“A
Separate, All-Encompassing, Peace”
John 14:23-29
First Presbyterian
There is a story told among
Hasidic Jews about a wise old rabbi whose insights were so clear, whose
teachings so profound, whose wisdom so immense, that not only his own
congregation but the rabbis in congregations in villages far beyond his own
looked to him for leadership and counsel. But,
one day the wise old rabbi died. The
young rabbis prayed that they might receive an infusion of his spirit and, sure
enough, one night the old master appeared to one of them during sleep.
The young rabbi said, “Master, it is good that you have returned.
Our people look to us for answers to the great questions of life and we
do not know all the answers. Tell
us, Master: on the other side, of what account are the sins of youth?”
The old man replied, “The sins of youth?
Why, on the other side the sins of youth are of no account whatsoever.”
And the young rabbi said, “The sins of youth are of no account
whatsoever? Then what is life all
about? What is punishable on
the other side?” And the old man
answered, “The sin that is punishable on the other side with continual and
unending severity is the sin of false piety.”(1)
False piety is religion for
religion’s sake. It is ritual
devoid of heart or soul. It is moral
judgment without the acknowledgement of ambiguity or nuance.
It is self-righteousness disguised as humility.
It is inauthenticity. One of
the best examples in scripture of false piety is this exchange portrayed in the
58th chapter of Isaiah between God and some of God’s people who are
wondering why God is not honoring their religiosity.
The people make their query of
God: “Why do we fast, but you
do not see and applaud? Why do you
not notice how we humble ourselves?”
To which God responds:
“You only serve your own interests by your fasting, and even as you
fast you continue to oppress your workers. Even
as you bow down your head like a bulrush, and lie in sackcloth and ashes, still
you quarrel and fight and raise your fists in threats against others.
Do you really call that a fast? Is
that the piety you think I desire?”
“This is the piety that
pleases me: to loose the bonds of injustice, to undo the thongs of the yoke, to
let the oppressed go free. It is to
share your bread with the hungry and to bring the homeless poor into your house,
and when you see the naked, to cover them.”
“Then your light shall
break forth like the dawn, and your healing shall spring up quickly…Then you
will call, and the Lord will answer; you will cry for help, and the Spirit will
say, ‘Here I am.’”
I offer all of that as a kind of
midrash on what is to me the most breathtaking sentence in scripture, the
promise above all promises, the sine qua non of the gospel life.
Jesus was in the hours before his death consoling his anxious disciples
and wanting to give them a parting gift that would bear them along in the weeks
and years to come. Listen to the
loveliness of his gifting:
Peace I leave with you; my 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.
The peace that Christ gives is
not the peace the world gives. The
peace that Christ gives is a separate, all-encompassing, peace.
The peace the world gives is the peace of escape.
Escape from conflict, escape from danger, escape from responsibility.
The problem with the peace the world gives is that it is fleeting.
There always is more conflict to come, more danger to encounter, more
responsibilities to weigh us down, more troubling situations to endure.
The kind of peace the world gives is the faux peace of avoidance that
comes from the refusal to face the things that need to be faced.
Peace as the world gives it is a coward’s peace, really.
Mother’s Day is a good way to
remember and to honor our mothers, especially if their mothering has been the
best they could offer us. But it is
a hard day for mothers for whom a child has died.
How does one ever make peace with that?
How can the world give peace to a parent’s hurting heart?
How can even the peace of Christ provide any solace?
Folk singer Christopher Grundy has written a song about his daughter who
had drowned seven years earlier and one day, in one of those inexplicable
mystical experiences, she returned for a few moments to speak to her father.
And so he sings of this experience and of what she told him:
Stars growing dim by the lakeside
huddled up close to the fire
the fish were not biting as much as the cold was
and all of us bitter and tired,
then out from the mist and the shadows
so pale with the moon on her skin
up from the water, my own lovely daughter
she looked us all over and grinned
she said, “You’re scaring the fish
with those long sullen faces
lighten up or you won’t stand a chance
I’ve been to the ball and I’ve seen my sweet Jesus
and all that he wants you to do, is dance.”
She said, “Dance with the lonely, dance with the lost,
dance with the ones whom to dance with will cost you
and when you’re worn out
from the weight of that cross, just dance,
gently and slowly, dance.”
The boys they were reaching for whiskey
The tears they were burning my eyes
seven hard years since we’d stood on that shoreline
cursing the waves and the skies
She said, “Dad, are you sure you still love me?”
I said, “Darling, you know that I do.
Not a day ever goes by that I don’t see your eyes
there in that water’s deep blue.”
She said, “Then dance with the hungry,
the naked and blind
with the ones who are chained in their body or mind
go and dance even when you know they are bound to fall
and when you know they have no legs at all.”
Then she picked up my sandwich and tore it in half
started passing it ‘round and I laughed and laughed
‘cause my eyes they were opened
and my feet they were light
and I could have danced all night
She said, “Dance with the lonely, dance with the lost
dance with the ones whom do dance with will cost you
and when you are worn out
from the weight of that cross, just dance
gently and slowly, dance,
in someone’s arms, maybe, dance,
dance if you love me, dance.” (2)
Do you see?
Do you see what Christopher Grundy’s daughter was teaching us?
The peace that Christ gives is not a feeling.
It is a conscious participation in the larger sweep of life that we call
alternately the
Therefore, we are free to engage
the world in the hard places; we are free to swim against the social, political,
and economic tides that tear at the fabric of community; we are free to live
into the truth of our lives even when others do not understand us.
“Do not fear; be not afraid, let not your hearts be troubled,” Jesus
said.
There are only two things in
life: love and fear, fear and love. The
most important work of our lives finally is this, is it not?
To let loose of fear, to let it drop away, and to fall ever more fully
into love because it is in the practice and embrace of love that our true and
full humanity is formed.
Peace as the world gives it
pulls us away from the world. Peace
as the world gives it encourages us to escape the turmoil, to find idyllic
places in which to get away from it all, to seek refuge from the conflicts and
stresses of life, to beat a retreat from those who cause us discomfort or of
whom we are afraid. But the peace
that Christ gives sends us into the world for the sake of the world, into the
teeth of tumult, into the dis-ease and disorder of life, there to live
confidently as heralds and harbingers of hope and love, knowing that our lives
do not hang in the balance but already are accounted for by God.
In the sixteenth century, that
delightful spiritual mystic, St. Teresa of
Let nothing disturb you,
nothing finally frighten you,
all things are temporary,
except God who remains.
The peace of Christ be with us
all.
Amen.
(1)
Ronald Sider and Darrell Brubaker, editors, Preaching on Peace.
(2) Christopher Grundy from his album Here in Providence.
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