little children to wander unfriended in the wastes of their desolated land in rags and hunger and thirst." Praying for our side actually is praying that we inflict on the other side what we are afraid they will inflict on us. Such prayer is petitioning to overcome our morals and be empowered to become inhumane.

Beneath our efforts to create a public peace through forceful means lies this contradiction. With one hand we reach for peace, with the other we wreak conflict. Somehow we must come to a way of reaching for peace that confirms the reality and the right of others to be who they are. And they must reach out to us in the same way. Sometimes it seems for long periods that people are actually trying to do this. We have periods of time in which those who lead and those who follow truly do seem to have the best interests of both others and themselves at heart. The economy thrives. Material progress is made. It seems that even the moral dimension of life is expanding. Then, suddenly, those motivated by power and greed come to the fore and those who, in their unconscious selfishness, were impatiently waiting for such leadership become their eager followers. And we are thrown into the moral chaos of knowing that our country and the world are doing what is not in the interests of humanity or the earth itself.

At such times (as our times now are) it becomes clear that the human heart, ultimately, is at the root of peaceful possibilities. Only as the hearts of individuals are moved to compassion, goodwill, and peace shall the hearts of nations turn from fearfulness, greed, and war. At some point each individual has to face this question: Do I want only to feel equanimity within myself or do I want to model for others the principles and behavior that produce cooperation and peace? Put another way, do I really believe my religion moves toward peace or do I believe it allows me to pursue my purposes at the expense of others? On such a day as this, when the Prince of Peace came with the dawn, the candles lighting freedom for the world will begin at dusk, and tomorrow's dawn will bring Kwanzaa to a people striving to be free, responsible, and respected -- on such a day as this it is appropriate that we ask such a question of ourselves.