Advent 2024: Peace
Blessed are the Peacemakers
O Lord, why do you make me see wrongdoing and look at trouble? Destructions and violence are before me; strife and contention arise. So the law becomes slack and justice never prevails.
Habakkuk 1:3–4
How easy it is to lose hope for the future, faith in humanity, and love of neighbor when we scroll through the headlines of the news. How tempting is despair, anger, cynicism, and distrust. How quickly fear darkens the edges of our perception after reading about what our enemies, our leaders, even our allies have done. There is evil in the world in abundance, and suffering expands like a murky fog.
Qoheleth (the Hebrew name for the biblical book of Ecclesiastes, and the word often translated as “Teacher” or “Preacher”) says, “In much wisdom is much vexation, and those who increase knowledge increase sorrow” (Qoheleth 1:18). It would seem that in our Age of Information—our Age of Being Oversaturated with Information—these ancient words hold true.
Awareness is a double-edged sword. On the one hand, it is important to stay informed, to know what’s going on in the world. On the other hand, too much knowledge can lead us to distress, anxiety, and fear. How does one find a balance?
I think finding “balance” may be the wrong question. Our lives do not have to be built on a seesaw between too little and too much information. We don’t need to find a “happy” medium. Perhaps we should reimagine the question.
Awareness of Vulnerability
She took of its fruit and ate; and she also gave some to her husband, who was with her, and he ate. Then the eyes of both were opened, and they knew that they were naked; and they sewed fig leaves together and made loincloths for themselves. They heard the sound of the Lord God walking in the garden at the time of the evening breeze, and the man and his wife hid themselves from the presence of the Lord God among the trees of the garden. But the Lord God called to the man, and said to him, “Where are you?” He said, “I heard the sound of you in the garden, and I was afraid, because I was naked; and I hid myself.”
- Genesis 3:6–10 NRSV
In this familiar story, Adam and Eve eat fruit from the one forbidden tree in the garden of Eden. As a result, their “eyes are opened” and they behold their own nakedness. They are brought to sudden awareness of their vulnerability. They try to protect themselves with leafy clothing (could we call it “Fall” fashion?) and hide themselves from God.
As I’ve written about elsewhere, the creation that God made was not without danger, death, or evil. The first humans did not bring this into the world by their eating of the fruit. The fruit made them aware of what might lead to their harm. Awareness of one’s vulnerability leads to fear and the desire to protect oneself.
Peace On All Sides
There will always be dangers outside ourselves we try to protect against. If it’s not a physical threat, it might be a social one—loss of honor, loss of relationship. It could relate to our well-being: financial ruin, natural disaster, loss of home, health issues. It could be a threat to our self-image. If we can mitigate all these external dangers, perhaps we can finally have peace.
“Solomon had peace on all sides. During Solomon’s lifetime, Judah and Israel lived in safety, from Dan to Beersheba, all of them under their vines and fig trees” (1 Kings 4:24–25). Is this not the ideal picture of peace? Safety on all sides, external threats kept at bay outside one’s borders?
This is peace as the world imagines it: peace as the absence of threat to oneself. But what are you willing to do to make that kind of peace for yourself?
Solomon’s “peace on all sides” was earned by assassinating his rivals. He also gave Benaiah, his military commander, a hit list from his father David (see 1 Kings 1–2). Once this violence was committed, then there could be peace. Is that not how the leaders of our world have operated for millennia? Even in our modern era, we thought World War One was “The War to End All Wars.” That didn’t really hold up. There is always more violence to be carried out in the name of “peace.”
Solomon’s peace and prosperity was maintained by forced labor. It wasn’t only foreigners that Solomon conscripted (9:20–21). He also “conscripted forced labor out of all Israel” (5:13; but cf. 9:22). Prosperity for some came from the forced labor of others. Solomon’s wealth and wisdom is praised in Scripture, yet there are cracks in this image through which truth shines.
When Rehoboam, Solomon’s son, becomes king, he is approached by Jeroboam on behalf of the people. “Your father made our yoke heavy. Now therefore lighten the hard service of your father and his heavy yoke that he placed on us, and we will serve you” (12:4). Rehoboam confers with his friends and returns to say, “I will add to your yoke; my father disciplined you with whips, but I will discipline you with scorpions” (12:14).
Ten tribes of Israel then secede from Judah, forming the northern kingdom of Israel. Jeroboam becomes king of Israel, while Rehoboam remains king of Judah. “When King Rehoboam sent Adoram, who was taskmaster over the forced labor, all Israel stoned him to death” (12:18). That kind of violence does not come from nowhere, but is the result of an oppressive regime that on the outside purports to be peaceful and prosperous.
