The Price of Peace
I’m not a peace-nik. I’ve never been to a rally, holding up a “No Nukes” sign. I hate war, don’t understand it, but accept that despicable people will always try to take more of whatever there is to be had. They must be stopped. To end World War II, we did an horrific thing. Twice. That was the price.
In high school, we studied a book called Hiroshima. It was graphic and shocking and has stayed with me for thirty years. It didn’t begin to tell the story of what happened there.
And neither can I. Hiroshima is now a city for peace. It is their mission to see that humanity never commits that particular atrocity against itself ever again. I was deeply moved to note how little blame against the US there is in the museum and memorials. It was a thing that happened. The focus is to see that it never happens again, is never forgotten.
Little Boy was the first atomic bomb ever deployed. Our scientists weren’t certain the nuclear reaction would even stop. It was an experiment. Less than 2% of the Uranium-235 fissioned after all, statistically a flop. Modern weapons are orders of magnitude larger, more efficient, more dreadful. Given what the prototype, less than 2% effective, accomplished and the destruction which war heads scattered about the planet are capable of now, I am newly and deeply disturbed by the scale of devastation one insane war-monger might be able to wreak with the push of a button. And when one goes, they’ll all go in retaliation. We will all go.
Let the peace of Christ rule in your hearts, since as members of one body you were called to peace. And be thankful. ~Colossians 3:15 New International Version
I will be thankful for every day that peace lasts, relative and localized, but peace without the next nuclear bomb, which I’m afraid will be the end of peace, except for the peace of the grave.