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Beyond Iraq
Rev. Jennifer Brooks
May 28, 2006

Today we remember those who died in the service of their country. Smart, alert, loved; each one a treasure beyond compare. What do we, who live, make of these deaths? What do respect and gratitude require of us? We answer with our lives, our choices, our vision.

It is not possible to remember these honored dead without also remembering that America is at war. The war in Iraq has become iconic for the divisions in our country, for political polemic, for the rhetoric of patriotism and the rhetoric of dissent. Even here, in this sacred place, it is difficult to sanctify our remembrance of the many dead from many wars: we hear the intrusion of a background babble, the static of partisan politics bubbling in a media stew.

But still we gather, here in this sanctuary that reverberates with history, to consecrate this time to something more than politics; to go beyond Iraq. Let us rest quietly in this moment and remember those who died, who gave their "last full measure of devotion." In the words of Abraham Lincoln, let us "highly resolve that these dead shall not have died in vain."

When Lincoln spoke the words of the Gettysburg Address it was 1863. They were gathered on a great battlefield of the American Civil War, green grass covering the Earth that had so recently been churned by great machines of war, the Earth that held closely the dead from both sides. Not knowing what the outcome of the war would be or what the future might holdãnot knowing that in a few short years he himself would lie beneath the grassãLincoln urged in simple words that those still living re-dedicate themselves not to war, or to re-election, but to a vision: to a "new birth of freedom" so that "government of the people, by the people, for the people, shall not perish from the earth."

The dead cannot speak, yet if we listen they can be heard. Lincoln spoke for them. Whether their lives and their deaths "were for peace and a new hope. or for nothing" is for we, the living, to decide.

Beyond Iraq there is a larger vision of the world. In this vision all people live in freedom, with hope for the future and for the future of their children. This is a world at peace, where resources are spent for education and vaccinations and mosquito netting instead of armaments. This is a world where children grow up thinking that someone of a different race or religion is someone interesting to know, instead of a target for hate or stones or bullets. This is a world where all nations consult together to make decisions for the Earth; where in every country the people have a say in how they are governed.

This is the world of Lincoln's vision, where government is "of the people." It rests on the Constitution's vision, which begins: "We the people." Who are "the people"?

We are.

Sometimes this vision feels so distant, so far from reality, that "we the people" become discouraged, demoralized. Yet the world of Lincoln's dream is closer than we think. Drowning in the clamor of the immediate, we forget to lift our eyes to the horizon. The horizon is there, if we will simply look.

If we look we will discover that we are not alone in our longing for a world of peace and freedom. There are small changes that the daily grind of the media machine fails to notice. These small changes are like blades of grass, each so fragile as to seem helpless; each so small as to seem an unlikely source of hope.

Yet one blade of grass becomes many; though a single blade is easily trampled, many together make a sturdy living witness that restores the Earth.

For more than ten years now the organization called "Seeds of Peace" has brought young teenagers from war-torn countries together in a camp in Maine. Arab and Israeli, Serb and Croat, Indian and Pakistani, they have come from many unhappy places (with their adult advisors) to live together, share meals, work on projects, play games, and talk about how to bring their countries to peace.

These teenagers call themselves "Seeds."

In camp they are not allowed to speak their native language. Instead they speak English, the one language they all know, so that no one is shut out of the conversation.

A few years ago they issued a Charter stating clearly those things that would have to change in the world, and in their specific countries, if there is to be peace. These "Seeds" are not willing to settle simply for the absence of war; they do not think it possible to achieve peace merely by the absence of war. They believe that to achieve sustainable world peaceã"a just and a lasting peace" ãtheir own governments must change from the inside; and those who govern must exercise the will to peace.

Their plan is to become "those who govern."

Does it sound far-fetched? These children, at 14 or 15, know more about war than most of us can ever grasp. They come from places where bombs and guns and landmines are everyday horrors, and at no time in their childhoods have they felt safeã

Until they came to the camp in New England, until they met American children who have grown up in safety, until they learned to play games with the other children they had been taught to hate.

"I have played games since I was a child but never realized how much you learn about a person by playing together," says Bilal, a Pakistani. Sarah, an Indian, says, "Our generation is here to make sure our kids don't go through the same stuff we went through. We understand each other."

These teenagers also understand how popular culture and the media create the impression of unbridgeable divides. They recognize that media "are profit oriented and ä use violence or offensive language even in times of peace, in order to provide stimulus and attract consumers [and] they have a major role in creating or enhancing tension."

These Seeds speak with authority about the impact of media and its mode of operation, because they have been beseiged with violent images of the "enemy" since they were toddlers. Then they came to camp. Miriel, an Israeli, says that she "got to know not just Palestinians but Arabs from around the world. It's really true [that] we all like the same things and we all want one thing": peace.

Each year there are more Seeds; each year they grow older; each year the program becomes better-known and more widely welcome. The Peace Center for Co-Existence in Jerusalem, now seven years old, hosted 400 Arab and Israeli Seeds last summer.

In a three-day workshop called "Jerusalem-What's Cooking?" Palestinians and Israeli kids walked through the holy city arm and arm (there are photographs), trying out different ethnic restaurants and sharing each other's culture.

In a media seminar, Seeds already working as journalists led 60 teens from Israel, the West Bank, and Gaza in a conversation about how the same story changes when written for different audiences. One day, not too long from now, these kids will renew this conversation across their national borders.

The Seeds sharply critique their own governments. They describe for each other the ideal government they envision. They issue statements to the world calling for government of the people, by the people, and for the people. One day, not too long from now, these kids will be adults holding government office. Like blades of grass, they will cover the Earth.

As adults who can recount the changes that have taken place in our lifetime; who have served in the armed forces or loved those who have served; who have wept with loss for those who have died, we have a responsibility.

One of the Seeds described this responsibility by quoting the 13th century Persian poet Rumi. Some of us are old enough to remember when the name "Persia" became "Iran." Eight centuries ago (long by human reckoning but so brief a time in the life of the Earth) Rumi said, "Out beyond ideas of wrong-doing and right-doing, there is a field; I'll meet you there."

Here is our responsibility, we who are not teenagers, who are past the age to camp in Maine: We are too old to be Seeds of Peace, but we are not too old to go beyond the right-wrong thinking of politics, beyond the assumptions drilled into us by a noisy and profit-oriented press. We are not too old to find our way outside the city walls, beyond the clamor, to that field where we can meet each other.

It is our responsibility to go beyond Iraq, to find a place where we can, together, lift our eyes to the horizon where the vision waits.

We remember those who died. Whether they died for peace and a new hope, or for nothing, is in our hands.