A Lament for War
- 2 days ago
- 2 min read
How long, O Lord,
while cities burn?
How long
while the earth
is lowered
into graves?
Your disciples once said,
“Lord,
do you want us
to call fire down
from heaven
to destroy them?”
It is not hard
to imagine
asking the same.
That instinct
sits close
to the surface —
the desire
to answer violence
with something stronger,
to call it justice,
to feel certain
we are right.
You turned
and rebuked them.
And later,
in a garden
heavy with fear,
you said,
“Put your sword
back in its place.
All who draw
the sword
will die
by it.”
We know
the words.
Still,
we reach.
We look
at Gaza —
concrete collapsed
into itself,
streets gone,
families digging
through what used
to be home.
We speak, rightly,
about the cruelty
of the Iranian regime —
its prisons,
its repression,
the way fear
settles
into ordinary life.
And now
schools are bombed.
Classrooms
torn open.
Children’s books
buried
in rubble.
Both things
are true.
Tyranny is evil.
So is killing
the young.
Operations
are announced.
“Operation Epic Fury.”
The name
sounds strong.
It is meant
to.
But you said,
“My kingdom
is not
of this world.”
Not defended
the way ours are.
Not advanced
by escalation.
Not secured
by making
our fury
larger
than theirs.
Your kingdom
comes
from heaven
to earth.
It does not arrive
as war
intensified.
It does not spread
by fear.
Treaties bend.
Lines
are redrawn.
Power decides
what counts.
And still
the statements
are made.
“Peace,”
they say.
While bombs fall.
While sirens speak
more honestly
than we do.
Here in the UK
we feel the pull —
to stand
with allies,
to send,
to involve ourselves
again
in conflicts
we will not
be able
to control
and whose cost
will not fall
evenly.
“Peace,”
but there is
no peace.
No shalom
in the crater.
No wholeness
in the camp.
No dignity
in the rubble.
Prince of Peace —
you refused
to call down fire.
You healed the ear
of the one
who came
to arrest you.
You absorbed violence
instead
of returning it.
Have mercy
on us.
Disarm
our imaginations.
Restrain
the hands
that sign
and send.
Keep us
from baptising dominance
as destiny.
Give us courage
to name oppression
for what it is
and to name devastation
for what it is.
Keep us
from becoming
what we condemn.
Teach us
to lay down
the sword —
not because
it is easy,
but because
you are Lord.
How long,
O Lord?
Until swords rust.
Until schools stand.
Until Gaza breathes again.
Until Iran’s daughters sing
without fear.
Until your kingdom comes
on earth
as it is
in heaven.
Come, Lord Jesus.
Rebuke
our fire.
Break
our swords.
Make us
peacemakers
in the ruins.
- Rev'd Jon Swales
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