This August marks the 100^th anniversary of the beginning of the First World War, afterwards called “The Great War” and, sometimes, in naïve optimism, “The War to End All Wars.” It was simply the ghastly first act in a century filled with wars and violence. The Twentieth Century, said one historian, “was the worst so far.”

I feel a personal connection with this war because my Uncle Harold, my father’s oldest brother, was a sergeant in the American army during that war. If that doesn’t date me, I have to tell you that my Grandma Brown, Uncle Harold’s mother, heard the news about Custer’s Last Stand when she was a little girl. We Browns tend to live a long time!

Thousands of books have been written about the First World War, who and what caused it, why it lasted so long with millions slaughtered, and how the end of the war with the Treaty of Versailles paved the way for the Second World War and all the other wars, large and small we have endured since. As Yogi Berra said, “You could look it up,” and I strongly suggest you do.

What emerges for me from studying this and other Twentieth and Twenty-First Century wars is that political and military leaders were blinded by pride, ambition and greed. They were told the truth again and again and again but they refused to see it. They blinded themselves from reality. And millions suffered and died.

Of course, that’s not the first time in history that political and military leaders have protected themselves from the truth. Our scripture lesson this morning tells a story from three thousand years ago that illustrates the eternal nature of this blindness. At that time Israel in the north and Judah in the south were two separate kingdoms. From time to time they went to war with each other but at the time of our story there was relative peace between them. Jehoshaphat was the king of Judah and Ahab was the king of Israel. Ahab invited Jehoshaphat to visit him in a sort of Hebrew summit conference.

In the course of their conversation Ahab said, “Have you ever thought that we ought to go into Syria against the city of Ramoth-gilead and take back our land? Why, it would almost be ours for the asking.” Jehoshaphat agreed it was a wonderful idea but suggested that before they absolutely committed themselves, they ought to consult some experts. Jehoshaphat knew that Ahab had 401 prophets on the royal payroll. Imagine having that kind of religious think-tank available to you before you made your next big decision!

Jehoshaphat said, “Since they’re on your payroll, Ahab, why don’t you bring them in and see what they have to say.” 400 of them came in and they all agreed that the two kings had had a marvelous idea. There was no question that if the two countries went to war they would win convincingly, overwhelmingly. Now you and I ought to get suspicious if anything is as slick and easy as that. Isn’t there a law of life that says “if something is too good to be true, it probably is? Jehoshaphat began to get the feeling he was dealing with Ahab’s “yes-men” and so he pressed him: “Ahab, don’t you have any other prophet we could consult?” And Ahab said, “Yes, I do. I have one more.” I like the way the King gets right to the point here. “Yes, I have one more prophet but I don’t want him to come here. I hate him. He always prophesies evil against me.” What Ahab meant was clear: this four hundred and first prophet did not specialize in telling the king what he wanted to hear, but what he needed to hear. The name of this prophet without honor was Micaiah ben Imlah. Ahab had no desire to listen to what he had to say but Jehoshaphat pressed him and eventually Ahab reluctantly agreed.

The messenger sent to fetch Micaiah did his best to give him some excellent career counseling: “Micaiah, do what you have to do, but listen to this first: the other 400 prophets have said that the kings should go to war and that they will win. Now if you want to be a real fool, just get over there and tell them they should not go.”

So Micaiah came to the palace and Ahab asked him, I am sure with no very pleased expression on his face, “Tell us, Micaiah, should we go to battle against Ramoth-gilead or not?” Immediately Micaiah answered, “O King, you ought to go up immediately and the Lord will give you a great victory.” When he said that, Ahab exploded. “How many times have I told you only to tell me that which you believe to be the truth?” I guess there are times in all our lives when we want someone to tell us a good lie, but we want to hear the lie told in a convincing way. We don’t like it when the person telling us the lie is really putting us down because he thinks we’re a fool. Ahab is hearing the words he wanted to hear, but he also hears a message of absolute contempt behind the words. So he responds: “How many times have I told you, Micaiah, only tell me what you believe to be true.”

