Seeking Peace — the second in our Advent series

The second Sunday in Advent blows in cold and rainy here in the South. And it seems that the sun never quite wakes up as we gather in the sanctuary; cold rain beating hard on the roof and near darkness covering the room.

My little one squirms next to me asking for gum and a pen and brothers won’t stop touching. I whisper harsh instructions and shush whiny responses about why we have to stand and sing. The list of all that the day holds runs fast and hard inside my head, and like my wriggling boys, I just can’t seem to settle.

But. Peace. We light the candle of peace despite the wind and the rain and push of all that needs to be done. 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 and how to go on and where is Jesus in all that life has thrown their way. Yet, still we light this peace candle and its flame fills the darkness, burning brightly right there next to that hope candle.

“Why mom? Why do we light those candles? What if the whole thing just tipped over and caught on fire? You know, Harry Potter could use his wand and just light those candles from here.” My little one looks up from his coloring sheet, loudly blurting out his Advent thoughts during the prayer.

And though I shush him and suggest that he not continue to practice his Harry Potter wand moves during the service, I hear his question settle in my heart.

Why do we do this? Why these candles in the darkness? What are we hoping to accomplish here?

“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).

These words from the prophet Hosea help me see it more clearly. 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 these candles remind us of that. 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 boys to be still 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.

Hosea, the prophet, spoke of the Lord coming to us in ways we don’t always expect;  cold rain pouring down on the parched ground. The Lord coming into the darkness of our unsettled world.

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.

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

The children are given these glow sticks during the children’s sermon; the green and yellow kind that bend and crack and fill with light. The kids break and wave them excitedly around as their leader speaks of being God’s light to the world.

Green and yellow lights flash right by the front of the altar, bread and juice laid out there for our taking later in the service. And slowly, I start to get it.

It is the bending and the breaking that bring the light. There is no light in those glow sticks until they are broken.

“Take, eat. This is my body which is broken for you” (1 Cor. 11:24). The bread broken and the wine poured out for us. Jesus, here on earth breaking himself to be our hope and our peace. Will we take it? It means a breaking of our old self-sufficient ways and a shattering of our belief that we can make the peace we need. But that’s what makes the light work. The breaking.

“Come, let us return to the Lord.”

Let us light the candles as the rain pours down and the darkness seeps in. For in Jesus we find a peace that brings light into even the blackest of nights. 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).