peace like a brick wall

or like a kid who didn't just burn the church down

open flames and small children

This last Sunday, my family was asked to light the second Advent candle and lead our church in a short liturgy around what that candle symbolized—God’s peace. You have to know that I was nine shades of apprehensive about this. Not that I thought we had to look perfect or be perfect. I’m long past those worries. It was more of a worry of will Sam decide to run off down the aisle while I’m mid-sentence in the liturgy? or will someone in my family drop the altar candle and proceed to burn down the church?

These are likely fears of anyone who is parent to a high velocity four year old boy, but seeing that not even six months ago we had to leave church mid-service with a child who was turning blue from screaming, I wasn’t sure how this would go. But there we were—a little tussled and squirmy, but standing side by side and lighting the candle for (of all things) peace.

I have often thought of peace as the absence of conflict. There’s peace in countries where bombs aren’t being dropped or people aren’t being disappeared (so, maybe nowhere?). For us, peace looks like getting through a church service without a meltdown. We’re Anglican, it’s Advent, our services can be longer (God save us during Lent) and by the time the benediction rolls around there’s an audible roar from the children in the church whose parents are fighting for their lives. I haven’t really participated in an entire church service fully for the last four years and have started joking that we’re in a season of diet church. But diet church without one of us (or more than one—myself included) losing our ever loving sh*t? That feels like peace to me.

But of course, I’m not fully seeing the whole shebang if this is my definition of peace.

the whole shebang

Tim McKay of The Bible Project recently described peace as completeness or wholeness. He said that in the Bible the definition of peace (shalom in Hebrew or eirene in the Greek) conjured up images of a stone with no flaws or a wall where all the bricks were perfectly in joint with one another.

I love this image. If I am whole or complete (as God is) then that is where peace can happen, despite what may be happening around me. I suppose that is why it is the peace of God that passes all understanding. When we experience it in the midst of crisis, it seems supernatural. And it is.

my star and my boi and my star boi

star boi

But back to the chaos wagon that is my family.

On Friday, our church gathered at 6pm (basically midnight) to celebrate the feast of St. Lucia. A lovely twelve year old girl wearing a white dress and a red sash led a passel of children down the center aisle as they sang a song about Lucia and how she brought Christ’s light to those needing a miracle in the depths of wintery darkness. Our Lucia bride this year wore her seven candled crown beautifully and her attendants all carried tiny tapers, the boys also holding star wands. One such star boy was my four year old son.

I held my breathe as Sam walked the aisle with his wand (aka a SWORD!) and a candle (aka FIRE!) wearing a tall, felt hat. Two slightly older boys coaxed Sam into his spot and Sam stood quietly as the other kids around him and began singing Silent Night.

No tantrums were thrown. He wore his hat with pride and balanced the wand and candle with aplomb. He listened to his older compatriots and as he stood there, I realized he was the youngest boy taking part in the service.

Sam looked at us and after all of the children had extinguished their candles, he chewed his finger a bit and stared at his Dad and I, who smiled (phones in hand) and nodded fervently.

Tons of parents had their phones out, but this was a big moment for us. The moment wasn’t peaceful because it was completely without hiccups. It was peaceful because we saw our boy participate. We believed in him and he believed in himself and in this small, precious moment, we saw a picture of wholeness.

For me, parenting is not peaceful when my child does exactly what I want him to so that everyone can remain happy. Peace comes in seeing what God has made whole, even when we sell it short and find it impossible. It’s not only the calm and steady, but the sturdy and sure. Yes, it’s the quiet tide lapping at the shore, but it’s also the seawall that can take the beating of an inconstant and stormy sea.

May we find ways to bring Shalom to our lives this Advent, or rather, allow God to be our Shalom for us.

Always,
Emily

P.S. The Bible Project has a wonderful series going featuring the different weeks of Advent (hope, peace, joy, and love). If you have Instagram, definitely check it out (and yes, you can find it on their website as well).