So this is peace as the world understands it. Peace for you, if you can subdue your enemies and make others build up your prosperity. Peace for you, if the right circumstances surround you. Peace for you, if you can insulate yourself from the suffering of others. Peace for you, if you can remain ignorant of how you benefit from the oppression of others.
This kind of peace must constantly be protected not only by violence but by cultural narratives. These narratives enable us to consider ourselves “good people,” our country “the good guys,” and our cultural projects “the good news.”
It may seem strange that people who have already attained a position of power through violence invest so much time in justifying their plunder with words. But even plunderers are human beings whose violent ambitions must contend with the guilt that gnaws at them when they meet the eyes of their victims. And so a story must be told, one that raises a wall between themselves and those they seek to throttle and rob
- Ta-Nehisi Coates, The Message, 29
These kinds of stories veil our vision so we can justify our methods of peace making, methods that benefit ourselves at the cost to others. We blind ourselves to the plight of those who suffer by proclaiming peace for ourselves, peace we have earned by our “hard work,” peace we think we deserve. In truth it is a false narrative, a false peace, and ultimately, a fragile peace. It is a peace that we fear to lose, a peace we must control. That is not true peace.
In truth, they have misled my people, saying, ‘Peace,’ when there is no peace; and when the people build a wall, these prophets smear whitewash on it. Say to those who smear whitewash on it that it shall fall. There will be a deluge of rain, great hailstones will fall, and a stormy wind will break out. When the wall falls, will it not be said to you, ‘Where is the whitewash you smeared on it?’ Therefore thus says the Lord, … I will break down the wall that you have smeared with whitewash, and bring it to the ground, so that its foundation will be laid bare.
Ezekiel 13:10–14
Awareness of Delusion
Meanwhile Saul, still breathing threats and murder against the disciples of the Lord, went to the high priest and asked him for letters to the synagogues at Damascus, so that if he found any who belonged to the Way, men or women, he might bring them bound to Jerusalem. Now as Saul was going along and approaching Damascus, suddenly a light from heaven flashed around him. He fell to the ground and heard a voice saying to him, “Saul, Saul, why do you persecute me?” He asked, “Who are you, Lord?” The reply came, “I am Jesus, whom you are persecuting. But get up and enter the city, and you will be told what to do.” … Saul got up from the ground, and though his eyes were open, he could see nothing; so they led him by the hand and brought him into Damascus. For three days he was without sight, and neither ate nor drank.
- Acts 9:1–9 NRSV
This is the famous conversion story of the Apostle Paul (a.k.a. Saul) “on the road to Damascus.” There is more to the story, which we will examine anon. For now, let’s sit in the disorienting light of sudden, fresh awareness.
Saul operates according to his religious convictions, his “zeal” as he describes it in his letters (Galatians 1:13–14; Philippians 3:5–6). He thought that by persecuting the church, he might cleanse his people of false beliefs. This violence (cf. Acts 7:54–8:1) would purify Judaism and resolve the conflict with this emerging sect of Jesus followers.
Saul is on the road to further violence when he is blinded by Jesus. He can no longer see the way before him—the physical road nor the plans of his life. Everything has gone dark. All he has are the instructions: “Enter the city and you will be told what to do.”
A world that can be explained even with bad reasons is a familiar world. But, on the other hand, in a universe suddenly divested of illusions and lights, man feels an alien, a stranger.
- Albert Camus, The Myth of Sisyphus, 6
Saul’s worldview is upended by this dramatic encounter with Jesus, the person Saul has been persecuting. Saul thought he was bringing peace, but now the “narrative wall” he has built to justify his actions has been torn down. He comes face to face with his victim, face to face with the delusion of his actions.
No Peace for the Wicked
But the wicked are like the tossing sea that cannot keep still; its waters toss up mire and mud. There is no peace, says my God, for the wicked.
Isaiah 57:20–21
It seems there are a number of ways awareness and peace function together.
We become aware of threats to our physical or psychological well-being, which erodes our sense of peace.
We protect ourselves from those threats, which increases our sense of peace. This can dull our awareness of the world as it is, because we ignore the consequences of our self-protective measures. We tell ourselves that as long as we feel at peace, then we must be doing things right, then we must be good people (because there is no peace for the wicked).
We can be confronted by a second awareness: an awareness of the evil we have personally committed, the systems of evil we have participated in, the unwitting benefits we have accrued because of the evils of others. Suddenly we feel a dis-peace, an uneasiness, perhaps even guilt, shame, fear.
