So, in times of war, my faith teaches me to look for signs of love gathering around the evil and violence. Sometimes this love is shown by soldiers who risk their lives for one another, or who give up their lives to defend ideals they believe in. Sometimes it is shown by demonstrators who protest war and uphold a vision of peace. Sometimes it is shown by reporters who defy the fog of war and the misinformation of governments to seek to tell the truth about war.

Sometimes it is shown by the neighbors of families who lose a loved one as they gather with hugs, with meals, with the gift of presence so that grief and loss can be shared. Sometimes it is even shown by politicians who have the courage to end wars that never should have been started, or should have been ended long ago. And most often it is shown by mothers and fathers, spouses and children, brothers and sisters and friends, for whom each soldier on each side of a conflict is not just a statistic, but a precious human being who is missed, longed for, prayed for.

My kiwi friend Peter Majendie was recently visiting the U.S. from New Zealand. He shared this poignant story about the war-related love that was elicited within him in a chance encounter in an art gallery:

"Visiting the Nelson-Atkins Art Museum in Kansas City, I wandered into the American art section. In the corner was an Edward Hopper painting, "Light Battery at Gettysburg." A simple landscape with a house and picket fence, with a number of Union soldiers on horseback pulling a cannon. Although only viewed from behind, the soldiers have an air of heaviness, accentuated by lowered heads, as they make their way toward the horizon.

On the sign beside the painting, I read that Hopper said the horizon depicted almost inevitable death as the soldiers approached Gettysburg. I thought of how significant this bleak depiction of war was, painted in 1940.

The painting's effect on me was one of deep sadness. On sharing this reaction with a stranger standing beside me, he said that he thought as many as 60,000 men had died at Gettysburg. After a pause, he added, 'We're doing it all again.' Then he started to cry, and added, 'My son is in Iraq. I come here most days.'"

Peter didn't know how to respond. He said, "I felt tears in my own eyes and wandered on. I wish I had hugged him. I let him down." But I can't help but think that somehow, Peter's compassion was felt by this father in anguish over his son in Iraq.

In times of war, with all its lies and pain and hatred and loss, I see evil in so many forms. But gathering around that evil, I also see love, bringing truth, healing, comfort, and hope. Which is greater, the evil or the love? Without faith, I wouldn't know the answer.