Sometimes the truth comes out when we get angry with one another. That’s not always bad. Clean anger can sometimes clear the air. It certainly worked for Ahab. The prophet told him, “O King, go to battle if you must, but I see all Israel as sheep without a shepherd.” In other words, “Ahab, you are going to be destroyed if you and Jehoshaphat start this war.” Ahab heard the message he didn’t want to hear so he and Jehoshaphat went right ahead with their plans for the war. But before they left Ahab said, “Take this man, Micaiah, and put him in prison. Keep him there on bread and water until I come back in victory.” But Ahab never came back at all. The Kings went to battle and suffered a terrible defeat in which Ahab was killed. Ahab died because he could not face the truth.

But isn’t that typical of all of us? In one way or another we all try to protect ourselves against unpleasant truth. Ahab had made up his mind to go to war. His advisers were wise enough to see that and wise enough not to oppose him. They knew that his request for advice was really a request for approval. Ahab was sure of them; he paid them. But he was not sure of Micaiah. Did he want the truth? No, not unless the truth conformed to what he had already decided. Ahab wanted his opinion confirmed. He wanted his decision justified. His mind was set on war with Syria and he wanted Jehoshaphat to go with him, so he did not want to hear contrary opinions about his expedition.

The Marquis of Halifax once said: “Nothing has an uglier look to us than reason when it is not on our side.” So Ahab used the old point-the-finger-at-the-truth-teller trick. If you do not like what he says, accuse him. The Romans had a phrase for it. They called it arguing “ad hominem,” that is, directing your argument against the person, appealing to prejudice rather than to reason.

Thus ends the saga of Ahab, and the brief account of Micaiah ends, too. What happened to him? Did he rot in jail? Did he die as punishment for what he had said? Did he go into hiding somewhere, into exile? Who knows? He just never shows up again.

Whatever happened to him one thing is clear. We cannot avoid the truth by calling names and pointing fingers. Jehoshaphat and Ahab should have listened to Micaiah, but they did not. They wrecked themselves and they wrecked a kingdom. But, then, who does listen?  Sad repetitions in history give an answer to that question. What, for example, did we learn from World War II? Winston Churchill once said: “The disproportion between the quarrels of nations and the suffering which fighting out those quarrels involves; the poor and barren prizes which reward sublime endeavor on the battlefield; the fleeting triumphs of war; the long, slow rebuilding; the awful risks so hardily run; the doom missed by a hair’s breadth, by the spin of a coin, by the accident of an accident – all this should make the prevention of another great war the main preoccupation of mankind.”

But this sort of truthful reflection has not ended wars, has it, as Korea, Vietnam, Iraq, and Afghanistan make clear! So who should listen to the Micaiahs? Politicians and princes aside, who listens on a personal and private level? Who listens to the person who threatens our preconceptions and self-complacency? Who listens when our life’s programs and purposes are questioned? Blunt honesty is seldom accepted or appreciated. Yet it is the beginning of wisdom to listen. Each of us needs a Micaiah now and then, some rough voice of judgment, even of condemnation. Each of us needs a Micaiah, a voice speaking to us, even hurting us at times, telling the truth about ourselves.

I have a very practical suggestion as I close this sermon. I learned it from my friend of many years, Kent Groff. Kent says that each of us should have a personal “board of directors.” On our board we should have someone who loves us regardless of what we have done. We should also have someone with great wisdom who can help us sort out the problems we face. We should also have someone on our board who believes in us and encourages us when the going gets tough. Most important, we should be mature enough to have someone on our personal board of directors who will always tell us the truth about ourselves no matter how hurtful that truth may be. But don’t put such a truth-teller in your life unless you are willing to listen to them and take with great seriousness what they have to say. Mature people listen and change; immature people listen and dismiss what they hear as unpleasant criticism.