ATELY WE'VE GONE THROUGH tremendous international conflict. And in every international conflict, sooner or later the media assails us with the tragic news of friendly fire. It is then we know instinctively that unnecessary deaths have happened again. Someone miscalculated, someone misinterpreted, someone neglected to send the right message, someone's timing was off--thus men and women died needlessly on a faraway battlefield, killed by a friend. It happened at least twice that I can recall in recent weeks. A citizen of Italy, her life in mortal danger, was almost miraculously set free. Then, en route to the airport and freedom, her escorting vehicles came under fire, and a security agent died needlessly, killed by friendly fire. Allied nations are all up in arms. The jury is still out at the time of this writing as to the actual cause. The bottom line is someone needlessly died, killed by a friend as it were.

Another time it was American servicemen shooting at American servicemen. And still again it happened when American servicemen shot and killed some of our noble Canadian neighbors and friends. How we hurt when those things happen. How we wish it were a scene in a play, or a set in a movie stage that went awry. We wish we could delete it, redo it, and make it better next time.

But alas, the triggers have been pulled, the bomb bays have been opened, and the missiles have been deployed. It's all over then--except for the hurting and the dying. We send out our ambassadors and apologies, as nations do to nations. Somehow it gets glossed over, and we move on. But not so in the church, home, and workplace. There's a dearth of ambassadors in those places, but a plethora of injuries from a different kind of "friendly fire."

The Walking Wounded
A while back, while talking with one of my sisters-in-law, I learned that because she had chosen to return to my brother after a broken marriage, brought on by booze and bumblings, all of her children have embedded her in ice. Oh no, not real ice, of course. But her cold shoulders and frozen heart can never be warmed by jackets or sweaters, or even by electric blankets. I heard her tears hundreds of miles away. Only kind words and forgiving arms will comfort her hurting heart. Friendly fire indeed!

In our wonderful, close-knit Seventh-day Adventist denomination, we have entire churches whose congregations are clustered closely together in cities, but are separated by unforgiveness. Wrongful words and acts committed generations ago lie splattered across the landscape of time, and today those affected by an unforgiving spirit will not enter each other's doors.

How often as a pastor, departmental director, and conference president have I been called upon to settle a dispute between parents and children, husbands and wives, pastors and pastors--even on one occasion between two local conferences in which the rifts and words and acts had all the earmarks of friendly fire. Missed signals, misinterpreted messages, and unforgiving spirits carry all the impact of bullets and bombs: injuries, pain, and, yes, even death. It happens all too often. There is no funeral, no burial, no memorial, but once-cherished relationships are cold and dead and gone.

History reminds us of countless physical deaths brought about because a brother or a sister of the Adventist Church was a member of a different tribe, a different nationality, a different caste, and/or a different color. I remember reading an article entitled "What Are You First?" In this article the author pointed out that if we are not Christians first, then our race, color, tribe, nationality, profession, and position in the church became first. Then everything else is second or even lower on the proverbial totem pole. When that happens, all too often there is friendly fire, and someone gets wounded in heart and soul. The legions of former members around the world attest to the veracity of this statement. Could we but reclaim and recall our walking wounded, our membership would soar into the tens of millions!

Weapons of Vast Destruction
How do we launch the weapons of hurt? In many ways. Recently I attended the funeral of a warrior for God. He was a much loved brother even in his declining years. He was warm, friendly, and talented. At his memorial service a brother stood up and told in graphic detail a mistake the brother had made many years ago. An estranged daughter came to attend her father's memorial. She sat there horrified, embarrassed, and infuriated at such needless and pointless audacity. Did she get up and walk out? She did. Was she angry? She was. Will she ever come back? She won't. Can we blame her? We can't.