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THIS IS OUR CRY, THIS IS OUR PRAYER, PEACE IN THE WORLD |
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Written by scott
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Sunday, 06 August 2006 |
THIS IS OUR CRY, THIS IS OUR PRAYER, PEACE IN THE WORLD
2 Samuel 11:1-17, 11:26-12:10; Ephesians 4:1-16
August 6, 2006
By Rev. Dr. Jeanne Knepper
Our bishop, Robert Hoshibata, folds paper cranes as a prayer practice. They look something like these cranes, but better folded, larger, tinier, folded out of many colored or gold or ordinary papers. I folded the ones on the altar yesterday, getting a little smoother with each one. I could see how it could become a way to center for prayer, for each one requires some concentration, but also becomes automatic.
Do you know the legend of the paper crane? It comes out of Japanese heritage; an Asian folk belief that white cranes are birds that bring the kind of peace that comes with prosperity and friendship. But that is only the beginning.
Let me tell you the story of Sadako Sasaki.
On August 6, 1945, President Harry S. Truman spoke to the people of the United States, saying:
Sixteen hours ago an American airplane dropped one bomb on Hiroshima and destroyed its usefulness to the enemy. That bomb had more power that 20,000 tons of T.N.T. It had more than two thousand times the blast power of the British “Grand Slam†which is the largest bomb ever used in the history of warfare.
The Japanese began the war from the air at Pearl Harbor. They have been repaid many fold. And the end is not yet. . . . We are prepared to obliterate more rapidly and completely every productive enterprise the Japanese have above ground in any city. We shall destroy their docks, their factories, and their communications. Let there be no mistake; we shall completely destroy Japan’s power to make war.
It was to spare the Japanese people from utter destruction that the ultimatum of July 26 was issued at Potsdam. Their leaders promptly rejected that ultimatum. If they do not now accept our terms they may expect a rain of ruin from the air, the likes of which have never been seen on this earth.
Over 100,000 people—civilians—died in Hiroshima on August 6, 1945. Others lived. One of the ones who lived was a small child, the two year old Sadako Sasaki. Her home was about one mile from ground zero, but she was one of the lucky ones. Sadako, whose picture is on the front of your bulletin, grew up to be a strong, energetic, athletic girl. She raced, she competed, she started to get headaches. One day, when she was 11 years old, she collapsed at the beginning of a race, too dizzy to walk, let alone run. Doctors diagnosed her condition: leukemia, the “atom bomb†disease. Sadako would not run again.
As she languished fourteen months in the hospital, one of her friends reminded Sadako of the peace crane and of the legend that, if someone folded 1000 origami—folded paper—cranes, they would be granted a wish. Sadako took hold of the promise, folding every bit of paper that she could get—paper friends brought her, paper from the labels on her medications, scraps of paper—all of it turned into folded paper wishes for healing, yes, but not only for herself. As she folded, Sadako wished for healing for all victims of radiation disease, and for an end to fighting all over the world. As she folded every scrap of paper she could get, Sadako became a beacon of hope for peace, for an end to all hatred and fighting.
When she died, her friends, and then other children, took up the cause, folding paper cranes and dreaming of a peace that would protect all the world’s children. Three years after her death, in 1955, her schoolmates published a collection of letters, hoping to raise funds to build a memorial to Sadako and all the other children who died in or because of the bombing. In 1958, a statue of Sadako holding a golden crane was unveiled in the Hiroshima Peace Memorial. At the foot of the statue is a granite plaque engraved with the words: This is our cry. This is our prayer. Peace in the world. And from that day to this, children and adults who want to keep them safe from the terrors of war throughout the world have folded paper cranes as they hope and pray that we will learn a better way, all of us.
President Truman spoke of a “rain of ruin†in his press release, but it was all presented in terms of destroyed docks, factories, communications. He said nothing of civilians destroyed in a moment, or, perhaps even worse, exposed to radiation that would kill them slowly, with much pain. That is the way of nations at war—leaders do not speak of the human cost of bombs and guns and attacks, for we are a tender-hearted people and it would make us feel terrible to know that we, our beloved nation, had chosen to wage war on of children and grandmothers and parents and babies and young lovers.
We don’t want to know things like that—and they are going on still. Almost two years ago, Xander Patterson was at UPUMC speaking about the effects of the war in Iraq on children, showing us graphic photos as he spoke about the SMART program being promoted by Physicians for Social Responsibility to try to establish a mechanism to require that decisions to go to war would be debated fully in Congress. I didn’t want to see the pictures of children maimed and burned by bombs that we dropped. I’m sure that you didn’t want to see them either. But the children don’t go away, just because we don’t want to know about them. They live and die, regardless.
And more. Already, Iran, the nation with the second largest untapped oil field in the world [the largest is in Iraq] is negotiating to form an oil exchange that will not use the dollar as its currency, an exchange that would favor the consumers of India and China over us. Already, we are being led to believe that we must stop Iran from developing nuclear weapons, something experts say Iran cannot do in less than 10 years. But already, our nation is considering the use of bombs on nuclear development sites, “bunker busters,†atomic bombs that pack 100 times the blast power of the bomb dropped on Hiroshima 61 years ago today.
Many years ago, Nathan told David a story of a rich and powerful man who desired to take the single lamb owned by a poor and powerless man, who desired it and arranged to take it for his own, even being willing to kill the one who rightfully owned that little lamb. When David was furious and demanded that greed and violence be punished, Nathan claimed, “You are the man,†and David was convicted before God of greed and sin, as Nathan told him that, because he had chosen to steal what was not his to take, violence would haunt his reign and destroy his family. And I wonder, now, can we hear echoes of Nathan, pointing a sharp finger at the pipes that move Iraqi oil towards our oil companies, towards our cars—can we hear the voice of Nathan, a voice, crying, accusing: “You are the one!â€
Oh, God, it is the stuff of nightmares. No wonder I would rather tell you the story of Sadako folding paper cranes. Please, let us find a place to hope, even if it comes through the story of a little girl, who never lived to be thirteen, a child who, ten years after our nation dropped the largest bomb ever dropped on humankind, prayed for peace for all people, even us.
There is only one way to peace, and that is the way of peace. All over the world, people are connecting to each other, trying to forge links that will hold us connected to one another, bound together into one people through all the world. Right now, there are seven living women who have been awarded the Nobel Peace Prize. Five of them, from the United States, Iran, Northern Ireland, Kenya, and Guatemala, have joined together to try to stop the movement towards war with Iran. Right now, people all over the world are claiming our human heritage of connectedness, begging all of us to understand that there is only one God, only one humanity, only one peace to be achieved.
And we can be a part of that choosing. This week, as we remember Hiroshima and Sadako, this week, as we perhaps take the instructions and learn to fold little paper cranes, this week, may we let this be our song:
This is our cry, this is our prayer, peace in the world. This is our cry, this is our prayer, peace in the world. Sing it with me: This is our cry, this is our prayer, peace in the world. . .
Amen.
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