19th Sunday after Trinity
READING: Philippians 4 v 1-9
The Peace of God
I wonder if there is a particular part of a church service that gives you a sense of closeness to God.
I once asked a congregation this question, and there were some predictable answers and some more unusual ones. For some it was singing hymns; for others, sharing the Peace. Some chose the Bible readings, while others spoke of receiving the bread at Communion.
Not many people said the sermon – no comment there!
But one answer surprised me: the final blessing.
When I asked why, it wasn’t because it signalled the end of the service and time to go home. It was because of the sense of being sent out with the peace of God.
And the source of those familiar words is found in today’s reading from Paul’s letter to the Philippians:
“The peace of God, which surpasses all understanding, will guard your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus.”
There is something wonderfully active about Paul’s image. God’s peace is not simply a pleasant feeling. It is pictured almost as a sentinel, standing guard over our hearts and minds as we go about our daily lives.
But I wonder what the phrase “the peace of God” means to you?
Perhaps we imagine a perfect sunset seen from a cliff top, reflected in a completely calm sea. Or perhaps peace is found walking across a Yorkshire moor, sitting beside water, or looking out from a mountain summit in North Wales.
There is something deeply restorative about such moments. Yet sometimes our idea of peace can become linked with escape – getting away from a world that feels difficult, challenging and chaotic.
Paul’s peace is certainly not escapism.
To understand what he means, we need to look at what comes next. Paul offers a list:
Whatever is true.
Whatever is honourable.
Whatever is just.
Whatever is pure.
Whatever is pleasing.
Whatever is commendable.
Think about these things, he says.
What we choose to think about, dwell upon and turn over in our minds gradually shapes who we are, how we live and how we see the world.
That might sound rather simple, but making small adjustments to what we expose ourselves to can make a difference.
Recently, I made a conscious decision to reduce the number of times I scan the news feed on my phone. I realised that constantly scrolling through an apparently endless stream of bad and sad stories was beginning to affect me. So I decided to look just once a day.
The problems of the world have not disappeared. But something has changed in me. I am trying to be more intentional about what I give my attention to.
There is a remarkable altar frontal at St Paul’s Cathedral in London, decorated with intricate floral patterns. It was created by soldiers recovering in hospitals after the First World War, with help from the Royal School of Needlework. Many had experienced the unimaginable horrors of war.
Yet, with wounded bodies and troubled memories, they created something beautiful.
Stitch by stitch, they were invited to attend again to colour, pattern and beauty – and in doing so they became part of creating and transmitting beauty to others.
When I saw their work, I began to understand a little more deeply what Paul might be asking of the Philippians – and of us.
He is not asking us to look away from the violence and trauma of the world or pretend that suffering is not there. Rather, he is asking us to look insistently for those deeper and more enduring things that can heal, restore and nourish the growth of peace.
There is another familiar Christian prayer for peace, traditionally attributed to Francis of Assisi: “Lord, make me an instrument of your peace.”
One of its most challenging petitions asks that we might seek not so much to be understood as to understand.
That shifts our attention towards the other person.
So perhaps when Paul asks us to think about whatever is true, honourable, just and commendable, he is not only asking us to notice those things in people we like. Perhaps the greater challenge is to look for them in people with whom we disagree.
That does not mean pretending differences do not matter or ignoring injustice. But it does mean refusing to reduce another human being to the thing about them that frustrates or angers us.
To recognise something good, honourable or praiseworthy in another person can be the beginning of building a bridge.
It takes us beyond simply keeping the peace towards the much harder task of making peace.
Perhaps this is something of the wholeness contained in the biblical idea of shalom: peace not simply as the absence of conflict, but as relationships being restored and life being made whole.
So next time we find ourselves in conflict with someone, could we pause and ask: What is true, honourable or commendable in this person? What might I understand differently if I really listened?
St Paul loved lists. Elsewhere he speaks of the fruits of the Spirit – love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, generosity, faithfulness, gentleness and self-control.
But these are not simply abstract ideals.
For Christians, they ultimately take flesh in a person: Jesus Christ.
Christ shows us what truth, justice, purity, compassion and goodness look like when they are lived.
So perhaps Paul leaves us with some questions for the week ahead.
How might we live more truthfully and honourably?
Where might we act with greater justice?
What could we say that might bring encouragement rather than anxiety?
Whom might we try harder to understand?
Because Paul does not tell us simply to think about these things. He tells us to practise them.
“Keep on doing the things that you have learned and received and heard and seen in me,” he writes, “and the God of peace will be with you.”
Perhaps that is why the blessing at the end of worship matters so much.
We are not being sent away from God.
We are being sent with God’s peace – to practise it, embody it and share it.
And perhaps, stitch by stitch, like that tapestry in St Paul’s Cathedral, conversation by conversation, relationship by relationship, that is how the peace of God begins to take flesh in the world.
Image: Karl Raymund Catabas, Unsplash.com
