Let There Be Peace

2 Corinthians 5:16-19; Galatians 1:3-5; Luke 2:14

One song that sticks with me at Christmas time is a gospel hymn written in 1955, but immortalized by the country singer, Vince Gill—“Let There Be Peace on Earth.” Why it sticks with me is because of the line, “…let it begin with me.” I get overwhelmed by the sheer lack of peace nearly everywhere—chaos in holiday shopping, chaos in the daily commute, the wars and rumors of wars all over the world, the persistent tendency to violence that infects nearly every human endeavor (violence at sports games, violence in politics, violence in religion, violence in the home, etc., etc., etc.). Yet, this song affirms there can be something different, and it might well start with me.

How can peace happen?

PEACE AS RECONCILIATION

The Apostle seems to invite cynicism in his certainty of our actually embodying the reconciling grace revealed in Jesus Christ. When was the last time anyone regarded anyone else as a “new creation?” Nope, we continually continue to see one another as we assume we are and always will be. Less chance of having our expectations devastated that way. We tend to greet any promise of “I can change” with a sigh and resignation to coming disappointment. Nearly every young person has a moment of awakening, fiery idealism, usually while away at school, where images of righting the wrongs, establishing justice, and changing the world blaze gloriously in their imaginations, then at the Tenth Reunion of the Class of Such-and-such, they find they have marched right into the routines of the world—no wonder so many people find alumni magazines utterly depressing—if not completely laughable—no one ever writes in, “I am really  treasuring my cubicle life as a working drone!” Instead, there are the classmates—many of whom could well be made up (ever notice how many of these names no one remembers?)—with the twelve yachts, mansions in Costa Rica, working on the next great American novel. Yeah, right, we dismiss them. The new creation? Nope, we are pretty much stuck in the old one.

Yet, Paul refuses to let go of his good news.

In Christ, he sees the complete, radical transcendence and transformation of the world and us within it. God reclaimed all that is in Christ, refashioning it to be what God intended in the first place before we made a mess of things. In Christ, he sees that, far from rejecting all of us, God graciously accepts us all. God does not see us as we are, but as we are meant to be—the beloved children of God the Father who made heaven and earth. God refuses to take the state of things as absolute, instead, the only absolute is God’s original will for creation when all things first came to be. 

What an astounding promise.

Karl Barth, in a wonderful little book, “Christ and Adam,” defines the coming of Christ thusly—in Christ, we finally understand how our fallen state fits into the grace that so defines God—God knew what we would be and what we would do, having left us with free wills to make real and actual choices, some good, some bad, so our mistakes simply serve to reveal the full nature of God as Redeemer—God stands with us in our fall, ensuring we cannot fall so far as to fall from God’s presence.

Or, see it this way—we have to grow up into our created nature as children of God.

Growing up is not easy. It is the hardest work any human being can do, and, if done well, will take a lifetime. Along the way, we fall down a lot—watch toddlers, then realize that the falls become more and more existential as we get older. We break relationships and we break promises. We wander around lost in the far country. 

In Christ, God finds us. 

God sets the stage for reclamation through reconciliation. God rebuilds all the bridges burned by our stupidity, cupidity, and temerity. All of them.

PEACE AS LIBERATION

Which leads into the Apostle’s next major claim that in Christ we find our freedom from all that would break us. 

Notice, though, how this happens—Christ empties himself in the effort to free us, saving nothing, sparing nothing in the work to free us from sin in all of its forms, recalling that sin is ANYTHING that separates us from God and one another. The work of new creation is all-consuming—there is nothing left as Christ works the miracle of grace. 

Yet, there is.

God raises Christ into new being—infinite, eternal being that nothing will ever alter, end, or thwart. In him, we see what awaits us. We, too, will enter such existence, no matter what the here and now tell us of ourselves or shape us into being at present. 

What this does for us is leave us in a strange and, yes, awkward place.

We are in the world, but not of the world.

What that means is that we are who we are—we are fallible, frail, and feeble, but simultaneously able to transcend and transform who and what we are through the astounding ability to engage in real and actual love—love defined by God himself as self-emptying, other-centered presence that creates order in chaos. We can make a difference in one another’s lives through love, leading others and ourselves into true and actual experiences of redemption. 

For example, here in our community, we have GAP Ministries, a cooperative effort to meet the crushing need of the neediest of all. Through the presence and promise of Christ, we can engage in work with the suffering, not as a feeble firing of a candle in the noonday sun, but with real certainty that we can make a difference in the lives of the people who pass through the front door of Greene Street Presbyterian Church. We can help them begin the process of transcendence and transformation from abject poverty into a more full experience of life as God intends it to be. It happens through the ordinary and simple work of obtaining a birth certificate  that leads to a driver’s license that leads to being employable. 

That is liberation from “this present evil age” (Gal. 1:4).

PEACE AS A NEWBORN CHILD

But, admittedly, there is a now-but-not-yet quality to all of this. 

Redemption still remains a promise to be kept, not fully realized or actualized, but becoming.

Which drops us into the heart of this season of Advent. 

This season is one of expectancy—watching and waiting—of seeking for the signs of the promises of God. We hear the choirs of angels, and we scan the horizon for the first rays of the new rising sun. We hear the promises of a Savior born for us—for all the earth—but it is a birth announcement.

There is growing still to be done; there is work to do; and there is a long way to go. It takes decades for a child to grow up. It takes a lot of work from a lot of different people to get it done, too. It takes the continual, eternal presence of God to ensure it. 

The path continues to unfold before us.

Continue.

Keep walking.

Keep working.

We will get there.

There can be peace on earth, and it can be done through you and me, so long as we continue to keep seeking the presence and power of God.