THE LONGER I LIVE

the more I’m convinced of the allusiveness of peace. Not a peace accord drawn up between nations. Not a peace made between a married couple or roommates or with next door neighbors who are not getting along. Not even the peace coming from kids being on a sleep-over at their best friend’s home. At best these are freedoms from further danger; freedoms from annoyance or distraction; freedoms to experience an interlude of mental tranquillity, the taste of physical serenity.

 

AS WONDERFUL AS THESE MAY BE

Jesus offers much more. He said, “Peace I leave with you, my own peace I give you, a peace this world cannot give, this is my gift to you”[1] He said he left it with us … you and me. He said it was his own peace … the kind you can’t buy at Nordstrom’s or Target. He said it’s his gift to us … a gift! So where is it? Where did I put this gift? Do you know where yours is? Do you remember how it was wrapped? It was special, right? What did it look like? Did it rattle when you shook it? Was there a card attached?

 

Jesus said it was a gift of shalom peace. This much I remember. It was meant to bring a kind of well-being in one’s heart and mind and body. An inner peace and harmony. A sense of wholeness and completeness. So where is it? A shalom that passes understanding. A priceless gift. How does one package peace anyway? And why can’t I find it? I’m really beginning to panic. Jesus said he gave it to me, but I’ve looked everywhere. It’s not like I’ve lost my keys. It’s got to be here somewhere, right? But what if it’s gone … like forever. What if I if threw it out by mistake?

 

He meant this gift to be special for us. I know he did. An everlasting shalom. But why you? Why me? Does he expect us to be peacemakers or something? He was. He still is. Does he expect us to give our lives in the service of peace? That’s it isn’t it? It isn’t a ring on our finger or a badge to wear proudly. It’s a concept. An ideal. An attitude. No, his shalom is more even than this. It is the very fragrance of his own life given for us, inbreathed by his Spirit within us. He wants his peace to be well lived by us and through us. Even when life around us is anything but peaceful. His shalom is a full gift of God’s peace, meant to be shared with others in the midst of battle.

 

Thomas à Kempis  says, “It is vanity to desire to live long, and not to care to live well. It is vanity to mind only this present life, and not to make provision for those things which are to come.”[2]

 

Easy for you to say, Thomas. After all, you’re a Saint. I may live long, but how can I “live well” without this gift? The truth is, I can’t. You can’t either. We were built to run on his peace. As a car cannot operate without fuel, oil, water, electricity, so we cannot function well without his peace. “A heart at peace gives life to the body, but envy (bad fuel) rots the bones.”[3] Okay, but I’m still looking. Where is it? Where did I put “his gift?”

 

This morning Gage and I go for a walk through a nearby residential area toward a path leading into the woods. It is one of those beautiful autumn days the Lord has made. Leaves are turning red and yellow and burnt orange. At the path’s entrance we meet a mother walking with her two young children. We introduce ourselves. The oldest boy’s eyes lock in on the big dog.

 

“He’s safe,” I say to Anna, “his name is Gage. It’s okay if you’d like your boy to pet him.” She smiles and says, “It’s okay.” The boy steps close, runs his hand through Gage’s golden hair and whispers almost reverently, “Hi, Gage.” Gage acknowledges by shifting his nose until it touches the mask over the boy’s nose. Their eyes drink in the image of the other. I am sure both are placing it somewhere to remember later.

 

And for one serendipitous moment, a young mother and an old man watch the transference of love and peace take place between a boy and a dog. An innocent little boy who wants to touch him. A dog much bigger than the boy who wants to be touched.

 

How does God package peace? Like this. A boy and dog tableau, wrapped in a holy moment at the forest’s edge. Suddenly “his gift” is there.

 

There are thousands more tableaux like this for us to capture. Moments we do not create, but they happen everyday. Jesus sees us in them. We should see him in them, too. It’s why he left us “his gift.” So we would not forget, but keep it somewhere to remember later in the times we would need it most.

 

“I have told you these things, so that in me you may have peace. In this world you will have trouble. But take heart! I have overcome the world.”[4]

 

We do not have to wait until we die to “rest in peace,” my friend.

 

Live Long … Live Well.

 

May Jesus keep us close.

 

[1] John 14:27

[2] The Imitation of Christ, Thomas à Kempis

[3] Proverbs 14:30

[4] John 16:33 Italics mine