Riots, Peace, and a Table of Hope

Why I choose to sing a song of hope

You are the light of the world. A town built on a hill cannot be hidden. Neither do people light a lamp and put it under a bowl. Instead they put it on its stand, and it gives light to everyone in the house. - Matthew 5:14-16

There have been riots on the streets of the UK this week. Sparks of anger, missiles of rage, police officers injured, property damaged.  The pain of the world has been on full, ugly display.

Somewhere a young, disgruntled man walked out of his home to protest, to push and shove and shout. Across town a young police officer munched some breakfast, kissed a loved one on the cheek, and drove to work. Sometime later they faced each other. She standing in uniform, holding a shield. He now part of an angry mob spewing hatred, hurling objects at her, baying for blood. They might have gone to school together. They might have been friends in another life.  But here the sins of the world have separated them. Here, in this moment, she’s not a person. She’s a thing, an it, an object. 

To me, and I’m sure to you, she’s someone’s daughter, friend, wife. But sin always dehumanises us.

The pain is nothing new, of course. It’s always there beneath the surface. In a thousand different ways the darkness spills out each day.  From New York to New Dehli, Manchester to Melbourne, there is trouble in our beautiful broken world.  We are separated into warring nations, opposite political parties, rival cultures, and even antagonistic theologies.  We talk past each other, at each other, determined to win the argument, desperate for our voice to be heard.  But at times like these our words are lost, drowned out by the sheer volume of the shouting match. 

I’m a songwriter. Songs tend to pop into my mind at random times - a sort of soundtrack to life. This morning it was Paul McCartney’s 1983 song, Pipes of Peace, with its prayer-like plea:

Help me to learn songs of joy instead of “burn, baby, burn.” Won’t you show me how to play the pipes of peace?

Hmmm. Songs of joy instead of “burn, baby, burn.”  We need more songs like that, don’t we? 

Part of the problem, I think, is that it’s fairly easy to write and sing a peace song.

Burt and Hal wrote, ‘What the world needs now is love, sweet love.’

Lionel wrote, ‘We are the world, we are the children, we are the ones to make a brighter day so let’s start giving.’ 

John encouraged us to ‘Imagine all the people living life in peace.’ 

I understand the sentiment, I appreciate the ideas, I can sing the tunes, but it’s not enough. If holding hands and swaying was all it took, the world would be peaceful by now, wouldn’t it? But the cycle continues. After the mess of a riot is cleaned up, many people will rightly say, “Come on! We must do better.” And we must. The question is, how?

As Christians, we sing a different kind of peace song. I don’t stand up in church each Sunday and say, “Come on everyone, let’s hold hands and sing a rousing chorus of ‘We Are The World.’ Frank will accompany us on the pipes of peace. After that we’ll close by imagining everyone living happily ever after.”

No. Our church songs are sung to and about the Prince of Peace. Specifically, we sing about his sacrificial death and triumphant resurrection. We sing salvation songs. We sing about the hope we have for ourselves and for our world. As another songwriter so succinctly put it, we place all our hope in a crucified man.

I have placed all my hope in a crucified man
In the wounds in his side, his feet and his hands
I have traded my pride for a share in his shame
And the glory that one-day will burst from his pain

- (Graham Kendrick)

I know the problems in our world are complex, but followers of Jesus are not called to join in the cries of despair. Neither are we called to shout, yell, and bang the drums of war. We are called, instead, to proclaim that there is another way. That peace can be more than a longed for ideal. That it can be found in the cross-formed way of Christ.

On Sunday morning we will sing our peace songs as we gaze upon the cross.  I will invite my congregation, young and old, black and white, wealthy and poor, to come to a table. We will break bread and drink wine (okay, grape juice… stay with me). We will remember that another angry mob once took Jesus, spewed hatred upon him, objectified him. They nailed the Prince of Peace to a cross, broke his body, drew his blood. As we are united around this table we will remember that in that moment God was reconciling the world to himself. This is how the gospel transforms us from the inside out.  

Here at the table we are shaped as people. No one shouts during Communion.  We whisper prayers of thanksgiving. If we imagine anything, it’s Christ taking our anger, our hatred, our sins. We hear him gently speaking, “Father forgive them, for they know not what they do.” (Luke 23:34) Here, the noise of the world is silenced at the foot of the cross.

These are difficult days for numerous reasons. It can be so easy to join in the chorus of despair. To sing along loudly in the choir of hopelessness. Sometimes I find myself joining in with the negativity, but there is a deeper part of me that refuses to sing that song.  I choose instead to be a voice of hope. I want to light up the darkness with the Good News and let people know there is a living hope that transcends the most difficult of societal problems.  Sometimes that can feel like holding up a candle in the face of a hurricane, but hold it up we must. If we have really placed all our hope in a crucified man - one who is risen from the dead - then we have nothing at all to fear. 

The Church the world needs, is one that refuses to play the us-verses-them blame game. One that refuses cheap shots, put downs and bullish rhetoric. We must leave that nonsense for the YouTube sensationalists.  We have a better song to sing, a greater hope to share.

We can learn to be this way, you and I. We can draw close by our actions and quietly clean up the mess left by the mob. We can hold a cold compress to a bruised cheek and say thank you, I see you. We can speak into the doom and gloom with words of life. We can visit the rioter in prison, and humbly invite him to a table where he too can eat bread, drink wine, and meet the Saviour. I know many are accepting that invitation, and I believe many more will.

All over the world followers of Jesus, shaped by the cross, are doing the things that matter. You and I have a part to play - and I believe we have only just got started.

Of course, you might say I’m a dreamer.

But I’m not the only one.

Have a great weekend,

Steve x

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A couple other things:

• Here is Graham Kendrick’s ‘peace’ song - Crucified Man

• I’ll be speaking at The Rock of KC on August 24th & 25th

• I’d love to hear from you. Feel free to leave a comment :-)