We’ve all been horrified by Russia’s invasion of Ukraine. I didn’t think it would actually happen – but I was wrong. I thought that Russia would gather its forces at the border, carry out its military exercises, and generally show Ukraine that it would be very foolish for them to look towards the West, the European Union and Nato. Would that have been a show of strength, and bully-boy tactics? Yes. But a full-scale invasion on the scale we’ve seen this week? Probably not. But it’s happened, and the whole world has been plunged into nervous uncertainty. There is a real fear that we and many other countries will be dragged into a conflict which would inevitably cause misery and destruction, a war which would have no real winners, only losers.

The Bible is a book which is familiar with warfare, albeit conducted with bows and arrows, spears and shields rather than mortars and machine-guns, tanks and missiles. We see that from the throwaway comment in the story of David, Uriah and Bathsheba which takes it for granted that there is a time of year when kings regularly go out to war! Now many of the conflicts we read about were, in modern terms, pretty small-scale affairs: border skirmishes and the like. But fighting was constant and sometimes horrific: battles between Israel and its neighbours such as the Philistines and Amorites, the destruction of Jerusalem and its Temple by the Babylonians and, between the two Testaments, the incessant struggles between major powers which frequently involved Palestine as piggy-in-the-middle.

And, of course, I’ve not even mentioned Israel’s own invasion of Canaan, the so-called “Promised Land”. We like to recount the stories of the Hebrews leaving slavery in Egypt and miraculously crossing the Red Sea but we are not so keen to think of the Canaanite people being driven from their homes and lands, seeing their towns looted and burned and being indiscriminately slaughtered, allegedly at God’s own command. It’s no wonder that books such as Judges specifically tell us about periods of peace: they were precious and rare.

So why do nations go to war? I’m no historian so I probably should say, “My guess is as good as yours”! But here are a few suggestions: to regain territory lost in past wars which they believe is rightfully theirs; to supposedly ‘re-unite’ peoples who have a common heritage; to bolster the popularity of demagogic leaders; to provide more ‘living space’ for their people; to avenge past massacres or defeats; to depose corrupt governments with the hope of replacing them by better ones; to gain access to valuable resources such as oil, minerals or water; or to fulfil long-standing treaty obligations (which is what got us into the carnage of World War One). I’m sure there are other reasons: but the most basic one must surely be to grab land and take control of it. For many people, the notions of “nation” and “fatherland” are well-nigh inseparable: why else would Wales have Offa’s Dyke along its edge?

Wars don’t just mean terror, destruction and anguish: they also mean change. That’s why I showed the young people those old maps of Cardiff; here are some more, showing how Europe has changed from Roman times until the last century. You’ll know that the vast majority of the changes came about as a result of fighting or occupation; and, while a few may have been welcomed by the people in those areas which changed hands, most probably were not. In any case, few of us like change, especially when it is brutally imposed upon us: the folk of the Channel Islands were hardly jubilant when, under Nazi occupation during the Second World War, their British pounds were replaced by German Reichsmarks, German was taught in the local schools, and vehicles had to drive on the right. What changes will Russia impose on Ukraine, we wonder? Its citizens wait in fear.

Jesus’ disciples lived in turbulent times where violence was always simmering beneath the surface. The one fixed point in their nation’s life was the Temple: a magnificent landmark on top of Jerusalem’s hill, a landmark for miles around. This building exuded might, strength, and above all permanence: nothing – not earthquake, not fire, not battle – would ever be able to shift it. It was a comforting symbol of God’s presence among his people; while it stood they knew that their faith was safe. So they couldn’t believe their ears when Jesus uttered words of apparent madness. “See that lot, lads?”, he said, “Well, it’s all coming down: one day you’ll hardly know it had even been here”. For Israel to lose its Temple was unthinkable.

The disciples quizzed Jesus as to what he meant. But his answers weren’t exactly helpful. For he spoke of teachers who would try to lead his followers astray, he prophesied wars between nations, he foresaw earthquakes and famines in many places – and that’s just for starters! And his words were ambiguous: was he foretelling the war between the Jews and the Romans which would begin about thirty years after his death and end with the destruction of Jerusalem and its Temple and the Zealots’ last stand at Masada? Or was he looking further ahead, to the end of the created world? I suspect that he was speaking about both. In any case it’s clear, if surprising, that Jesus regarded conflict and change as inevitable, war as a normal part of human existence.

This brings us to two questions which have vexed the best scholars of Christianity and, indeed, of all other faiths. The first is why God allows warmongering leaders even to exist. Granted, people may get the governments they deserve, up to a point: Stalin was a fairly direct result of the Bolshevik Revolution and Hitler was democratically voted into power. Yet these men, and many others, went on to commit atrocious and inhuman acts. So, we ask, why didn’t God take action to depose them? The fact that they finally did fall is no comfort to the millions of people who were bereaved, tortured or dispossessed.

The bigger question is why God – who, we claim, is both caring and almighty – doesn’t stop our wars but, if Jesus is to be believed, seems to simply accept that they will happen. Of course we know that every conflict eventually ends, whether through an avalanche of military might, by an uneasy truce in which each side eyes the other warily but refrains from firing, or with a brokered treaty which all sides find acceptable. But we are naturally concerned at the pain and loss of life which takes place before the peace-deal is signed. So we cry out to God in pain, “This is an appalling situation. Why did you let it happen and what are you so reluctant to get involved in human affairs? The world you created is in a terrible state and it’s you who must take the blame!” Yet we don’t ever seem to get a satisfactory answer, it remains hanging in the air. That nibbles away at our faith and trust in God.

There is so much more which I could say. I could say, returning to the story of Jesus by the Temple, that his prophecy suggests that God knows what will happen before it does. This gives us at least a faint hope that he is still in some kind of control over things, however improbable that appears. That hope isn’t much help to people coping with a powerful invasion; but perhaps it can offer people like us a slim shred of faith amidst our fear and despair. After all, if we lose that, then we have to say that events are always governed by fickle chance – a thought which gives us no grounds for optimism.

I could also say something about the dangers of nationalism or of regarding the land we occupy as almost sacred. Christians may be Ukrainian or Russian or Welsh or English, we may dwell in the spaces on the map which bear the “correct” names (or long to return there). But we are also citizens of heaven, members of a Church which knows no boundaries of race or nationality and who believe they are destined to live in the “better country” of heaven. So perhaps we should learn to sit more lightly to these earthly things than we do.

So we are where we are: worried, angry, confused, helpless – I’m sure that many emotions have flooded our minds during the last few days. I’ve tried this morning to raise a few important questions; I have been unable to offer some of the answers we crave. And I’d like to finish with a verse from a hymn I would never ask you to sing but which seems relevant today: “Onward, Christian soldiers”.

Crowns and thrones may perish,

Kingdoms rise and wane,

But the church of Jesus

Constant will remain;

Gates of hell can never

’Gainst that church prevail;

We have Christ’s own promise,

And that cannot fail.

We live in the real world, which can be bloody and painful and messy. But somehow we have to say, “I still believe that our God reigns”.

.