The War Prayer Part I

  

As I witness many professing Christians and their so-called leaders buying into, and propagating, the Imperial Cult, I am encouraged by Pope Leo – who seems to remember that he serves Christ and not man, that he serves an everlasting Kingdom and not one built on historical myth.

 

“Woe to those who manipulate religion and the very name of God for their own military, economic or political gain, dragging that which is sacred into darkness and filth.” Pope Leo.

 

I am also reminded of our nation’s past, when religion was a tool to subjugate others (giving us precedent I suppose) – for the Cult has always been with us and will be with us until our dear Lord Jesus returns. In particular I am thinking of our subjugation of the Philippines in the wake of the Spanish – American War, a war which we sold as a war of liberation, but which turned out to be – for the Philippines – a war of conquest. Few Americans know that about 100,000 Filipinos perished as a result of our refusal to grant them independence (they fought us as we fought the British – ours was a rebellion, theirs was a defense of their land), what was good for us in 1775 did not apply to them; how foolish of them to think so. Sadly, many American religious leaders bought into the Imperial Cult…as they always seem to do. There were even congressional hearings over our treatment of Filipinos, including what can only be described as massacres and treachery.

 

Our religious hypocrisy included viewing our conquest as a means of evangelization – where have we seen that before in history?

 

It seems that Romans 3:23 applies to everyone but us and our Imperial Cult – we get a pass, we always get a pass. One day we will have no pass, one Day we will stand before Christ, and those pastors who have sold their people an Imperial lie will be held accountable, those who have knowingly allowed their sheep to drink from toxic wells will stand before the One who charged them to be faithful, those who should have spoken up but didn’t will be asked where their voices where. Ezekiel 33:1 – 9.

 

The War Prayer

By: Mark Twain

It was a time of great and exalting excitement. The country was up in arms, the war was on, in every breast burned the holy fire of patriotism; the drums were beating, the bands playing, the toy pistols popping, the bunched firecrackers hissing and sputtering; on every hand and far down the receding and fading spreads of roofs and balconies a fluttering wilderness of flags flashed in the sun; daily the young volunteers marched down the wide avenue gay and fine in their new uniforms, the proud fathers and mothers and sisters and sweethearts cheering them with voices choked with happy emotion as they swung by; nightly the packed mass meetings listened, panting, to patriot oratory which stirred the deepest deeps of their hearts and which they interrupted at briefest intervals with cyclones of applause, the tears running down their cheeks the while; in the churches the pastors preached devotion to flag and country and invoked the God of Battles, beseeching His aid in our good cause in outpouring of fervid eloquence which moved every listener.

 

It was indeed a glad and gracious time, and the half dozen rash spirits that ventured to disapprove of the war and cast a doubt upon its righteousness straightway got such a stern and angry warning that for their personal safety's sake they quickly shrank out of sight and offended no more in that way.

 

Sunday morning came – next day the battalions would leave for the front; the church was filled; the volunteers were there, their faces alight with material dreams-visions of a stern advance, the gathering momentum, the rushing charge, the flashing sabers, the flight of the foe, the tumult, the enveloping smoke, the fierce pursuit, the surrender! – then home from the war, bronzed heroes, welcomed, adored, submerged in golden seas of glory! With the volunteers sat their dear ones, proud, happy, and envied by the neighbors and friends who had no sons and brothers to send forth to the field of honor, there to win for the flag or, failing, die the noblest of noble deaths. The service proceeded; a war chapter from the Old Testament was read; the first prayer was said; it was followed by an organ burst that shook the building, and with one impulse the house rose, with glowing eyes and beating hearts, and poured out that tremendous invocation – "God the all-terrible! Thou who ordainest, Thunder thy clarion and lightning thy sword!"

 

Then came the "long" prayer. None could remember the like of it for passionate pleading and moving and beautiful language. The burden of its supplication was that an ever – merciful and benignant Father of us all would watch over our noble young soldiers and aid, comfort, and encourage them in their patriotic work; bless them, shield them in His mighty hand, make them strong and confident, invincible in the bloody onset; help them to crush the foe, grant to them and to their flag and country imperishable honor and glory.

 

An aged stranger entered and moved with slow and noiseless step up the main aisle, his eyes fixed upon the minister, his long body clothed in a robe that reached to his feet, his head bare, his white hair descending in a frothy cataract to his shoulders, his seamy face unnaturally pale, pale even to ghastliness. With all eyes following him and wondering, he made his silent way; without pausing, he ascended to the preacher's side and stood there, waiting.

 

With shut lids the preacher, unconscious of his presence, continued his moving prayer, and at last finished it with the words, uttered in fervent appeal, “Bless our arms, grant us the victory, O Lord our God, Father and Protector of our land and flag!"

to be continued....