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St. John's Episcopal Church
Sally's Missive
Sally's Missive
“Eternal God, in whose perfect kingdom no sword is drawn but the sword
of righteousness, no strength known but the strength of love: So mightily
spread abroad your Spirit, that all peoples may be gathered under the
banner of the Prince of Peace, as children of one Father. . .:
From the Prayers for the World, Prayer For Peace
The Book of Common Prayer
For the next four years or so, this country will be commemorating the
American Civil War. Or, the War Between the States, as it's referred to
here below the Mason-Dixon Line.
There are now and will be re-enactments of this destructive and divisive
war, the only one to be fought on American soil. I've never quite understood
the rationale behind those militaristic re-hashes since they certainly don’t
change the original outcome.
I've also often wondered at our society's penchant for celebrating dark
instances of bloodshed and sorrow. Perhaps I simply don't understand, but
it seems to me there are far more uplifting causes to honor. And
personally, I feel I've a right to say this, seeing as how I've lost count of my
own ancestors who fought and died in the Civil War.
All in all, I think war is an ugly word -- much more profane than some of
those we consider obscene. However, I've often heard the generation
before mine speak of World War II as the ". . . last good war," as if wars
can be divided between good and evil. I disagree. War is never good--
necessary at times, of course, but never good. Nor is it ever holy. I can’t
believe God intends conflict and enmity to be cause for jubilation among his
children.
When it comes to war and our tendency to glorify it, my guess is that, as
with most things, the blanket of time wraps itself around the hard edges of
reality, softening and hiding them. In truth, awful things happen when we
beat our plows into swords, and then take them up against our brothers.
My great-grandmother lost her entire first family to the Civil War – her
husband in battle, her two babies to hunger and disease. I find I am unable
to pridefully clothe myself in their suffering and death.
But it’s a poignant, rather famous letter written by Mary Elizabeth "Lizzie"
Killough, an ancestress of mine, which strips away our self-deluding
hindsight, and forces us to face the harsh truth. Dated Dec. 10, 1864, Aunt
Lizzie wrote to her brother Alex, also a Confederate solider, of the death in
battle of their beloved brother Jim. The letter reads in part:
“Dear Brother,
“I write to you again but it is with the same miserable, awful, dreadful
feelings with which I wrote to you before. Oh, Alex, how can we ever bear
it, how can we even stand to live and poor, dear Jimmie gone . . . It seems
impossible for me ever to feel any better in this world, but I don’t feel like I
want to (live) and Jimmie not here to enjoy life, too . . . Oh, I count as
nothing here I am so miserable the world seems as nothing to me now. I
wouldn’t have given Jimmie’s life for four million such worlds as this. I would
rather have given the whole Confederacy up to the North and worked for it
for the rest of my life than to have given Jimmie’s dear life to have saved it
from subjugation and to gain independence. What good will the
independence do him and poor, troubled us who are left here in distress? I
know poor Jimmie did not want to die in such a way. Oh, I didn’t know what
a horrid war this was until it has come home to us.”
Perhaps it’s that war has never come home to us again that truly deserves
our solemn and prayerful commemoration.
of righteousness, no strength known but the strength of love: So mightily
spread abroad your Spirit, that all peoples may be gathered under the
banner of the Prince of Peace, as children of one Father. . .:
From the Prayers for the World, Prayer For Peace
The Book of Common Prayer
For the next four years or so, this country will be commemorating the
American Civil War. Or, the War Between the States, as it's referred to
here below the Mason-Dixon Line.
There are now and will be re-enactments of this destructive and divisive
war, the only one to be fought on American soil. I've never quite understood
the rationale behind those militaristic re-hashes since they certainly don’t
change the original outcome.
I've also often wondered at our society's penchant for celebrating dark
instances of bloodshed and sorrow. Perhaps I simply don't understand, but
it seems to me there are far more uplifting causes to honor. And
personally, I feel I've a right to say this, seeing as how I've lost count of my
own ancestors who fought and died in the Civil War.
All in all, I think war is an ugly word -- much more profane than some of
those we consider obscene. However, I've often heard the generation
before mine speak of World War II as the ". . . last good war," as if wars
can be divided between good and evil. I disagree. War is never good--
necessary at times, of course, but never good. Nor is it ever holy. I can’t
believe God intends conflict and enmity to be cause for jubilation among his
children.
When it comes to war and our tendency to glorify it, my guess is that, as
with most things, the blanket of time wraps itself around the hard edges of
reality, softening and hiding them. In truth, awful things happen when we
beat our plows into swords, and then take them up against our brothers.
My great-grandmother lost her entire first family to the Civil War – her
husband in battle, her two babies to hunger and disease. I find I am unable
to pridefully clothe myself in their suffering and death.
But it’s a poignant, rather famous letter written by Mary Elizabeth "Lizzie"
Killough, an ancestress of mine, which strips away our self-deluding
hindsight, and forces us to face the harsh truth. Dated Dec. 10, 1864, Aunt
Lizzie wrote to her brother Alex, also a Confederate solider, of the death in
battle of their beloved brother Jim. The letter reads in part:
“Dear Brother,
“I write to you again but it is with the same miserable, awful, dreadful
feelings with which I wrote to you before. Oh, Alex, how can we ever bear
it, how can we even stand to live and poor, dear Jimmie gone . . . It seems
impossible for me ever to feel any better in this world, but I don’t feel like I
want to (live) and Jimmie not here to enjoy life, too . . . Oh, I count as
nothing here I am so miserable the world seems as nothing to me now. I
wouldn’t have given Jimmie’s life for four million such worlds as this. I would
rather have given the whole Confederacy up to the North and worked for it
for the rest of my life than to have given Jimmie’s dear life to have saved it
from subjugation and to gain independence. What good will the
independence do him and poor, troubled us who are left here in distress? I
know poor Jimmie did not want to die in such a way. Oh, I didn’t know what
a horrid war this was until it has come home to us.”
Perhaps it’s that war has never come home to us again that truly deserves
our solemn and prayerful commemoration.