Two weeks ago, we watched the poignant movie 1917. The film follows two soldiers' one day mission to try to save 1,600 of their comrades from a trap the German army had sprung on the British forces in WWI. Filmed intimately through a single camera that follows the harrowing trek of the two young men, 1917 immerses you in the brutality and despair of war.
During one scene, having escaped death narrowly by jumping into a river, Corporal Schofield looks up to see cherry blossoms gently falling overhead. They swirl in the river's current and surround him. Schofield's eyes widen as he takes in the moment. But the heavenly reprieve comes to an abrupt end as Schofield floats into a mass of corpses.
As Schofield stumbles out of the water, he hears a single voice singing in the distance,
I'm just a poor wayfaring stranger
Traveling through this world below
There is no sickness, no toil, nor danger
In that bright land to which I go
I'm going there to see my Father
And all my loved ones who've gone on
I'm just going over Jordan
I'm just going over home
I know dark clouds will gather 'round me
I know my way is hard and steep
But beauteous fields arise before me
Where God's redeemed their vigils…
World War I took the lives of more than 17 million people. And for what?
When we rented the movie, I expected 1917 to be a departure from the events of that week, a week where the nation watched the video of Ahmaud Arbery's death. Suspecting Arbery of burglary, Gregory and Travis McMichael jumped in their pickup truck with a shotgun and a handgun and chased down the jogging Arbery. Minutes later Arbery was killed by the McMichaels.
"Meaningless! Meaningless! Says the teacher" (Ecclesiastes 1:1, NIV). Maybe 1917 and Arbery's death weren't so different after all.
In the book of Job, Job gives voice to those suffering injustice.
"Behold, I cry out, 'Violence!' but I am not answered;
I call for help, but there is no justice" (Job 19:7).
The language of lament is unnatural to many of us. Maybe it's because my life has had relatively little to lament. Maybe it's because I’m uncomfortable with pain that I have shielded myself from pain that I should be experiencing.
But the language of lament is biblical. And it is healthy.
It is only when we cry out for justice, when we intercede for those broken by the cruelty of this fallen world, that our heart longs purely for the coming of God and the perfect justice he will bring.
In the book of Revelation, John watches as those who have been martyred for their faith look at the injustice those on earth are enduring. "They cried out with a loud voice, 'O Sovereign Lord, holy and true, how long before you will judge and avenge our blood on those who dwell on the earth?'” (Revelation 6:10). Do I cry out, “How long?” with the martyrs? Or does my own comfort actually mute my heart’s ability to long for Christ and his coming judgment?
We just preached through one of the most famous passages in the book of Job. Job has lost every earthly possession and his ten children and now suffers the scorn of his closest friends. Job looks heavenward to God, his only hope, and cries out,
“For I know that my Redeemer lives,
and at the last he will stand upon the earth” (Job 19:25).
May Ahmaud Armery’s death deepen my desire for my Redeemer. May my cry for God’s justice and for his kingdom join the chorus of the martyrs.
“I’m just a poor, wayfaring stranger, traveling through this world below.” It was true in 1917. It’s true today.
Photo credit: AJC.com