The best of lessons are often learned in direct contrast to the subject we strive to master. We pray for things like patience: and rather than receiving what looks like an upgrade in long-suffering, instead, we find ourselves in a bevy of events that tests us to the core.
Regardless of faith orientation, or lack thereof, it might nevertheless be said that moving with a secured sense of calm in the midst of life’s challenges can require nothing less than a supernatural act.
Looking at my own track record as a perpetually sleep-deprived mother of two young children, I can often be tempted to believe that the state of mind which leads to operating from a place that looks even remotely calm and peaceful is simply not accessible in certain circumstances. But when the fearsome alternative is considered, I am compelled to ask: is it possible to abide, and therefore respond, from a deeply centered place of calm, no matter what form the whirling dis-integration takes?
In these fleeting minutes, I am grateful for the freedom that breathes through the written word in which to ponder the “yes” that speaks like a quiet hope within. Like peeking behind a seldom-opened closet door, I find the following concepts to be beautiful weapons at the ready, poised for a take down at the next onslaught of discord.
How incredible to think that Christ came from the heavenly realm, drenched in joy and perfection, to enter our fallen realm to bring us to the place of surrender, the very root of peace itself:
“because of the tender mercy of our God,
by which the rising sun will come to us from heaven
to shine on those living in darkness
and in the shadow of death,
to guide our feet into the path of peace.” (Luke 1:77-79)
The emphasis here on tender mercy is astonishing. When patience wears thin and the temper wells up to the tipping point, the last thing usually thought of and the most needed is tenderness. Mercy. Purest grace. It is often not what we think we need, and definitely not what we feel we deserve. And yet, it is the divine antidote to our condition. How well our Creator remembers we are formed from the dust, and to it we will one day return.
Let the peace of Christ rule in your hearts, since as members of one body you were called to peace. And be thankful. (Colossians 3:15)
To think of peace ruling and reigning at the heart level is profound: but the skeptic inside wants to question if this is really possible. What herculean strength must be mustered to exercise such a decisive level of authority to even make this plausible, let alone possible? And yet, the opening word catches my attention with the simplest of guidance: “Let.” In other words, we step aside, and we let Peace take control. We allow it central place, choosing to give permission for it to essentially take over and do its thing. We authorize and empower it to rule, through no other effort of our own. Easier said than done? Maybe. But how can we gain if we never reach for what we have not yet attained?
Jesus reveals the answer to us, point blank: I have told you these things so that you might have peace… (John 16:33)
May we remember: the Prince of Peace himself has said it; the Word has the final word, thank God. He came to destroy darkness not only of action but of thought that keeps us from seeing the light and life that He brings to the heart hungry to move in the dignity of love. May it be so.