Seeking Peace

March 2011

Recent events in the Middle East, especially in Egypt and elsewhere, have inspired and exhilarated the entire world. What an amazing and transformative outpouring of courage, tenacity and hope we have all witnessed on our TV, computer and cell phone screens! What an example of heroism, persistence, and patience. What a remarkable and incredibly peaceful revolution we’ve seen.

It reminded me a bit of the movements of peaceful resistance embraced and led by Mahatma Gandhi and later by Martin Luther King, Jr. In many ways of course it was not at all like Gandhi’s blueprint for peaceful resistance and revolution. The uprisings in the Middle East do not seem to be building on his understanding of non-violent resistance. Gandhi spoke of satyagraha, which involves much more than passive protest, and is based on a positive training in all forms of non-violence. Its underlying discipline in ahimsa “precludes not only the act of inflicting a physical injury, but also mental states like evil thoughts and hatred, unkind behavior such as harsh words, dishonesty and lying, all of which he (Gandhi) saw as manifestations of violence.”

To live in such a way is a tall order. To engage in civil resistance that conforms only to these principles is an even higher standard. Rare indeed are the souls who meet this measure!

And yet are not we as Christians called to live out of these principles of peace? Many would perhaps disagree, and yet Jesus himself went to his death peacefully, without any form of violent resistance. Among his last words were “Father, forgive them, for they do not know what they do.” And among his first words are the beatitudes, the series of sayings in which he declares blessed those who the world normally scorns and derides: the meek, the powerless, the poor, the persecuted, the sorrowing, and very definitely, the peacemakers. “Blessed are the peacemakers for they will be called children of God.”
Children of God! Children usually inherit some of their parents’ characteristics, and here Jesus is letting us know that God is a peacemaker. In the long history of Christianity, and the even longer history of God, war after war after war has been fought in God’s name. Violence upon violence, atrocity upon atrocity has been perpetrated, and so often in God’s name. Yet Jesus tells us that God is a peacemaker, and we are called to be the same.

As Gandhi and King knew well, to be a peacemaker is a very hard thing. We know it too, when we try to make peace.

How hard it is, even to make peace within ourselves! As I write, I think of all the warring elements within my own life, and how hard it is to reconcile them. Then I think of my community, my family, my friends, my church, my country...the list goes on, in ever widening circles. All of us, in one way or another, are at war. All of us have tendencies to react violently when we are frustrated by others, crossed by others, antagonized by others, hurt by others. We may know better than to attempt the violence of actions, but we surely all know the violence of words. We lash out at hard words, and return them with interest. Or we sit in sullen silence. Columba Stewart, writing on the Benedictine virtue of restraint of speech notes, “Language is a gift that can be used thoughtfully or thoughtlessly, humbly or proudly. How very, very hard it is to speak with restraint, with love and compassion, with sensitivity and respect. Yet all of these are elements of peacemaking.

To be a peacemaker, I must first be at peace. How to undertake this challenging, lifelong task? Some partial, provisional answers come to mind.

To be a peacemaker, I must be able to let go, I must be willing to be detached from all my wants and wishes, large and small. Sooner or later, someone will want the opposite, or someone will thwart what I want. To respond with peace, I need to hold all things and all desires very, very lightly.

To be a peacemaker, I must work at trusting God in all things. Without an active, living trust in God, my horizon is too small, my life centered only in myself, and I focus only on my own needs and wants, not those of others, or of the greater good.

To be a peacemaker, I must try to be fair. Remember that famous slogan, “if you want peace, work for justice.” Peace arises naturally out of well ordered living, and well ordered living can only come into being if there is basic justice and fairness for all.

To be a peacemaker, I must strive to live with attentive awareness of God’s living presence in my life. Only this continual contact with the Spirit within can so guide my life that I am moved to act out of peacefulness of heart, and to discern what is right in each situation.

Finally, to be a peacemaker, I must try to live like Jesus, who himself lived and died true to his beliefs and true to his call from God. In this time of Lent, perhaps we are called not only to fast from sweets or chips or alcohol. Perhaps we are called to fast from violence, and to practice the loving attitudes of peacemaking.

