Today’s question is really not so much a question as it is a request for you to use your imagination. For a moment, I would invite you to reflect on “peace.” What are your own, personal images of peace? For me, a personal image of peace is: floating on a rubber raft on warm gulf waters, looking up at the clouds drifting by. For someone else, it might be sitting on a warm rock on the side of a mountain, overlooking a green valley, far below. Or your personal image of peace might include sitting in the semi-darkness of a quiet church, seeing the glow of candles and praying, quietly.
For many of us, an image of peace would include tranquility, serenity, silence: a harmony of me with God. For others, peace would be seen as the absence of warfare or of other conflict. Peace would be a harmony of me and others, with other people. Yet we recognize how difficult it has always been to achieve this earthly peace. In our first reading for today from the Acts of the Apostles, we were reminded that the early Christian community had its own conflicts. We heard about how hard it was for them to set aside the teachings of Moses and put into practice the new teachings of Jesus.
To resolve the problem, it was necessary to have almost an “enforced” harmony. The message sent by the Council of Jerusalem was clear: the Holy Spirit and we have spoken, and this is the way we are going to do things. Is this what is meant by peace: the absence of conflict because each person is commanded to do the same thing? Or does peace, especially the peace of Christ, mean more than the absence of conflict, more than the warm fuzzies of tranquility, serenity and silence?
Today, as we approach Ascension Thursday and Pentecost, we are called, once more, to reflect on the “peace of Christ.” We are reminded that each one of us is offered the gift of the “peace of Christ.” But how can you have the “peace of Christ” when you are told you no longer have a job? How can you have any kind of peace when you learn that your son or daughter is into drugs? How can you be at peace while waiting for the doctor’s diagnosis? Where is the “peace of Christ” when you are sitting at the side of a dying friend? Where is the peace of Christ in Bosnia, in Africa, in the Middle East, in the heartland of the United States? It would seem that the peace of Christ is not found in the world’s peace, with all of its warfare and lack of tranquility, with all of it’s shrill cries. But rather, we need to seek the “peace of Christ” in the injunction: “fear not” and in the hope: “be not afraid.”
This quest to “be not afraid” is keenly expressed in a small, best-selling book written by pope John Paul II. The central theme of his book, entitled, “Crossing the Threshold of Hope,” is that of – “be not afraid”. He used this theme in his first homily delivered in 1978. What does it really mean: “be not afraid?”
For an answer, perhaps we need to begin with our own childhood. A major fear for every child is the fear of abandonment, of being deserted, of being left alone: unloved, unwanted. It is a fear that follows each of us throughout our lives. This fear of being left alone: motherless, fatherless, without a friend or companion was also felt two-thousand years ago by the disciples as they ate with Jesus during his final meal on earth. Jesus also recognized this fear among his friends, among those he loved, and so in today’s gospel reading we hear him give a gift to them, a gift we call “the peace of Christ.”
He said to them: “‘Peace’ is my farewell to you, my peace is my gift to you; I do not give it you as the world gives peace. Do not be distressed or fearful.” He then goes on to tell them that when he goes to the Father, he will send the Paraclete, the Holy Spirit, not to teach them anything new but rather, to remind them of all that he has already told them. Jesus, their friend, their Lord and master, would not abandon his friends. He will not, he has not, abandoned us. He has sent to us a counselor, a friend, an advocate: one who will guide us and instruct us and remind us. One who will walk with us, one who will help us to be not afraid.
On the night he was betrayed, he gave us the gift of his peace. This peace of Christ is not images of warm fuzzies. This peace of Christ is not even the absence of conflict. Rather the peace of Christ gives us the hope: be not afraid. Be not afraid when a job is lost; when trouble comes to a loved one. Fear not, when we are ill or when a loved one dies.
The peace of Christ accompanies us when we are true to the words of Christ and put into action his instructions to heal, to reconcile, to love. For in today’s reading we were also reminded: “Those who love me will keep my word … and my Father will love them …, and we will come to them … and make our home with them.” This, then, is the peace of Christ we wish to each person around us during our Eucharistic celebration: be not afraid, the Lord is with you.
At the beginning of the Easter season, we heard certain words that are still valid as we complete this season of Easter and continue our journey beyond his resurrection, our journey towards the New Jerusalem. When we entered this darkened church at Easter Vigil, we sang the words: “The light of Christ surrounds us; the love of Christ enfolds us; the power of Christ protects us; the presence of Christ watches over us.” Taken together this is, indeed, the peace of Christ, which says: be not afraid, I give you my peace: shalom.
Sixth Sunday of Easter; May 21, 1995
Acts 15:1-2, 22-29; Rev 21: 10-14, 22-23; Jn 14:23-29