The back bumper of my classic 2000 Chevy Cavalier is home to two bumper stickers. On one side, a blue sticker reads “War is Not the Answer” and on the other side, a similar sticker reads “War is Still Not the Answer.” There is a website listed at the bottom of each one: FCNL.org. The “War is Not the Answer” bumper stickers come from a peace and justice lobby organization called Friends Committee On National Legislation. I really respect the work of FCNL and participate in some of their advocacy work, so I like to get their name out there. My hope is that some will see the website and may be curious enough (or offended enough) to look into their work. Even with my support for FCNL, however, I sometimes feel uneasy about the word choice. “War is not the answer” places an emphasis on the negation of war, whereas I like to put the emphasis on the positive, alternative vision of peace with justice. Still, the sticker’s statement does beg the question: “Then what IS the answer.” Maybe the statement is provocative for fellow drivers and challenges them to think. With self-deprecating humor, I sometimes like to say that I’m building world peace, one bumper sticker at a time. Sporting the sticker on my vehicle also provides a check for me when I’m tempted to give into road rage or share creative gestures with fellow drivers. It feels hypocritical to cry out for peace on the back of my car while I wage a traffic war from the front.

This morning I pulled this car into the parking lot of my workplace. As I was walking toward the building, I was summoned by a voice asking me, “Do you want to know the answer?” I looked around and realized the voice was coming from a man in a van. Quickly reading the side of the van, I deduced that he was a contractor doing drywall work for our remodeling project. He repeated his summoning question: “Do you want to know the answer?” A bit startled, I stood there for a moment while he smoked his cigarette and let the smoke blow eerily behind him, through his ponytail and into the back of his van. I admit to being a little weirded out by the man’s question, mostly by the tone with which he posed it. His question was posed the way a street evangelist would confront a pedestrian about their eternal destiny while they were trying to make it to the grocery store before picking up their kids. Or worse, it was reminiscent of a drug dealer prepared to make a subtle transaction in a low traffic parking lot. As I noted the position of his van, I realized that the ponytailed man was referring to my profound bumper stickers. He wanted to tell me what the answer truly was, since war is indeed not the answer. Against my better instincts, I decided to acknowledge the man’s existence and respond. “What do you have for me?” I asked, “What is the answer?” His reply has stayed with you throughout the day.

“The answer is victory.”

I nodded, feverishly deciding how to respond. Agreement? Counterpoint? Dismissal? My pastoral instincts kicked in and I decided to ask a clarifying question: “What does that mean to you?” Pleased that he had gotten my attention, he said with glee, “Victory is the answer. War is just the means to the end. You’ve got to win.”

I nodded to indicate that I understood the point, mumbled some kind of exit-friendly phrase, and went inside to work.

I’ve been thinking about my contractor friend’s philosophy. It was not the first time I had heard this point of view. And it’s certainly not a new idea.

The idea of “peace through victory” is an ancient idea and one which the biblical witness confronts and challenges, particularly in the gospel stories. Victory and conquest were core values in the Roman Empire; discourse on peace was related to superior military force and the capacity to keep order through domination. Ultimately, it was this domination system, enacting and enforcing the pax Romana (“the peace of Rome”), that put to death Jesus of Nazareth. Jesus radically undermined the vision of peace through violent conquest put forth by the logic of empire and the authority of its emperor. In contrast, Jesus enacted and invited the reality of God’s kingdom. God’s kingdom expands not through violent conquest but through the nonviolent advancement of love, truth, and justice. The icon of God’s reign is not the sword but the cross. Jesus scholar John Dominic Crossan summarizes: “beneath the seismic conflict of Christian Judaism and Roman Imperialism was the grinding collision of history’s two tectonic plates: the normalcy of civilization program of peace through victory against the radicality of God’s program of peace through justice.” In the same spirit, the much misused book of Revelation takes this language of victorious conquest and turns it on its head. In God’s kingdom, victory comes through what Quakers call “the Lamb’s War,” a nonviolent confrontation with the domination system of Rome, described in apocalyptic visions. Their victory came not through superior military force but after the pattern of the exalted Christ, sacrificial love vindicated in resurrection and the restoration of justice.

I think this fellow has it seriously wrong about how peace comes about in this violent world. I think his answer is one deeply and dangerously embedded in our cultural commitment to the pax Americana. But as I’ve let the brief and odd encounter settle within me, I get the distinct impression that the contractor’s question is a very valuable one. Maybe the answer is weak but the question is solid. Perhaps it is a searching question or a “query” in Quaker speak. Maybe his question is one that the Present Christ asks of us when we demand answers to our struggles and the world’s problems. Do we really want to know the answer? Are we prepared to face into the truth of our condition? Are we willing to be responsible for what we learn and discern? Criticism and critique are much easier responses than actually following the Motions of Love and Truth. Speaking out against the conventional wisdom of the Powers is important and not an easy path. But then we have to ask alternative questions, seek alternative paths and practices, and offer alternative proposals. In some strange kingdom way, maybe God is like a guy with a ponytail, sitting in a van and smoking a cigarette. He asks us to stop and talk, but sometimes we would rather just keep walking and get to work. And besides, who knows what kinds of wacky solutions we might hear.