My Own Peace I Give to You

Photo of The Rev. Canon Joe Behen by The Rev. Canon Joe Behen

“Peace I leave with you; my own peace I give to you.  I do not give as the world gives.  Do not let your hearts be troubled, and do not let them be afraid.”

Years ago, I knew a truck driver that everyone referred to as Montana.  When someone called him by that name, a gleam in his eye revealed a pride in it.  He identified with that name completely.  You see, it was not just his name, but it was also his greatest goal.  He planned, after acquiring enough money and getting his home paid off, to sell it all and move to a small cabin in the hills of Montana.  He loved to talk about it, and it was exciting to hear him talk about it.  It seemed to me, that here was someone who knew what he wanted, and knew how to make it happen.  And he was actually going to do it.

Not everyone thought it was a good idea, though.  Most people, he said, thought he was crazy – moving away from friends, from the life he’d spent the last 35 years living, even from civilization.  Ten years earlier, he had bought a plot of land that was thirty miles from the nearest small town.  He had taken his previous four years of vacation going there and constructing, a little at a time, a log cabin that would be his home upon his final retirement.  Most people,” he said, “just don’t get it.  They don’t know what’s out there, though,” he told me.   “But I’ll tell you exactly what’s there for me – peace.  When I’m there, I feel a kind of peace like no other time or place.  Everything is ok when I’m there.  It’s worth everything to me, so I going there to live that peace.”

Once Montana came by, hardly able to contain his excitement.  He had no delivery, and no pick up, but just wanted me to know that this was it.  Retirement was here.  He was going to get that peace that was waiting for him.  This was the culmination of all he had worked for all these years.  It was finally here.  And then he was gone.

I missed talking with Montana for the following months, and I asked about him often.  I wanted someone to tell me that he was indeed living in peace, but no one had heard anything.  A good sign, I supposed.  I thought about Montana often, mostly when things were most hectic for me, when relationships became difficult – when I myself was not at peace.  It was at those times that I tended to imagine Montana, fly fishing in the mountains, and walking through the woods in the evening, accompanied by nothing but the sound of breeze and birds and, maybe some distant wolves, beckoning the night back once again.  I guess it was my way of wishing for a peace that I didn’t now seem to have.

I suppose that we all have some image of what peace would look like for us.  Maybe not as concrete as old Montana, but still there.  All the ways in which we would change our life now are gathered together in this image of the perfect life.  Money is no longer an issue, and relationships are no longer difficult.  Work either ends or becomes infinitely more satisfying than it now seems, and good health can simply be assumed.  Sounds almost like an image of Lake Wobegon – “where all the women are strong, all the men are good looking, and all the children are above average.”

But it seems that the peace that Jesus gives is somewhat different than the tranquility we have given to our personal images of peace.  After Jesus offers his peace to his disciples, we see something that hints at what his peace does.  “Do not let your hearts be troubled, and do not let them be afraid.”  It is a peculiar peace that Jesus gives.  It seems to come in the midst of strife and suffering.  As we know, things do not become easy for the disciples.  If anything, following Jesus seems to make life more difficult.  But the fear that we would normally experience is gone, displaced by peace.

I did see my friend Montana one more time.  After about a year, I had been told that he sold his land in Montana and came back to town.  He had bought a small house, and had even taken a new route with his old truck line.  I asked a mutual friend what had happened, and he said simply, “I don’t know.  I guess Montana wasn’t all it was cracked up to be.”  A few months went by, and then Montana knocked on my office door.  He looked very different than I remembered.  He looked much older, and the gleam in his eye was gone.  “All the rich folks from California had the same thought I did,” he told me.  But their peace looked different than mine.  Big homes and manicured lawns started showing up more and more.  I guess it didn’t help either, that I just got lonely.”  I shared his disappointment.  Somehow, I had felt better thinking that he had found his peace.  I suppose that it had meant that it was still a possibility for me as well.  After Montana’s disappointment, I wondered if we ever really find peace, or is it just a kind of dream that never really happens.

Now, when I read John’s gospel and hear of this different image of peace that Jesus gives, I see something of my own misconceptions, and maybe of Montana’s as well.  I can see now that what we meant by finding peace, really meant finding perfect life.  And in that sense, it is no more than a perfect illusion.  When it does seem to have come about, it happens only for brief moments that surprise us, and then they’re gone.  They can’t be grasped and held on to.  This is quite a different thing from what Jesus is talking about, although they do share one characteristic.  Troubled hearts and fear seem to be eased by this peace.  But as the saying goes, context is everything.

First of all, Jesus’ peace is related to discipleship, to living actively, the faith that has grown in us.  “Those who love me,” he says, “will keep my words.”  Belief that produces action, and experience put in conversation with faith seem to be assumed for the receiving of Jesus’ peace.  Second of all, it is not something created or obtained by us at all, but is rather a gift of God.  Immediately preceding the sharing of peace we learn from Jesus that the Holy Spirit will be with us, filling us with God’s peace.  God’s continued presence with us, and our awareness of God in our lives seem to pave the way for this gift of peace.

What this means to me is that my excuses are gone.  My hesitating to live courageously what I believe most deeply needs to stop.  My caution in relationships, my silence in the presence of cruelty, neglect and injustice must end.  I will only find the peace that I so deeply desire when I gather courage and conviction to respond to this world in a way that I think Jesus would show pride in.  If my friend had only realized it, he was closer to being at peace before he left for Montana.  He had been dedicated to something that drove him to do what otherwise might have been merely strenuous and tiresome.  His goal made most hardship worth the price he paid, and he did so gladly.  What he found, though, was that his dream was a false one.

His dream of obtaining for himself his self defined peace failed him, because it was directed toward his own satisfaction.  In this, it is closely related to fear, which can only be directed to the self.  The peace that Jesus gives to us dispels fear because it removes from us our greatest obstacle to love – it allows us to get over ourselves.  Jesus’ gives us a peace that redirects us toward the true goal of discipleship – God and others.  How ironic is it, that only removing ourselves from this equation altogether that we receive this great gift. 

As a wise priest I once knew summed up a sermon about the difficulty of following Jesus, with this statement: “If you remember nothing else I’ve said today, remember this – It’s not about you.” 

May the peace of Christ be with you all this moment and forever.