A dream

There is a battlefield, perhaps (although it is not certain) in the Balkans. Many soldiers have been killed, their bodies lie in shallow graves. An old woman moves across this forlorn landscape stooping every so often. I realise she is planting out flowers from old tins – wildflowers and lavender. She is doing so to honour the lives of the fallen soldiers. It is clear in the dream that it is of no importance to her which side they were on; it is their lives she is honouring with the flowers. Each flower tenderly Pushed into the dark soil says, here was a life.

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Traditionally the colour lavender in the Christian calendar is the colour of Easter.

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Death, and resurrection.

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The dream is not an argument for moral equivalence in war (a dream is not an argument for anything). But Christ makes no distinction between us; He is not interested if you were on the side of the victor or the vanquished. His interest is the texture of the human soul.

 “The one will triumph who first died for the victims then also for the executioners, and in so doing revealed a new righteousness which breaks through vicious circles of hate and vengeance and which from the lost victims and executioners creates a new mankind with a new humanity.”
Jürgen Moltmann, The Crucified God
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