Below is my column in today’s edition of the Grand Haven Tribune.
At my own parish, we’ll be commemorating both tonight at 6 p.m. with a Requiem Mass for Peace. As a part of the service, we’ll hear four Hibakusha testimonies. Hibakusha is the Japanese word used to refer to those who survived the bombings of Hiroshima and Nagasaki. As one NGO that seeks to share these stories explains, “The focus of Hibakusha Stories is to employ the testimony of Hiroshima and Nagasaki survivors, Indigenous Peoples, Downwinders, nuclear test survivors and other affected communities to take action for disarmament.”
We’ll also pray for the repose of the souls of those who died in the second World War, including those who died in the bombings and their aftermath, along with victims of war in our own time. You’re welcome to join us.
As I have been working with our parish staff to prepare for tonight’s liturgy, I keep coming back to the juxtaposition of these two days: the anniversary of the bombing of Hiroshima and the Feast of the Transfiguration.
The Feast of the Transfiguration commemorates the day when Christ ascended Mount Tabor with Peter, James, and John and was transfigured before them, his face shining like the sun and his clothes becoming as white as light itself. The ancient lawgiver of the Jewish people, Moses, appeared with Jesus, along with the great prophet Elijah. Both long-dead, we are told that they discussed Jesus’ impending departure in Jerusalem – that is, the coming suffering and crucifixion of Christ. A voice came from the cloud, commanding the disciples to listen to Jesus. And then, just as quickly as it began, the whole thing ended, and the three disciples were left alone with Jesus.
I cannot seem to shake the curious similarities between the two events. In both the bombing of Hiroshima and the Transfiguration on the mountain, blinding light blazed forth. The light that burst forth from the nuclear bomb was profoundly destructive – immediately killing between 70,000 and 80,000 people. Over the next four months, the effects of the bomb killed somewhere between another 90,000 to 166,000. So, hundreds of thousands dead, almost all civilians. It’s estimated that 38,000 of those killed were children.
In theory, the light of the transfiguration of Christ was not a destructive light. Rather, it was the revelation of Christ’s divine glory. And yet, those who decided to drop the bomb and unleash the horrors of nuclear warfare on the world were also Christians. President Truman was a devout Baptist. Secretary of War Henry Stimson came from a family of prominent clergymen.
While Truman remained steadfast that dropping the bomb was the only way to end the war, to avoid what many believed would be an even greater loss of life through a wholesale invasion of Japan. He did not believe it was an easy decision. In a speech after the bombing, he said, “You know the most terrible decision a man ever had to make was made by me at Potsdam. It had nothing to do with Russia or Britain or Germany. It was a decision to loose the most terrible of all destructive forces for the wholesale slaughter of human beings.”
As I noted earlier, many believed that the bombings were necessary to stop the greater loss of life that would be caused by a full-scale invasion… but I don’t know how to weigh the lives of soldiers fighting in a war against innocent civilians. I don’t know how to weigh the lives of those held captive in the military-industrial complex against children sitting at school who were incinerated in the blink of an eye.
And so, even as I celebrate the gift of the Transfiguration of Christ, I also must acknowledge that the followers of Christ have often used their power for violent ends. The divine light of Christ’s suffering thereby becomes twisted into the blazing and burning fires of discrimination, war, violence, and all manner of suffering.
At Hiroshima, humanity was revealed to be capable of violence that had at one time been unimaginable. Jesus was revealed as the Son of God, a son who choose to suffer. Perhaps that was a part of the divine equation – the knowledge that the only way to save a fallen humanity that would be capable of violence like nuclear warfare was for God himself to descend and let the full violence of humanity fall upon God’s own son. And as Christ carried the violence of our human race deep into the heart of God, somehow God’s love can perhaps heal our violent ways … if we will let him.
Perhaps what we’re left with is just the voice, the voice that spoke from the cloud on Mount Tabor so long ago, a voice that urged us to listen to Christ. The first disciples didn’t do a good job. They still thought Jesus was going to Make Israel Great Again. They didn’t understand that Jesus had chosen the path of suffering love – even though that was the path he was discussing with Moses and Elijah. But eventually they would. And eventually they would understand that the path of suffering love was the one they needed to walk upon as well.
If you’re a follower of Jesus, I hope you’ll spend some time listening to the voice of Christ today, asking what Jesus is calling you to do. Perhaps it is to find ways to support efforts at nuclear disarmament. Perhaps it is to learn more about the suffering of all those affected by the many horrors of war. Or maybe it’s just to take a step back, to consider that whoever you consider to be your enemy is likely not the villainous figure that exists in your mind, someone who deserves all the negativity and violence and anger that roils your mind. Rather, that person is just a broken child of God – just like you, just like me – also seeking to find their way in a violent world. Maybe if we could all find that truth, it is the light of dignifying and merciful love that would envelope us all.
