Christ our reconciler,

where your children are divided

you also are torn

and your heart is broken

by the world‘s agony:

stretch your wounded hands

in blessing over your people,

drawing them to yourself

and back to one another

in love.

Amen

Since time immemorial, brother has fallen out with brother. In Genesis alone, we read of serious sibling rivalry between Cain and Abel, Jacob and Esau, Joseph and his brothers. And in a story Jesus himself told (Luke 15. 11-32), despite a father’s unconditional love for each of his two sons, bitter resentment bubbles up like bile.

One of the most painful seams of distress on both sides of the Russian/Ukraine war is that the people of these two nations are con-joined by heritage. They have come from the same cradle, sharing forebears. Their histories are tightly intertwined. Connections are complex and ancient and deep. Many Ukrainians and Russians, therefore, have relatives who are swept up in opposing sides of the conflict. Cousin against cousin, brother against brother.

But in this photo, we see hope. Shaul (left), an Israeli rabbi, has gone into business with his Palestinian friend Ziad. They follow divergent religious pathways emanating from Abraham, their shared forebear in faith, and have lived their entire lives within a culture of profound alienation between Jews and Muslims, but they nonetheless plan to run a farm together just outside Bethlehem, selling vegetables and supporting needy families. Against all the odds they have rekindled their brotherhood.

And in the playing below we hear hope. Two young musicians, one Russian, the other Ukrainian, sit side by side on a piano stool, defiantly affirming their brotherhood, while bringing Mozart beautifully to life.