How is one to find peace when awareness of external dangers and awareness of one’s own guilt / privilege crowd into the soul? Here are some options:
Denial: I can try to return to a state of blissful ignorance, of assuming the world is fine and that the dangers or my guilt don’t exist.
Despair: I can let worry and fear swing me this way and that as I consider every possible negative outcome.
Indifference: I can accept that the world is suffering but numb my compassion so that I don’t care and instead do nothing to change.
Double Down: I can reinforce the narratives that confirm I’m a good person, that what I’m doing is right, and lash out (verbally, violently, etc.) against those who say otherwise.
All of these options may provide a kind of peace. They may, for a time, cool the anxiety, temper the fear, distract one from the danger to body or ego. But these all bring a false peace, peace like a tossing sea, sloshing this way and that to respond to every new awareness of threat as it arises.
It is hard to maintain this kind of peace. Why? Because it is all about control. If I can mitigate external factors and internal negative emotions, then I can be at peace. But there is always something new coming into the awareness, a fresh revelation of threat or guilt. Soon, I’m just playing Whac-A-Mole against anything that disrupts my sense of peace.
We cannot control our way to peace. Nor can we wait for the world to end all conflict or suffering before we feel peace within ourselves. This kind of peace, peace as the world gives, is impossible to achieve. So what is possible?
Blessed Are the Peacemakers
Blessed are the peacemakers, for they will be called children of God.
Matthew 5:9
Experiencing peace isn’t about forcing the world around you to cease its noise and danger. It’s not about waiting for the world to magically become peaceful. Instead, true peace comes from within, from God.
We are not called to sit around and wait for the world’s peace to arrive. We are called to be peace and to enter into the conflicted, suffering world. When we have peace within ourselves, we need not fear suffering, conflict, or danger to our egos.
A metaphor: If peace is light, we do not have to wait for the world to be filled with daylight to know peace. We take the candle of ourselves into the darkness, bearing peace and lighting the candles around us.
Being a peacemaker isn’t about having good negotiation skills. It’s not about threatening others to stay in line. It’s not about having the right answers and convincing others to see your view. Being a peacemaker means being a peacebearer.
Alyosha Karamazov
One of my favorite characters in all of literature is Alyosha, one of the brothers in Fyodor Dostoevsky’s novel The Brothers Karamazov. Alyosha is kind, gentle, loving, compassionate. He plans to enter the local monastery and become a monk. He grows attached to Father Zossima, one of the elder monks.
Father Zossima has a challenging command for Alyosha: “When it is God’s will to call me [i.e., to die], leave the monastery. Go away for good.” Alyosha is stunned. Zossima explains further:
“This is not your place for the time. I bless you for great service in the world. Yours will be a long pilgrimage. ... You will have to bear all before you come back. There will be much to do. But I have trust in you, and so I send you forth. Christ is with you. Do not abandon Him and He will not abandon you. You will see great sorrow, and in that sorrow you will be happy. This is my last message to you: in sorrow seek happiness. Work, work unceasingly. Remember my words, for although I shall talk with you again, not only my days but my hours are numbered. … Be near your brothers. And not near one only, but near both.”
Zossima sends Alyosha to a meal that is happening in the monastery, a meal involving Alyosha’s father and brothers, surely leading to contention: “You are more needed there. There is no peace there. You will wait, and be of service.”
The elder sends Alyosha into the world. Alyosha doesn’t want to go. He seeks peace for himself within the monastery, but Zossima sends him into the world to be peace. This is hard for Alyosha to understand:
Why, why, had he gone forth? Why had Father Zossima sent him into the world? Here in the hermitage was peace. Here was holiness. But out in the world there was confusion, there was darkness in which one lost one’s way.
“Out in the world,” Alyosha attempts a series of reconciliations: between children, between his family and a peasant family, between Dmitri’s lovers, between his own brothers. He fails each time. Or at least seems to fail. Then Father Zossima dies. Just before dying, on his death bed, he reiterates his call for Alyosha:
“You, Alyosha, I’ve many times silently blessed, know that,” added the elder with a gentle smile. “This is what I think of you: you will go forth from these walls, but will live like a monk in the world. You will have many enemies, but even your foes will love you. Life will bring you many misfortunes, but you will find your happiness in them, and will bless life and will make others bless it—which is what matters most. Well, that is your character.”
In the latter half of the book, there is murder and a trial, there is the evidence and there is the truth. Alyosha finds sorrow. But peace is made as well. The reconciliations that had earlier failed begin to bear fruit now.
The book ends with the town children surrounding Alyosha, who tells them, “Ah, children, ah, dear friends, don’t be afraid of life! How good life is when one does something good and just!”
“Hurrah for Karamazov!” they shout in return.
