A Word of Peace

We lit the second candle on the Advent wreath, the one that stands for peace, this past Sunday. And my little guy leaned over and whispered the same question he asks every year during Advent. “Hey, Mom?” he asks in that voice that boys use when they are trying to whisper, “Why do we light these same candles every year? What if the whole wreath just fell over and caught on fire? Isn’t it dangerous?” These are the thoughts of a ten-year-old boy. I am not even going to try and explain them.

And if I am being honest. I wonder the same thing. Why do we light these candles every year? Words of peace are declared over the congregation, but like the squirming boys in my row, I just can’t seem to settle.

Peace. We light the candle of peace anyway. It seems odd, really. The world is not at peace. Chaos spins on in our own country and across the globe millions suffer in wars without food or water and in poverty that we cannot even imagine. Yet, still we gather and watch as a flame dances atop that peace candle.

And even in our quiet suburban sanctuary many struggle with what’s next, feel uncertain of how to go on and long to see where Jesus is in the middle of all that life has thrown their way. Nonetheless, we light this peace candle; its flame fills the darkness, burning brightly right up there on the altar next to that hope candle. What good are they doing?

Maybe I should get to work to create the peace; to force the stillness and wrestle all that’s not right with the world back into its place. Perhaps a manufactured peace would help me sit still on the inside.

“Come let us return to the Lord…he will restore us that we may live in his presence. Let us acknowledge the Lord… as surely as the sun rises, he will appear. He will come to us like the winter rains…” (Hosea 6:2-3).

But these ancient words from the prophet Hosea slow me down a bit. The Lord gave Hosea these words to speak over wayward Israelites when they had forgotten their need for God. They had begun to believe that hope and peace were theirs for the taking. God knew that would never work. Peace and hope aren’t ours to generate. They are possible only in the presence of the Lord.

And maybe that’s what these candles are meant to remind us. They burn with a light that fills the darkness in a way that we can’t. You see, I can’t make peace, not even in my own house. I can force stillness and end silly arguments. I can insist on quiet, but peace that stills hearts and restores souls is beyond this mama’s scope of influence.  Real peace comes only when we seek the Lord,  only when we acknowledge his presence, his sovereignty.

The prophet Hosea spoke of the Lord coming to us in ways we don’t always expect; cold rain pouring down on the parched ground seems an unlikely way to heal what’s broken. The Lord coming into the darkness of our unsettled world without us having to fix it first.

And generations later, Jesus would say it like this, “My peace I give to you. I do not give as the world gives. Do not let your hearts be troubled nor let them be afraid” (John 14:27). I hear it play out this way:

The peace you are seeking? The way that you want it to work out all nice and neat and secure. It isn’t going to look like that. You are going to have to hold onto me and realize that I AM the peace. You are going to have to hand it all over and let me be the Lord of your life. That’s where the real peace is found.

“Come, let us return to the Lord” (Hosea 6:2).

Come, let us light the candles even as the darkness seeps in. For in Jesus we find a peace that settles even the most unruly chaos. We bend, and we bow at the feet of our Savior there in the manger … and we simply trust. We take him at his word. “Light shines in the darkness and the darkness has not overcome it.”

The service draws to a close and much to my squirmy little one’s dismay, the wreath of fiery candles does not tip over and catch on fire. But as the pastor raises his hands and gives the benediction, I wonder if  that might be what God intends to a happen (not an actual fire, don’t even tell my little one I said anything about this) … but a tipping over of that Advent light that engulfs us all and spreads out beyond our walls. A breaking through that allows God’s peace and  hope to take up residence in us. 

Because only then can we go out into our places and light up all the darkness.

“May the God of hope fill you with all joy and peace as you trust in him, so that you may overflow with hope by the power of the Holy Spirit” (Romans 5:13).