Ann Rennie Reflects

The world is a book and those who do not travel read only one page.

Saint Augustine

We arrive in Hiroshima on a picture perfect day.  The sky is the blue of blessing, flowers nod in a gentle breeze, the world is open with invitation; to touch, see, hear, to allow the senses to appreciate colours and shapes and sounds.  People are doing what they do, each in a world of their own.  Walking, laughing, wondering, queuing, reading, taking photos, checking children.  An ordinary day, unexceptional in the vast almanac of time.  A day like any other. 

On just such a day, on 6 August 1945, the world changed forever in an instant when an atomic bomb was detonated six hundred metres above this city.  There was catastrophic loss of life on the ground and more deaths over the coming year.  This grievous strategy, authorised by President Truman, aimed at reducing even more loss of life if the war with Japan continued. 

We see the iron skeleton of the Genbaku dome, now a tourist shot, but raw in its unvarnished story of destruction.  We visit the Peace Memorial Museum and see people just like us, people from all over the world, wanting to pause and pray and wonder why we continue to wound each other in combat and conflict.  This is not just about history.  It is about how we live now.

Each of us carry peace with us.  It is the way we go about our daily living, what we say and do in the unexceptional flow of these days that we shape with our attitudes and intentions, our actions and omissions. 

Our Catholic/Christian faith is premised on peace.  Jesus walked in peace and gentleness, offering a new way of being in the world.  In a time when life in the Roman Empire was short, brutish and oppressive, his ministry and message of love would ultimately become what we now know as the Christian tradition.  This new way was confounding to many at the time with its openness and acceptance, its humility, its kingdom of inclusion, its attitude of peace in a world of military might. 

Jesus often spoke about peace and offered it as a greeting, just as we do weekly at Mass.  It is a reminder for us to overcome trifling differences and to wish each other well.  But it must be more than a wish.  It must be an action in our lives. 

To be a peaceful or peace-filled person does not mean that we lack colour or animation.  It does not mean that we cannot be bold or audacious, if necessary.  We can become justly angry over certain things.  We can have grievances that need time to heal.  But peace within ourselves is like bedrock.  It is how we are at our most unstripped, unmasked, unmediated selves. 

Peace is soul deep. 

We multiply peace in the way we are in community.  This does not mean we cannot advocate, protest civilly, or make our concerns known.  Peace is not backing down but living conscientiously in these contested times.  With much social fracturing, our peaceful words and actions offer hope.

Saint Paul, in carrying the gospel message around the Mediterranean, reminded the early followers of Jesus to dwell on the higher things.

Finally, brothers and sisters, whatever is true, whatever is noble, whatever is right, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is admirable—if anything is excellent or praiseworthy—think about such things.  Whatever you have learned or received or heard from me or seen in me—put it into practice.  And the God of peace will be with you. (Philippians 4:8-9)

The God of Peace is with us if we try to do our best. If we live in the light, show mercy, walk humbly with our God.

Today, we are more aware than ever of the threat and reality of war.  Of national belligerence and international brinkmanship.  Of bluster and bluff and the first to blink.  Pope Leo XIV asks that we act on a culture of encounter, where the “other” is not a threat or hindrance, but someone whose culture, creed and colour may differ to our own, but whose heart beats just the same.  Pope Francis spoke often of a revolution of tenderness in how we treat each other.  Mother Teresa reminded us, If we have no peace, it is because we have forgotten that we belong to each other.

My sister and I admire the Children’s Peace Memorial and the installations enclosing thousands of colourful paper cranes, symbols of hope.  Around us, parents and children gather and pause, tuned to their own thoughts and prayers, wondering about our beautiful world and how heedless we can be.  I write a little note from our parish and leave it there with others from around the world.  I pray that Our Lady will look after the children who will become the planet’s future guardians.  I pray that the spirit of Pentecost will breathe its goodness into hearts around the world so that we may live, one day, as a peaceful global family.

The following words were spoken by Pope St. John Paul II at the Peace Memorial in Hiroshima on 25 February 1981. 

To the Creator of nature and man, of truth and beauty I pray:
Hear my voice, for it is the voice of the victims of all wars and violence among individuals and nations;
Hear my voice, for it is the voice of all children who suffer and will suffer when people put their faith in weapons and war;
Hear my voice when I beg you to instil into the hearts of all human beings the wisdom of peace, the strength of justice and the joy of fellowship;
Hear my voice, for I speak for the multitudes in every country and in every period of history who do not want war and are ready to walk the road of peace;
Hear my voice and grant insight and strength so that we may always respond to hatred with love, to injustice with total dedication to justice, to need with the sharing of self, to war with peace.
O God, hear my voice and grant unto the world your everlasting peace. 

The gift of travel renews us, breaks open the world, writes deeply in the book of our lives. 

Let us continue to travel now, at home and abroad, with peace as our daily companion. 

Let our voices for peace ring out.

Shalom.

By Ann Rennie