Alyosha had sought peace in the monastery, away from the evils of the world. But Zossima sent him into the world, to be peace amid the confusion. Once Alyosha embraced that calling, once he found peace within himself, he was able to share that peace with others.
Awareness of Shalom
In Hebrew, shalom is the word we translate as “peace.” Shalom is not just the absence of conflict, but involves the peace and flourishing of all things—people, the land, animals, plants. Shalom is wholeness of being, wholeness of relationships.
We may be unable to experience the fullness of shalom in this lifetime. We long for the new heavens and new earth of God where we will experience true rest, true peace. Yet God’s new creation is breaking into our world now. Jesus’s life, death, and resurrection didn’t happen so we could go to a heavenly paradise when we die. Jesus called us to new life—eternal life—now, to enter into the “kingdom of God,” the new creation, now. This newness of life begins within us.
So if anyone is in Christ, there is a new creation:
everything old has passed away; see, everything has become new!
All this is from God, who reconciled us to himself through Christ,
and has given us the ministry of reconciliation.
2 Corinthians 5:17–18
We are called to participate in “the ministry of reconciliation.” We are called to participate in the in-breaking of God’s new creation in the here and now, our lives themselves evidence of this shalom. As we desire this shalom to infuse more and more of our world, we cannot help but share it with others.
I did not grow up in a church that “passed the peace of Christ.” Now I attend one that does. Instead of “say hi to your neighbor,” we turn to one another and say, “The peace of Christ be with you.” There is no magic to these words, yet in a very real way we are sharing the peace of God with others. We proclaim Christ’s peace and thus by faith make it so. We participate in God’s in-breaking shalom.
Early in his ministry, Jesus sends his disciples out to various towns. He commands them to share the good news that God’s kingdom is near and to perform healings. He tells them to take no gold, no extra provisions. They are to rely on the hospitality and generosity of others. And they are to share peace with others:
“Whatever town or village you enter, find out who is worthy, and stay there until you leave. As you enter the house, greet it. If the house is worthy, let your peace come upon it; but if it is not worthy, let your peace return to you” (Matthew 10:11–13)
Peace is not scarce. When peace is shared, it does not diminish.
How beautiful upon the mountains
are the feet of the messenger who announces peace,
who brings good news, who announces salvation,
who says to Zion, “Your God reigns.”
Isaiah 52:7
Awareness and Peace Reconciled
As we noted earlier, awareness of evil—in the world, in ourselves—seems at odds with peace. But the peace that comes from God does not require us to protect ourselves from danger or hide from threatening truth. In fact, God’s peace moves us into places of confusion, suffering, and conflict.
Right after Jesus tells his disciples to share peace in the cities they visit, he tells them,
“See, I am sending you out like sheep into the midst of wolves; so be wise as serpents and innocent as doves. Beware of them, for they will hand you over to councils and flog you in their synagogues; and you will be dragged before governors and kings because of me, as a testimony to them and the Gentiles. When they hand you over, do not worry about how you are to speak or what you are to say; for what you are to say will be given to you at that time; for it is not you who speak, but the Spirit of your Father speaking through you. … You will be hated by all because of my name” (Matthew 10:16–22).
Jesus tells his disciples suffering and persecution are coming, and at the same time he tells them, “Do not worry.” Following Jesus doesn’t mean you’ll be immune to suffering. In fact, following Jesus might lead you into more suffering!
Let’s return to Paul’s conversion story. We left him disoriented in his new blindness. He has had nothing to eat or drink in three days.
Now there was a disciple in Damascus named Ananias. The Lord said to him in a vision, “Ananias.” He answered, “Here I am, Lord.” The Lord said to him, “Get up and go to the street called Straight, and at the house of Judas look for a man of Tarsus named Saul. At this moment he is praying, and he has seen in a vision a man named Ananias come in and lay his hands on him so that he might regain his sight.” But Ananias answered, “Lord, I have heard from many about this man, how much evil he has done to your saints in Jerusalem; and here he has authority from the chief priests to bind all who invoke your name.” But the Lord said to him, “Go, for he is an instrument whom I have chosen to bring my name before Gentiles and kings and before the people of Israel; I myself will show him how much he must suffer for the sake of my name.” So Ananias went and entered the house. He laid his hands on Saul and said, “Brother Saul, the Lord Jesus, who appeared to you on your way here, has sent me so that you may regain your sight and be filled with the Holy Spirit.” And immediately something like scales fell from his eyes, and his sight was restored. Then he got up and was baptized, and after taking some food, he regained his strength (Acts 9:10–19).
