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As Jesus came near and saw the city, he wept over it, saying, “If you, even you, had only recognized on this day the things that make for peace! But now they are hidden from your eyes. (Luke 19:41-42)
Moments come that remind me why I love Jesus and
want to live my life in close proximity to who he is, what he said and what he
did, although I will always be a poor example of what it means to be one of his
followers.
I see his face as he looks up at the walls of Jerusalem
and weeps. Perhaps it is the violence of our times, but imagining his tears I know
him as the heart whom I can trust with my own.
His love for human souls in all their lost,
confused and self-destructive ways wets his cheeks with compassion for the
world I see on the daily news, the world I live in whether I like it or not. There
are plenty of days I want to shut the world out and let my heart rest because I
think I cannot take much more.
But he doesn’t. He lets it all in, feeling the sorrowful
ways of this tit-for-tat world to which nations sacrifice their children, century
after century, in a doomed, determined desire to gain some measure of security that
no amount of power can ever secure, typically doing little more than making the
next bloody conflict inevitable.
There is no peace there. The way of peace is the
way of this weeping man outside the walls of Jerusalem.
A few days later, Jesus hangs on a cross, the
tool of the practical and powerful protectors of this world’s wisdom, convinced
someone must die to make an example and maintain order, the infernal logic of ‘the
way things are.’
But Jesus shows another way, a harder way that breaks
the bloody chain of history. His lifeblood dripping away, he does not descend
into hatred and bitterness. He refuses the siren call for revenge, retribution or
some ‘proportional response.’ He transforms his pain into a peace offering,
extended even to those who have no interest in understanding or accepting it.
This is the way of peace so seldom tried. ‘If
only,’ he cried. ‘If only, you knew the things that make for peace.’ But we don’t.
Or if we do, our hearts are too fearful to beat back our self-protective
impulses long enough to see the need and humanity of those we imagine so
different from ourselves, failing to see that there can be no peace for us
unless there is peace for everyone.
Maybe we will never learn. Maybe the body count
will never be high enough to move nations and their leaders to say ‘enough!’
And maybe it is asking too much of them to imagine ways of dealing with
violence and hatred that don’t involve more hatred and violence. Maybe we are
stuck forever in this ugly cycle. It’s just the way things are.
It is this that moved Jesus to tears as he surveyed
the walls of Jerusalem. And it is this that makes me love and trust him as the one,
the way, we most need to help us imagine another way.
I adore you, O Christ, and I bless you; by your
holy cross you redeem the world.
David L. Miller
