“So instead of loving what you think is peace, love other men and love God above all. And instead of hating the people you think are warmakers, hate the appetites and the disorder in your own soul, which are the causes of war. If you love peace, then hate injustice, hate tyranny, hate greed—but hate these things in yourself, not in another.”
Thomas Merton, New Seeds of Contemplation
This Sunday our text is Matthew 5:9, “Blessed are the peacemakers, for they will be called children of God.” When I dream of peace, if I’m honest, what I’m longing for is comfort. A Form of appeasement. The absence of noise and chaos and conflict. Peace is cozy. It is comfortable. It is wool socks on a cloudy day.
This is my preferred illusion of peace. It is how I imagine the blessed life to be. It would be Christmas for 11 out of 12 months a year (with one month off to recover). And even if I know that this depiction is incorrect and privileged, and out of touch, that doesn’t stop me from longing for it, and it doesn’t stop me from complaining about the lack of it when life gets difficult.
And this has been a difficult year of disappointments. Even when things are good they aren’t what they used to be. I try to practice gratitude, but sometimes it just makes me resentful. When do we get to go back to the way it was? “How long, oh Lord?”
Except I know, deep down, that comfort is not true peace, and it is not at all what we’re promised in this life. Of course, we can savor those delicious moments of joy that come from time to time. But biblical peace is something different. It transcends understanding.
In Hebrew it is called shalom. It means wholeness, completeness, harmony, and tranquility. It comes from a life that is properly ordered. That sees past yesterday’s regrets, today’s immediate fears, and the worries of tomorrow to an eternity that is secure and a destination where everything is made new and made whole. It is peace that we are given.
But to receive this heavenly peace requires a letting go of the other. To gain the next life we must lose this one…at least our misconceptions and distortions. And that letting go can feel terrifying. Massively destabilizing. Out of control. This is why we rarely, if ever, let go on our own. We just don’t. Circumstances must make it so. This is why growth almost always involves a level of suffering and grief.
But it is more than merely letting go. As our cozy illusions dissipate and reality comes into view, we become aware that we are no longer standing on the moral high ground. We realize we are as broken as the next man. Maybe even more so. And that we have so much healing left to do.
But this is the birthplace of shalom. It is where the light of truth not only reveals but heals. And sets us free.
Peace begins by surrendering. By trusting the healing breath of Christ to breathe new life into our hearts. We receive it with humility, but also with faith and trust. He who began a good work in you will be faithful to complete it. And so we lean into this healing work. We embrace it.
And the peace of Christ cannot be contained. It bubbles up. It spills over. The non-anxious heart transforms the room. It remains engaged. It speaks the truth in love. It brings healing to others. It is the kind of peace that walks through closed doors into spaces where we’re hiding in fear and reveals itself resurrected. Biblical peace is not as the world gives. And when it steps in, its presence completely transforms the room.