Saul has been the persecutor of the church, a threat to its existence, and is in this moment a very real danger to Ananias. But Jesus calls Ananias to embody God’s peace to Saul. Through Ananias, Saul receives the peace of Christ. His sight is restored, he is baptized, he regains his strength. Another happy conversion, or so it seems.
Did you notice what Jesus tells Ananias about Saul? “I myself will show him how much he must suffer for the sake of my name.” Saul isn’t invited to a “better,” more comfortable life with eternal bliss to look forward to. Saul is called to suffer for the sake of Christ.
Saul/Paul’s letter to the Philippians is a lesson in what it means to live in peace in all circumstances. Paul is in prison, and the church in Philippi has apparently been graced with some preachers who say that because Paul is imprisoned, his message about Christ is wrong. Paul argues throughout his letter that suffering for Jesus is part of the message, part of Christian discipleship. It’s not only to be expected; one should rejoice in this kind of suffering.
I want you to know, beloved, that what has happened to me has actually helped to spread the gospel, so that it has become known throughout the whole imperial guard and to everyone else that my imprisonment is for Christ; and most of the believers, having been made confident in the Lord by my imprisonment, dare to speak the word with greater boldness and without fear (Philippians 1:12–14).
For God has graciously granted you the privilege not only of believing in Christ, but of suffering for him as well—since you are having the same struggle that you saw I had and now hear that I still have (1:29–30).
I want to know Christ and the power of his resurrection and the sharing of his sufferings by becoming like him in his death (3:10).
Do not worry about anything,
but in everything by prayer and supplication with thanksgiving
let your requests be made known to God.
And the peace of God, which surpasses all understanding,
will guard your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus.
Philippians 4:6–7
This verse is often offered to people as a “cure” for anxiety. “Just stop worrying,” quoters of this verse seem to say, “God will banish your anxiety with his peace.” This kind of “cure” aims not for wholeness but for comfort. It can be a form of denial: a denial of the suffering of the world, a denial of one’s own soul crying out to be heard in its pain.
Psychologist Sheryl Paul writes that a Western cultural mindset “seeks to erase pain in all forms. … Most people see anxiety and its cohort of symptoms as something to hide, deny, distract from, or eradicate” (The Wisdom of Anxiety 1). Instead, she argues, we should understand anxiety as “both wound and messenger, … a call from soul to pay attention” (2).
Remember: anxiety is the soul’s way of communicating that something inside is awry, out of balance, or needs attention. When you ignore or remove the symptom, you miss the message, and your inner self will redouble its efforts to alert you to the need to turn inward by sending out more alarming and attention-grabbing thoughts, feelings, or physical symptoms. … Instead of resisting and resenting the anxiety, you can choose to approach it with curiosity, compassion, stillness, and even gratitude (24–25).
True peace is not the absence of conflict or suffering or anxiety. It does not try to hide or protect itself from pain.
True peace acknowledges the pain of the world and within oneself. It accepts that pain exists, but hopes for the flourishing and shalom wholeness of all people and all created things. In this hope, this desire for the reconciling of all things in Christ (Colossians 1:20), those who are peacemakers bear peace into the conflicted spaces on earth, unafraid, undeterred by the suffering they witness or experience.
A Final Word
When God brings about the consummation of the new heavens and new earth, when we enter fully into the life to come, will peace mean the absence of pain? We may be freed from the sensations of physical and emotional pain, but scars will remain. Even in the ultimate shalom situation, when we are truly healed, our woundedness will be present, acknowledged, accepted.
Here is what Jürgen Moltmann has to say about this:
“Resurrection” always … means transformation (1 Corinthians 15:52), the forgiveness of sins and the putting right of what was wrong, the consoling of grief and the wiping away of the tears. That is not a transformation into a different being; it is a transformation of our own being through reconciliation. Even the guilt that has been forgiven remains in the memory, though it is no longer a burden. Even wounds that have healed can still be seen from the scars they have left, though they no longer hurt. … When our temporal life is transformed into eternal livingness, that [earthly] life doesn’t disappear; it will be “transfigured.” It will be accepted, put right, reconciled, sanctified, and glorified. But it is still our life, just as we still remain ourselves in that life, and for the first time come properly and fully to ourselves (In the End, the Beginning 162).
May the peace of God, which surpasses understanding, fill you. May you look on the sufferings of the world, not with fear, but with compassion. May you not hide from the negative feelings within yourself, but examine them, allow them to speak, and in so doing, come to a fuller understanding of yourself. And may you, filled with peace, bear that peace into the conflicted and suffering places in the world—not because you are free from suffering yourself, but because you bear the peace of Christ that must be shared. And in so doing, you will be acting in hope.