Longing for Peace, with a Sword in Hand

It’s the first day of the first week after the first Sunday of the Advent season.  I fully understand that this should be about hope, and here I am thinking about peace.  Stay with me…

In the book, Illuminate, An Advent Experience, this is what I read, this morning: “Hope is an odd thing to understand.  We typically think of hope as a good thing.  Yet hope is rarely found in places where good things happen regularly.  Rather, hope is found in places where bad things happen, such as when we experience hurt and loss.  So if you meet people who are hopeful, they can usually tell you stories of pain or suffering” (Sheneman, 16).

The Psalmist implores:

“How long, Lord… may your mercy come quickly to meet us, for we are in desperate need.  Help us, God our Savior, for the glory of your name; deliver us and forgive our sins for your name’s sake” (Psalm 79:5, 8-9, NIV).

We’ve been watching and waiting for 24 hours, and we’re already desperate.  It’s interesting that the next words we read in this text include an inquiry about how God might destroy our enemies in order to bring peace to us in the way we expect and desire peace to come.  Does this even make sense?  The prophet Micah says no:

“Nation will not take up sword against nation, nor will they train for war anymore. Everyone will sit under their own vine and under their own fig tree, and no one will make them afraid, for the Lord Almighty has spoken. All the nations may walk in the name of their gods, but we will walk in the name of the Lord our God for ever and ever” (Micah 4:3-5, NIV).

We don’t have to fight.  No one has to be destroyed.  It seems that there might be enough space for all of humanity, if we would just go out and find our own tree…  Hope and peace, intricately tied together, are not about conquering our enemies but rather about making room for them. 

In all of this, I have been thinking about what it is to actually suffer, as well.  I have been thinking about what it is to be in a place where hope is found precisely because the suffering is so great.  And I’m not sure we (you… I… whoever) grasp what this really means.  If we’re coming at it from any kind of privilege; I’m not sure we can.  That is not to dismiss any real suffering and tragedy that happens in our lives, but we have to make a distinction between pain and offense.  If, at any point, our response is, “I’m offended, so I am suffering;” we’ve got it wrong.  And there is no time during the church year that I see offense more prominently than during Advent.

I recently ran across a quote that went something like this: “Rather than putting Christ back in Christmas, I would settle for putting Christ back in Christian.”

Oh… 

And so I’m pondering what that means, today, as I think about ways in which I might usher in hope and peace to people who are hurting in tangible ways that extend far beyond sterilized offenses that only affect values that should be changed, anyway.

L.

It’s Better to Know

Sometimes I think we’re all just a little bit too unaware. 

In reading about the Israelites, today, these words speak directly into some of the social and political contexts that are most prevalent in our current culture:

Ezekiel 39:26-29, “They will forget their shame and all the unfaithfulness they showed toward me when they lived in safety in their land with no one to make them afraid. When I have brought them back from the nations and have gathered them from the countries of their enemies, I will be proved holy through them in the sight of many nations. Then they will know that I am the Lord their God, for though I sent them into exile among the nations, I will gather them to their own land, not leaving any behind. I will no longer hide my face from them, for I will pour out my Spirit on the people of Israel, declares the Sovereign Lord” (NIV).

This passage comes at the end of the Lord’s words regarding exile, and it’s worthwhile to read more for additional context, but these verses are sufficient for the purposes of this post. 

I was struck by the irony that the Israelites were most unfaithful in the midst of ‘safety.’   Interestingly, I think we are much the same.  It’s easy to give lip service to our desire to be the hands and feet of God in the world, but it is much more difficult to actually be them.  As an example, in recent days I have heard several people speak about how, as the white, American Church, we have prayed for years (even decades, maybe longer) for open doors to reach out to others from diverse cultural and religious backgrounds.  However, we had a very specific plan in mind that would allow us to enter into their world, blowing in and out with our truth in such a way that they would convert and begin to look just like us.  It’s appalling if you think about it long enough (or at all).  Interestingly, we seem averse to those same people groups setting foot on our turf.  We insist that God must answer our prayers in our way, in our time, or we will not be faithful to love the people we thought we wanted to.  We are unfaithful when we are ‘safe.’

I’m not a huge fan of fear, but maybe we need to be afraid—not of others but of ourselves.  I should be clear: I don’t think our well-being is actually threatened by ‘the other.’  I think our fear is misplaced.  Maybe we need to recognize that we are not the gold standard of truth or culture or religion or anything.  We are the problem.  No one wants to hear that, even if it’s true.  But sometimes it doesn’t matter whether or not we want something.

So here are a few more words we might pray:   

Psalm 139:23-24, “Search me, God, and know my heart; test me and know my anxious thoughts. See if there is any offensive way in me, and lead me in the way everlasting” (NIV).

It’s better to know where our own culpability lies.  It’s better to be real, even if it hurts.  This is how we let go for the sake of others. Let me be the first to confess my offensive ways.  Change begins here.

L.