The Mountain and the Mushroom Cloud

This is Father Jared Cramer from St. John’s Episcopal Church in Grand Haven, Michigan, here with today’s edition of Christian Mythbusters, a regular segment I offer to counter some common misconceptions about the Christian faith. Today is an odd and somewhat unsettling confluence of events. It is the 80th Anniversary of the day our country dropped an atomic bomb on Hiroshima, bringing World War II to an end. At the same time, August 6 is also one of the major feasts of the church—the Feast of the Transfiguration of Christ upon the mountain. As I’ve been preparing for a service my church is doing tonight at 6pm to commemorate both events, I keep returning to the disturbing juxtaposition of these two days. And so, today I’d like to step back from Mythbusting and instead just reflect a bit on the mountain and the mushroom cloud. The Feast of the Transfiguration commemorates the day when Christ ascended Mount Tabor with Peter, James, and John and was transfigured before them, his face shining like the sun and his clothes becoming dazzling white. The ancient lawgiver Moses appeared with Jesus, along with the great prophet Elijah. They discussed Jesus’ impending departure in Jerusalem—his suffering and death. A voice came from the cloud, commanding the disciples to listen to Jesus. Then, just as suddenly, it was over, and the disciples were left alone with him. I can’t shake the curious similarities between the two events. In both the bombing of Hiroshima and the Transfiguration, blinding light blazed forth. The light of the bomb was profoundly destructive—immediately killing between 70,000–80,000 people, and eventually claiming up to 166,000 lives through radiation and injuries. Almost all of them were civilians, including an estimated 38,000 children. The light of Christ’s Transfiguration, in contrast, was meant to reveal the divine glory. But those who unleashed the horrors of nuclear warfare were Christians, those who follow the Jesus from whom divine light poured forth. President Truman was a devout Baptist. Secretary of War Henry Stimson came from a family of clergymen. Truman believed dropping the bomb was the only way to end the war and avoid even greater loss of life through a land invasion. Still, it haunted him. In a speech after the war, he said, “You know the most terrible decision a man ever had to make was made by me at Potsdam... to loose the most terrible of all destructive forces for the wholesale slaughter of human beings.” Many believed the bombing was necessary. But I don’t know how to weigh the lives of soldiers fighting in a war against those of innocent civilians. I don’t know how to measure the lives of those trapped in the machinery of war against the children who were vaporized in a flash. So even as I celebrate Christ’s Transfiguration, I must acknowledge that followers of Christ have often twisted divine light into a justification for destruction. The light meant to illuminate God’s love becomes consumed by the fires of war, hate, and violence. At Hiroshima, humanity revealed its capacity for unimaginable violence. On Mount Tabor, God revealed the Son—who chose the path of suffering love. Perhaps this is part of the divine mystery: that to save a violent and broken humanity, God descended into the depths of human violence. And as Christ carried the violence of our human race deep into the heart of God, somehow God’s love can perhaps heal our violent ways… if we will let him. Maybe what we’re left with is the voice—the voice from the cloud that said, “Listen to him.” The disciples didn’t understand it at the time. They expected glory and triumph (to Make Israel Great Again), not suffering and death. But eventually they came to understand. And when they did, they took up their own crosses and walked the same path. If you’re a follower of Jesus, I hope you’ll spend some time listening to the voice of Christ today, asking what Jesus is calling you to do. Maybe it’s to support nuclear disarmament. Maybe it’s to learn more about the suffering caused by war… and then act. Or maybe it’s simply to see your enemies more clearly—not as villains but as fellow broken children of God. Maybe that’s where the light starts: in our ability to see each other with mercy, dignity, and grace. Thanks for being with me. To find out more about my parish, you can go to sjegh.com. Until next time, remember, protest like Jesus, love recklessly, and live your faith out in a community that accepts you but also challenges you to be better tomorrow than you are today.