It is in our blood, it seems.
In our DNA.
Woven into the fibre of our being.
The desperate desire to defend & conquer.
To wage war against everything which seems to be different.
In our mind.
And we viciously fight with every bit of energy to destroy whatever is outside of or apparently contrary to what we believe to be truth.
The truth of our ownership.
The truth of our worldview.
The truth of our faith.
Perhaps it has to do with our idea of ‘truth’.
That ‘truth’ is something.
Some ‘thing’ which we can have a grip on.
Which we can define and box and protect.
Perhaps it has to do with our idea of our ‘self’.
That our ‘self’ is constantly under threat.
Threatened by others.
Threatened to be destroyed.
And this ‘threat’ solicits fear.
And the ‘fear’ awakens that deep primal ‘fight or flight’ reaction.
And we fight.
Raw, blood wounding blows, violently beating and beating, hit upon hit, cutting, slicing, piercing as deep as we can, ripping guts and innards and life from our opponent until they lie limply on red stained soil to be eaten by worms.
And we breathe a moment.
Just a moment.
Relieved that we survived.
Before we see what seems to be yet another threat.
And then we raise our amber blade, our spattered baton to fight once more.
Living from one war to the next.
Until a stronger one comes along, whose blade cuts deeper, whose club bludgeons fiercer and we lie limply engulfed by the sticky thick red of our own destructive being, never to fight again.
I get this.
In the ancient writings of Christian, Jew & Muslim the first post-creation stories contain remembrances of war.
Cain & Abel.
A body hidden in the sand.
But we believe we are an evolved humanity?
A people who have grown beyond the war of worlds & nations & tribes.
I read once, that in the entire recorded history of mankind, there are only about 17 days in which there was no war being waged in some or other form, somewhere on our planet.
I think it is an optimistic estimate.
I think if, back then, they had the invasive social media machine, even in those measly seventeen days images of death & war & destruction would be sent across the world to be eaten by fearful hungry people.
What astounds me is the blood-thirsty war-hunger of people who confess a life in service of God.
I am not referring to the wars waged by Christians & Muslims & Jews through centuries of battle for borders & resources & land.
I am referring to the wars waged daily.
As we live our cultured lives in seemingly peaceful cities & towns across the world.
In Republics & Democracies.
Without guns & knives fashioned from steel & iron & wood.
I am referring to the battle as we fearfully protect and hold on to our ‘truth’.
I meet with clients and discover it is my head being clubbed to a bloody pulp, competitors ‘winning’ business based on their efficient ability to bad-mouth & destroy the merit of my enterprise, instead of the merit of their own.
And I get it.
For it is in our blood.
And I am grateful for I would not want to build my own creative activity on the foundation of destructiveness.
I’d rather collaborate with other creatives who choose peace.
Creatives who create value & share it with all.
Imagine if Cain & Able collaborated instead of waring.
Enabling each other.
Imagine how much more they would have created in a collective agricultural enterprise.
The fruit of the land feeding live-stock.
The live-stock feeding the land.
I get the ‘war’ amongst people who know nothing but fear as they live their lives in lonely isolation from their origin.
I do not ‘get it’, I do not understand it, amongst people who profess to know God and serve him.
In my work I meet Pastors.
Many of them.
As part of a team of fabulous creatives I create radio.
Radio growing from our relationship with an astounding, graceful God.
And so I often meet with the religious.
Telling them about what we do.
Inviting them to share the joy & opportunity.
Encouraging them to see.
A new horizon.
An embracing world which collaborates & supports and collectively touches a broken ravaged world.
So often I hear the cry of war.
‘We are not like them.’
‘We hold the truth they cannot see.’
‘We stand for righteousness.’
‘We fight for truth.’
Truth is not some ‘thing’ to be fought for.
Truth is some One.
A person who told his friend to sheath his sword.
Who encouraged his friends to turn the other cheek.
Who was led to a hill to be nailed to a pole.
Who overcame war by allowing himself to be destroyed by it.
Who conquered it by showing hate & destruction & fear’s powerlessness.
She is not Christian.
She quotes Bhagavad Gita: ‘The Bhagavad Gita says that God is in the heart of every living entity, as well as in his own abode.’
Bruxy Cavey said: ‘We no longer need to imagine that God dwells in special places like sanctuaries, church buildings, temples, or tabernacles. Nor is he assessed only through special holy men, like priests and pastors, rabbis and imams. The final sacrifice has been offered. It’s time to move along. The show is over. God has left the building.’
It is the same ‘truth’.
The same some One.
And yet we push away.
We bash into lifeless nothingness.
Not recognizing the Person.
Not seeing the new hope.
The original hope.
Seeing only our own fear.
This is our calling.
Not standing for some ‘thing’.
Standing alongside some One.
As he is crucified.
It is not ‘victorious’ as Christianity & Islam & Judaism has been so many times.
It is humble.
It is loving.
‘Forgive them, for they know not what they do.’
It is always ready to relate.
Ready to bring closer.
Willing to embrace.
For this I hope.
That at the end of my time in this little bit of world, I will be the crucified.
Known not for the wars I won.
Known for the love & grace I’d shown.
For the collaboration I fed.
The other cheek I’d turned.
For I cannot be primal.
Not as I have become his abode, as the Bhagavad Gita so eloquently recognized.
As the Christ revealed.
As God made known in many ways and many places from West to East to different people from different worlds.
For this I hope, as I raise our growing little Pienaar-clan.
That they will carry the scars of peace into a world starved of it.
Infecting their children.
And their children’s children with this fearlessness.
This hope is not for a life ‘victorious’.
It is for a life crucified.
A life which would not make sense to the gods of war.