Letting Go

December 2010

As winter approaches, nights are longer and days are shorter, colder, and darker. In late October the leaves begin to fall. In the perennial border, leaves and stems begin to die back. The grass turns yellowish green before going brown and dead. Annual plants die completely. Winter is a stripped down time for trees and plants; a time of bareness, a lean time.

It is a lean time in our country and our world right now, and in our lives as well. Times are hard everywhere. Our lives and our world seem to be headed toward winter.

In the church it is a wintry season too. The abuse scandals that have rocked the church in America are now shaking Europe. Here in Maine, as elsewhere, dwindling numbers of priests mean fewer masses, churches merging, and even churches closing. Mass attendance is often down, people seem to drift away to other faiths, or to no faith at all. Even in the church, winter is approaching.

Yet winter in the natural world does not mean the end of life. While we need to be prepared for it, it is not in itself something to be feared and dreaded.

In the natural world of God's creation, plants and trees simply let go of all that is unnecessary. Even as vegetation adapts to the changing seasons, so we too need to learn to adapt.

Through photosynthesis, leaves and green growing things are the source of all life on this planet. Yet when winter approaches, they change color, let go and die. Trees let go of those same leaves that once provided them with life in order to survive through the cold months ahead. Flowers and grasses die off, right down to the ground. But the roots are digging deep, alive and well underground, waiting for springtime's sun and warmth to send up new growth.

Could there be a lesson for us here? Can we let go as the leaves do?

It is so hard for us to let go! It seems such a negative thing, such a hard thing. Yet if the trees didn't let go of their leaves, they wouldn't survive the winter. When we lived a bit farther north in Maine, we once had a few inches of snow early in October. Trees and branches, still in full leaf, came crashing down. They couldn't carry the burden of snow on their leaves. As with the trees, so with us: letting go can be a positive thing, an important and necessary thing.

Letting go is sometimes known as renunciation. It has two different aspects, one positive and energetic, and the other more receptive. In the active mode, we work at the discipline of letting go. This can include the traditional ascetic discipline of fasting, a way of letting go of either quality or quantity in food.
But there are other, more subtle forms of letting go as well. For example, we might ask ourselves these questions:

Can we let go of our need to always be right?

Can we let go of our need to look good?

Can we let go of the way things always were, or the way we wish things were, and accept that which actually is?

Can we let go of our anger and impatience? Or our need to criticize? Even our need to criticize ourselves!

From a more positive perspective, we might ask ourselves, 'Can we practice restraint?'
Can we restrain our anger, our criticism, our need to be right, or to look good, or to want things to be different? These are all vitally important but often overlooked practices of renunciation.

The other side of letting go is receptive rather than active. When things happen to us, especially change of any sort, are we able to roll with it? Can we allow changes to happen, especially changes over which we have no control. This is especially difficult when the changes happen to people or institutions that we love very much! Changes, for instance, in our schools or towns or churches. Here it is very important to differentiate between the superficial changes (such as the clustering of the churches) and the depths of our faith.

Sometimes there is not nearly as much change as we wish, and we need to let go of our need for greater, quicker, more profound change.

From either side of this issue, there is often a call to let go: of the old ways, or of our own personal vision of the future.

This leaves us with yet another very important question. We need to ask ourselves when it is right to let go, and when we should hold on. After all, the trees gracefully let go of their leaves in late autumn – but they hold on tight to trunks and branches and twigs! We need to let go when and as God wishes.

And here's a final important point. We let go only when it is time. This is what happens in nature: the days shorten and grow colder, the light fails. All of this signals the leaves that it is time to go. So also in our lives. Sometimes we can't let go until suddenly, finally, it is God's time and we are released from whatever we have been holding so tightly.

As winter approaches, let us ask God to help us let go of all that binds us and of all that keeps us from God and from each other. With liberated hearts we can then enter into Advent and Christmas to give praise to the Christ child for his great and loving mercy. In spaciousness and freedom we can then embrace ourselves, one another, and all of creation with the blessed warmth of God's own love.

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