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A Devotional Reflection on Iraq
John McCullough giving the devotional reflection at the vigil.
Photo: Church World Service
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("More than 500 Christian, Jewish and Muslim protestors pledged to become 'peacemakers' in a world of violence, inequity and war, during an interfaith prayer vigil in front of the U.S. Capitol on Monday," reported Pauline J. Chang of the Christian Post, on March 13, 2006.)
The devotional reflection at the interfaith prayer vigil was led by Church World Service executive director Rev. John L. McCullough. His text follows.
I can think of no word more descript, and no better sentiment to encapsulate the pounding waves of emotion that lap upon our common shore with virtually every news report: Iraq is depressing. That is not to say we believe it cannot or will not get better. Our hope for peace burns like an eternal flame. We live with the expectation that the day of conflict will eventually end, and that broken relationships will one day heal. But we must also acknowledge that Iraq today in no way encompasses the peace that passes all understanding, and it does not shine like the morning star that the Apostle Peter says rises in our hearts. In fact, the continuing accounts of tragedy, divided communities, and destruction of historic shrines are more than subtle reminders of how difficult and hard life can be, particularly in an underdeveloped and fragmented nation like Iraq. The gathering clouds decry the vulnerability and endangerment of the critical cycle of life: of new birth, children venturing off to school, and people getting married and starting new families. These should be the signs of a safe and secure society, but today Iraqi people cowering in darkened homes largely hide themselves, fearful of what may happen in the light of day. Our hope is that these will soon once again become the dominant images of that ancient land.
The shalom of God cries out for Iraq to be like a bridge over troubled waters, but today it is not. Even with its many bridges, Iraq remains vulnerable to the rushing torrents of violence and war, of sadness and loss of life. No one can rightly say just how many families grieve, but we know that tears continue to water the soil of the land once called Eden. People in other lands also cry for Iraq, even here in the shining city upon a hill people cry. A chorus of a thousand families bemoans lives cut short, of birthdays and anniversaries that never again will pass with joyous and festive celebration. These are not indistinguishable sounds coming from some ancient tower in Babel; they are the language of our common humanity, and of our capacity to truly love and care for and about the other, regardless of race, creed, or origin.
I know the sound of a parent wailing over the lifeless body of a child. Such grief knows no cultural divide, and cares not about any religious or ideological fervor. Its sounds are too deep for words – any words, whether they are Arabic, English, Hebrew, French, or Aramaic. No nation laments the loss of life more than another. No one family’s pain is any deeper than any other. That is why we have come here, that is why we pray for peace, and sing songs of solace, because our spirits are uneasy. The somber sounds of our broken global family leaves us feeling anxious about what the future holds. We yearn for the bombing to stop, for the rhetoric to end, for people – all people to once again stroll freely along city streets, for the silencing of the tears.
The name Iraq, means country with deep roots. It is a good name for the place that launched Noah’s Ark, where Daniel stood tall in the lion's den, where Belshazzar, the King of Babylon saw the "writing on the wal,” and where Ezekiel preached that decaying bones could indeed be brought back to life. Iraq is a country of great historical significance, and is one where the three Abrahamic faiths, and perhaps others as well, share deep roots. It is a land of a shared and living heritage, and today is no exception. The descendants of ancient times still live in Iraq, and honor the journey of faith to the present. Like these faith families, we too long for an Iraq that will once again be governed by her people, led by the peaceful and respectful convergence of faith, tradition, community, and the just rule of law. We long not for the impossible, but for the possible.
Langston Hughes wrote:
I dream a world where man No other man will scorn, Where love will bless the earth And peace its paths adorn. I dream a world where all Will know sweet freedom's way, Where greed no longer saps the soul Nor avarice blights our day. A world I dream where black or white, Whatever race you be, Will share the bounties of the earth And every man is free, Where wretchedness will hang its head And joy, like a pearl, Attends the needs of all mankind-- Of such I dream, my world!
We gather here to say we too dream a world where people will respect and honor each other, and our words will be used not so much to define our differences as to inspire our unity. We dream a world of shared love and resources, of religious tolerance, and friendship as Christians, Muslims, and Jews. We dream of a more just and peaceful world, and believe that it is attainable, even within our lifetime. We have no illusion that this will be either easy or simple; we understand well the complexities of this troubled era, of the deep divide between nations. But we know this truth, that peace is essential for the development of our human race, and for the preservation of our planet. We will not lose our hope, nor will we tire from this most noble cause.
Though the fig tree does not blossom,
and no fruit is on the vines;
though the produce of the olive fails
and the fields yield no food;
though the flock is cut off from the fold
and there is no herd in the stalls,
yet I will rejoice in the Lord;
I will exult in the God of my salvation.
God, the Lord, is my strength;
he makes my feet like the feet of a deer,
And makes me tread upon the heights.
J.L McCullough, March 13, 2006
Media Contact:
Lesley Crosson, CWS/New York, 212-870-2676;
Jan Dragin, 781-925-1526;
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