The Flame That Burns for "Never Again

On August 6, 1945, a single bomb reduced Hiroshima to ash and shadow. Over 140,000 people perished. The city lay in ruins so complete that scientists predicted nothing would grow there for seventy-five years. Yet by the following spring, oleander flowers pushed through the scorched earth — the first sign that life refused to be extinguished.

In 1964, the city lit an eternal flame in the Peace Memorial Park, built at the epicenter of the blast. The skeletal dome of the old Prefectural Industrial Promotion Hall was deliberately left standing, unrepaired, as a permanent witness. Hiroshima's mayor declared a covenant with the future: this must never happen again. Every August sixth, thousands gather at that flame — not because they fear forgetfulness, but because the sign itself carries the weight of the promise.

When God set His bow in the clouds after the flood, He was not merely decorating the sky. He was establishing a unilateral covenant — not with Noah alone, but with "every living creature of all flesh that is on the earth." And remarkably, God said the rainbow would remind Him of His own promise. The Almighty, who cannot forget, chose to give Himself a sign.

Every rainbow since has been God's eternal flame, His declaration over a world that deserved judgment: never again. Not because we became worthy, but because His mercy made a covenant that His faithfulness would keep.