A post from the Jesus Collective Partner

Contribution by Malcolm Nichols (Yeovil, UK)

Peace has a name

The answer to every question, as any child who has been through Sunday-school will readily tell you, is always Jesus. (Well, nearly always.)

And as people who are committed to exploring what it means to live as Jesus-centred people, we surely applaud this truth; ​‘out of the mouths of babes…’ 

In this season of Advent many hopeful and inspiring words will be spoken about Jesus, the long-promised Prince of Peace. Yet wherever we turn today it can feel as though we are crying out into the darkness: ​“Peace, peace, when there is no peace.” Sometimes crying with real tears. 

For in this still-broken world another power, fatally wounded but still flailing, orchestrates confusion, hatred, and violence on all sides, and until the true Advent arrives, the promise of peace can only be partial. King Jesus rightfully reigns, but we know that ​“he must reign until he has put all his enemies under his feet.” (1 Cor 15:25) We seek to live faithfully within in the tension of this ​‘until’.

So we often do well to turn our gaze from the wider, heartbreaking chaos in the world around us and focus on what is closer at hand, even at our feet. For he tells us: 

“Whatever house you enter, first say ​‘Peace be to this house’. If a person of peace is there, your peace will rest on them; but if not, it will return to you.” (Lk 10:5,6) 

‘Peace [shalom] be to this house’ was a typical Jewish-style ​‘blessing’, well-meaning but perhaps rather too easily uttered, in the same way that we might say ​‘God bless’. 

But for us as ambassadors of this world’s true King, he intends that there be substance behind our words, as there always are with his own words; a tangible experience conferred through what we pronounce. The blessing that we speak over people is meant to convey the reality that it expresses. When we speak peace to those around us, in our workplaces and schools, our leisure venues and our homes, we can anticipate that peace will begin to fill the space. When we step into troubled settings we can expect our presence to change the atmosphere, at least to the degree that there is some level of openness among those present. 

In truth, we seldom realise the awesome privilege of what we carry; what we ourselves have received and been entrusted with. What we embody by our very presence, and what we have authority to impart to others. 

Not long ago there was serious tension threatening to erupt among the guests at ​‘The Roost’, our hub for the homeless. Anxious that violence might break out imminently, the leader calmly put the word out for some support. In response, a friend simply walked into the room, saying nothing but quietly praying under their breath, and the change in the atmosphere was quickly apparent. Without drama, some peace was imparted. 

But notice that it is our peace that we transmit, and it is our peace that – if it finds no resonance – returns to us. Sometimes I worry that what I impart to those around, especially during this hectic season, is not so much peace, but merely additional stress; my stress. I can only share what I have. So I need to drink deeply, and repeatedly, from the source of peace for myself. Then, and only then, can I speak with the quiet authority of my Master, calming the storms, literal, relational or emotional, that surround me. 

I have to confess that much of the time I would prefer to simply avoid the contested places, where tension and conflict often reside. Yet it precisely to these places that Jesus, the Prince of Peace, will often choose to send us. Not (for most of us) the regions of major conflict around the world, but to the spaces and the people near to us, where we can speak peace, carry peace, embody peace and impart peace. 

Peace has a name, and – as so often – the children are right. In its truest and fullest sense, that name is Jesus. He is the source. But as a simple servant of the King, and in my small corner, perhaps peace has another name: mine.