“Peace at Last!”
In 2020, I was writing my commentary on Leviticus and Numbers and teaching a course called the Bible as Literature at VCU. I remember when I first heard the news about COVID-19. It was the beginning of Spring Break. At first, the threat seemed distant. I didn’t even think about how it might affect my course. But over the span of just a few days, a distant threat became a serious concern, and VCU cancelled in-person learning for the rest of the semester.
I know that for many people COVID-19 was a serious disruption and caused real havoc. Caring for children at home, working remotely, securing various needs in an uncertain market—these problems were just the tip of the iceberg. And then there was the disease itself, which proved fatal in many tragic cases. I do not want to trivialize these very real problems. But I do want to be honest about my own experience. When COVID-19 first struck and in-person classes were cancelled, there was a little child in me rubbing his hands together with glee and dancing for joy, thinking, “School’s out!” For the rest of semester, all I was required to do was record lecture and grade papers. Now, I am a serious introvert and left to my own devices I will gladly retreat and explore the inner world of thought and imagination. Initially I thought that this turn of events would be beneficial. I thought it would provide a foundation for making some serious progress with my commentary. “Peace at last!” I thought. Gone were so many distractions, from navigating campus to extracurricular and administrative responsibilities. I envisioned myself enthroned at my desk, doing work quietly and contentedly on my own terms.
As perhaps you would guess, the reality was quite different from my expectations. The absence of demands on my time and of the other regular challenges of life did not afford me the peace I thought it would. Inwardly, I was beset with distraction and worry. Without any real interaction, I occasionally despaired about the worthiness of my work. It’s difficult to sustain a sense of purpose when you’re not regularly in relationship and receiving occasional validation.
Peace Outside and Peace Inside
What I learned that semester is that there are different kinds of peace. There is outside peace, which we might describe as the absence of difficulty or challenge. When I hear the words, “All is calm, all is bright,” I’m usually thinking of outside peace. No demands on my time. A quiet environment allowing for rest and relaxation. Harmony with others.
But outside peace, I learned, is very different from peace inside, what we might call spiritual peace. I had a lot of outside peace but very little spiritual peace at the beginning of COVID-19. My heart was all over the place, unsure of its purpose, flitting from one worry to the next.
This week, we’re looking at Luke’s version of the Christmas story. Luke is a dramatist. His version of the Christmas story is the most colorful. It is filled with characters, each with their own backstory, their own hopes and fears. Elizabeth, Zechariah, John, Joseph, Mary, the shepherds, Simeon. But there is one character whom we often overlook: the Holy Spirit. In Luke’s gospel, the Holy Spirit orchestrates nearly everything that happens. In the Christmas story alone, the Holy Spirit fills Elizabeth and Mary and John (even before his birth) and Zechariah and Simeon.
If we’re looking for the difference between outside peace and inside peace, spiritual peace, then Luke is the place to look, because Luke is all about the Spirit. Luke looks within.
The Peace of Mary
Consider for a moment the conditions in which Mary finds herself in Luke’s Christmas story.
First, she lives in Nazareth, a territory heavily occupied by the Roman military. We know that around the time Jesus was born, in the year 4 BCE, the Roman legions descended swiftly and brutally upon an uprising only four miles away in the town of Sepphoris, burning the city and reducing its inhabitants to slavery.[1] The Roman historian Tacitus would later say of the Roman military, “They make a desert and call it peace.” We can imagine that, at the very least, Mary lives in a world of fear, a world that sleeps with one eye open, wary of what the Romans might do next.
Add to that constant background static of fear the news that Mary receives from Gabriel. Even if every word the angel says is true, it only makes life more difficult for Mary on the outside. Now she will know the disgrace that is reserved for infidelity. She will know raised eyebrows and wicked gossip from people who take a small, perverse pleasure in the shortcomings of others.
And the cherry on top is the simple, physical reality of pregnancy. For this will not be a normal, straightforward pregnancy. Toward the end of her term, Mary will be forced to travel on a bumpy road to Bethlehem, where she will then need to deliver the baby in the cramped accommodations of a stable, surrounded by animals and a band of stinky shepherds.
I think it is safe to say that Mary does not know outside peace. The looming threat of Roman violence, the constant buzz of shameful rumors, and the bumps and bruises of a road trip to Bethlehem make certain of that.
And yet, despite all of this, we hear Mary say, “Here am I, the servant of the Lord; let it be with me according to your word” (Luke 1:38).
Real Peace Does Not Make Sense
Mary’s peace was true peace. It was not dependent on the conditions around her. She lived in a storm, but in her heart there was calm. Like Jesus in the boat amid the wind and the waves, she was not troubled.
Paul would later refer to this peace as that which “surpasses all understanding” (Phil 4:7)), which I think is his way of saying that real peace does not make sense. It is not logical. Everything in the world around us could be going wrong, yet—illogically, irrationally—there is a peace within.
This week I tried to remember the moments in my life when I’ve experienced real peace. Surprisingly, what came to mind were not moments where I had it easy, as in the early stages of COVID-19. Instead, what came to mind were moments of difficulty. Moments when I made a difficult decision, whether it was finally owning up to my own fault in a situation where I had been avoiding it, or resolving to do something that I knew needed to be done. In all of these cases, there was a moment of acceptance. A moment where in my heart, I knew what I needed to do. I believe God is in all the world, in all things, in all our lives, whether we’re aware of it or not, and so I believe that in these scenarios it was God speaking to me in my heart. And when I finally said, “Let it be with me according to your word,” that was when I knew real peace. It doesn’t always make sense on the outside, where the immediate result might be some challenges or difficult feelings. Real peace surpasses all understanding.
Resignation or Acceptance?
Augustine once suggested that the cynics of his day were to be pitied, for all they do is make peace with their own misery. This idea helps me to understand that acceptance is different from resignation. Resignation is making peace with your misery. When Mary says, “Let it be with me according to your word,” she does not say so in resignation. She does not retreat with a furrowed brow, thinking, “Oh, what a mess I’ve gotten myself into.” No, it’s only a few verses later where we find her singing the Magnificat, her song of praise to God, “My soul magnifies the Lord, and my spirit rejoices in God my Savior” (Luke 1:46-47).
Mary’s peace is not resignation to a difficult life. It is acceptance of a sacred role. Her peace is an active ingredient in her life, not a passive resignation. It inspires her (she is literally filled with the Holy Spirit). It emboldens and empowers her. She looks forward to life, not away from it. She is strong enough to endure all the difficulties. Why? Because underneath it all is a deep trust. She trusts that in her God is doing something good, something beautiful, something life-saving, for her and all the world.
I see this same peace throughout the ages in all the individuals who have lived courageously in service to God’s love; in people like Francis of Assisi who stood up to a church drunk on power and money and insisted on caring for the poor and for creation, which has often been helpless in the face of people’s greed; in people like Rosa Parks who sat down in the face of cruel inequality and could not be moved.
Peace is a dangerous power. At times, it may take us directly into the storm, but only because God’s love is stronger still and capable of transforming anything. As Gabriel says, “Nothing will be impossible with God” (Luke 1:37).
Prayer
God of peace,Born in a world of chaos—
Teach us by the example of Mary and countless others
Who have accepted your call
And discovered the peace that surpasses understanding.
Ground us and root us
In your call
…
May we live not from our worries or our expectations
But from the unshaken center of your transforming love.
[1]
Josephus, Jewish Wars 2.68.
No comments:
Post a Comment