On hardness of heart, and contempt of God's Word and Commandment.

From the time of Matthew Brady, during the American Civil War, photographs of war dead have been choreographed to affect the public mind. We run out of words to express the horrors of the wars, invasions, and destructions of our times, although Euripides, Shakespeare, and the Bible have told it all before.

            What is hardness of heart? Are our hearts in danger of being hardened by exposure to such demonic images? Or are we instead to be awakened?

            I was amazed last week to have a conversation with someone who claimed in all seriousness that evil does not exist. Everything takes place on a personal level. Everyone is misunderstood. To see all is to forgive all.

            I take strong exception to this view. If we live at peace for generations, we may forget the devastation, cruelty, violence and degradation: the common coin of war. Most of what we see today, we have seen before, only now we see it faster, and infinitely reproducible.

            In The Trojan Women, Euripides gives us Cassandra, who speaks for women raped, sent into slavery, and murdered; Hecuba, whose poignant farewell to her little grandson as he is handed over to be thrown from a cliff to his death tells unbearably of all children relentlessly slain; Andromache, defenceless after her husband’s death in battle. The piteous anxiety of those awaiting their fate when their men have all been slaughtered is left to the chorus to sing.

            Photojournalists capture many, but not all, the images of war and destruction. Some films and photographs are made by the violent themselves: the recording of their deeds is part of their pride in them, and part of the punishment of their victims. (Such film may have further purposes also.) When journalists go into danger to secure these images their motivation is often to awaken the world, not to let us rest but to put into remembrance what has happened and what is happening. To be witnesses.

            A martyr is a witness: that’s the meaning of the word. And so many journalists have been and are being martyrs for the truth. They witness to the contempt of God’s Word and Commandment — to love, and not to hate — that we pray to be delivered from in the Litany. God commands love: love for God first, and then for humankind, God’s living image. The images of violence depict the desecration of the image of God. And this is evil. I think it’s a good, if limited and partial definition of evil: desecration. What God makes holy you must not profane.

            For those who repent, forgiveness is possible. For those who take pride in their violent deeds, God is their judge. For ourselves, we pray to be delivered from hardness of heart. To heed the martyrs, to be awakened, for our hearts to be broken, broken open and shared with our tears.

On Reaping What We Sow.

A few days ago I had a pleasant surprise. While I was standing at the supermarket checkout, a lovely young mother of two active boys hailed me by a former name. At first I didn’t know who I was; I didn’t recognise her, for I’d last seen her when she was ten years old. I used to teach ballet, and here was one of my students reappearing to me. This is an example of reaping what we sow.

            Past activities prove to leave a lasting imprint. You might be so busy from day to day that you haven’t time to think about a word carelessly cutting deep, or indeed a moment of praise or support that will bear up another for a long time. You might think you’re engaged in a hobby or have put on a one- time- only party or have just volunteered to help out, to say nothing of being in a line of work that’s going to mark you for the rest of your life, even after you changed jobs or got a new vocation. You might be practicing and think it’s only practice. Yet all of these have the potential for you to reap what you have sown: the bad and the good.

            It doesn’t stop there, though. You might reap what others have sown. This again can be the bad and the good. We acknowledge our debt to those of the past who have left us valuable ideas, institutions, works of art and the public benefactions of our culture. We may show gratitude as we consider our families, the difficulties they faced and the generosity they showed as they passed on to us their attentions, their educations, their friendships, their material goods as well as their genes. We reap what they sowed every day.

            We may also reap what the feckless, confused or malicious among us have sowed whether in moments of distraction or deliberate harm. For example, from the drunken driver who causes a road accident we might reap anything from a broken arm to a grave.

            Entire nations may reap what they have sown. Environmental disasters can result from blind government policies or private greed; diseases can plague the population where the public health is neglected. Even more commonly, nations may reap what others have sown, in the form of economic catastrophes,exploitation, invasions and wars.

            These are seeded not only by other nations but sometimes by individuals. The ministers of governments, most particularly the leaders of governments, bear heavy responsibility for the crop of human welfare or human suffering laid down on their watch. Pious emperors and kings, classed as martyrs of the faith (like Charles I of England or Nicholas II of Russia) have nonetheless bloodied their lands through weakness (disguised as inflexibility), arrogance, and failure of understanding. A glance at the state of the world may see this in play.

            Solomon prayed for wisdom, and was granted it. When rulers pray only for power, the path of wisdom is lost, and many innocent persons reap bountifully of misery.

            If you want to know what the future holds, and what of your own you may reap, take a look at what you are doing today. It will have consequences, both good and bad. And pray that all the powers of this world may be given hearts of mercy and justice. That is, to have a harvest of wholesomeness and peace. Amen.