Sixth Sunday of Easter

Jesus says to his disciples: “Peace I leave with you; my peace I give to you.”  For all the talk of peace in our lives, in our church, in our world, I wonder if we really know what peace means in the promise of Jesus.  You may remember the Christmas sermon shaped for Thomas Becket by T.S. Eliot in Murder in the Cathedral: “Does it seem strange to you that the angels should have announced peace, when ceaselessly the world has been stricken with war and the fear of war?  Does it seem to you that the angelic voices were mistaken, and that the promise was a disappointment and a cheat?”

The point is, the promise clashes with the reality.  Not only for Becket, but for us too.  We hear about peace, it seems, almost every day in the news.  There is no peace.  We don’t need to look so far afield to see how our society craves peace.  Banks and investment firms offer any number of services to manage our money, so that we can have “peace of mind.” With hectic schedules, where time for family, friends, work, study, errands – and relaxation – must be planned for each day, we look for ways to simplify our lifestyles to find some peace.

Is our liturgy, then, a make-believe?  We run around hugging one another.  “Peace!” we cry.  “Shalom!”  And there is no peace.  Is peace really possible?  Or is “peace” another of those weasel words that allow Christians to live at ease in a world at war, to forget that the real world is out there, and that world is fashioned of blood and tears?  To forget that there is a real world inside ourselves, and that world too is at war, seethes with passions and fears, at times with anger and hate?

What does peace mean in the promise of Jesus?  The peace Jesus announces is a saving peace.  “My peace I give to you; not as the world gives do I give to you.”  For all the real need each one of us has to take a break from our daily worries and get away for a while – that moment’s respite that always seems too short is not the lasting, centering peace that Jesus gives, when he encourages his disciples: “do not let your hearts be troubled.”

The readings today provide some images of the peace that Jesus gives to us his followers.  It is like the holy city of Jerusalem (which means “city of peace” after all) coming down from heaven, gleaming with the splendor of God.  It is a harmony that we, even with the best of intentions and resources to match, cannot bring about on our own.  It can only come as a gift from God.  There is a peace that God desires for this world, that we can help bring to birth by living the gospel, even though we will never see it full-grown.  That is the Christian dream of peace.

The other image of peace we are given is that of the church in its earliest days, when the Christians who came from a Jewish background argued with those who came from a Gentile background about what constitutes Christian identity.  The point I wish to draw out is not so much what was decided but how.  It is important – now as then – that we as Christians have signs that mark us for who we are and common customs that unite us as a community, but the lesson to be drawn from the first reading lies more in how the church worked out a new peace.

Each side was given space to represent its position, and each side was listened to.  In the end, each side also gave up some of its demands, so that a new consensus emerged.  That was the genius of the two synods on the family and the apostolic exhortation by Pope Francis.  Disagreement was not crushed or avoided but acknowledged, and people of good will were led to compromise.  But coexistence is not enough.  It will not do to clutch the peace of Christ like Linus’ blanket and endure the world’s distress with a stiff upper lip.

I am not asking you to drive war from the face of the earth; that is unreal.  I am asking: What wars have you ended in your own back yard?  Who hurts less because you love more? Who was depressed but has come alive at your touch?  Who is hungry, for food or affection, and is fed by your faith?  Who thirsts for justice and feels more human because you are there?  This “world” of which John speaks is ultimately sin – so, we are part of the world that has to be overcome.  We overcome it only as Jesus did: by touching to it the peace of Christ.

Paul A. Magnano