When the World Forgets Peace
By Verna Haywood
The world feels heavy today. The clouds outside mirror the weight in my heart — a mixture of sorrow, anger, and disbelief at what humanity has become. I’ve been watching the news, the endless reports from Gaza, and my spirit grieves. How long can a war go on before compassion runs dry? How many mothers must bury their children before the world remembers what peace truly means?
This war should have ended long ago. It should have ended when the cries of the innocent first reached heaven. Yet politics and pride have kept it burning. The suffering of people has become a currency in the hands of those seeking power, position, or prestige. Now, I hear talks of peace prizes — and my heart aches at the irony.
How can we claim peace while dividing nations? How can leaders speak of harmony while sowing hate and fear among their own people? True peace is not political. It is spiritual. It begins not in palaces or parliaments, but in the human heart.
Jesus — the Prince of Peace — never glorified war. He never built His kingdom through force or fear. Instead, He washed feet. He healed the broken. He sat with the rejected. He said, “Love your neighbour as yourself.” He didn’t say, “Love those who look like you,” or “Love those who agree with you.” He said, simply and profoundly, “Love.”
And yet here we are, centuries later, still wounding one another in His name. We have forgotten that we are one creation — different in shade but not in spirit. We are one people, all made in the image and likeness of God. Our skin tones are merely the poetry of the Creator’s palette, each colour reflecting a different note of divine beauty.
And it’s not just Gaza. My heart also grieves for Ukraine, where cities still crumble under the weight of power and pride. I see the faces of families fleeing their homes, children hiding underground as sirens scream above. Different lands, different leaders, but the same story: power crushing the powerless, light struggling to survive beneath the rubble. It is the same cry for peace, echoing across the world — unanswered, yet unforgotten.
When I see the suffering in Gaza, in Ukraine, or in any place where humanity turns on itself, I see not strangers — I see reflections of ourselves. Mothers like me. Fathers. Children with dreams. Elders with wisdom. The divisions we’ve created are illusions that blind us to the truth: there is only one race — the human race.
I am angry because I care. My frustration is not madness; it is the heartbeat of compassion refusing to be silenced. Nelson Mandela, Mother Teresa, Mahatma Gandhi, Martin Luther King Jr. — they too were once deeply troubled by the cruelty of their times. And yet, they transformed their grief into action.
So, what can I do? What can we do?
We can speak truth, even when it trembles on our tongues.
We can pray for peace and live it daily — in our homes, in our hearts, in how we treat one another.
We can refuse to let hatred harden us.
We can be the bridge where others build walls.
I believe that the Spirit of Christ still moves among us, whispering, “Peace, be still.” Not just to the storms of nature, but to the storms within humanity. The question is — will we listen?
Today, I choose to remember that peace is not a prize to be claimed; it is a presence to be lived.
And I will keep praying, speaking, and believing until the world remembers that again.
Reflection Prompt:
Where in your life can you become a peacemaker today?
What action, word, or prayer can you offer to bring light where there is division?