Passing peace
Photo by Chris Liverani on Unsplash
When we argue for our limitations, we get to keep them.
-Evelyn Waugh
No one is on the fence about passing the peace; most church members either love or hate it. It's either a time to catch up with your friends or a noisy break that disrupts the flow of the worship service. The tradition of passing the peace, rooted in Jesus' teachings, is supposed to be a moment of reconciliation and unity among the congregation. If you think that’s what passing of the peace is, I’d like to burst your bubble. It’s five minutes of chit-chat and “Where are you going for lunch after church?” I believe Jesus never intended Christians to firm up their Bojangles plans between the Apostles’ Creed and the Lord’s Prayer. I understand that some people aren’t into handshaking. COVID has made people nervous. As the person behind the pulpit, I can also testify to how hard it is to return a congregation to reverence after passing the peace.
In 2024, peace feels like a pipe dream. Does anyone believe in the possibility of peace? Division is everywhere—in our families, homes, country, and worldwide. Who talks about peace as a profound possibility? One only needs to say "Gaza" or "Ukraine," and any hopes of peace are off the table.
The church asks its members to pass the peace. Given the prevalence of war, violence, and hatred, most of us couldn't pass a field sobriety test. Passing the peace seems like a quaint, almost out-of-date notion. Peace is in short supply. Isn’t peace too valuable to give away?
Norms are shattered every day. Unprecedented is the word of the decade. Much of what we used to depend on is gone - the exact opposite of peace: apart, broken, and not together. When Jesus talks about peace, he begins with abundance, and we only know absence. We define peace as the absence of something: war, violence, racism, hunger, poverty, and usually all those things combined. Most of the time, an absence (a vacuum of order and economic resources) leads to war, violence, racism, hunger, or poverty. Peace becomes more elusive because there is a quantifiable emptiness. Peace is multilayered. For example, famine results from violence, drought, and war. There are also the underlying emotional deficits of love, empathy, and care. Without empathy, we have no peace. Without love, there is no peace. NATO, the UN, the United States Government, and most of us learn to see peace as a deficit—a quantity that will run out. Eventually, peace will have to be protected by war. When peace is seen from the perspective of abundance, it never needs to be protected because it is never in short supply.
Is peace an impossible, touchy-feely ideal? Are those passing peace, from person to person and place to place, naive dreamers destined to die on their enemy's swords?
Real peace begins with understanding our boundaries. Are we waiting for others to bring peace to us, or is peace something we can give to others?
Where is the best place to let go of our anxieties and worries, exchange our peace, and make things right? How about starting right here? You don’t have to be in or go to church.
We cannot hold peace; we can only let it go. The challenge is this: how will it go? Will it be squandered or shared? Peace is a pay-it-forward proposition, where a good deed is passed from one person to another; peace is a gift we must share with others. It is never taken and held. We pass the peace because we have something to give. You have more than you realize.
Passing the peace is more than shaking hands. It’s an act of acknowledgment. We need peace, and we must make time for it. Here's the good news: Peace doesn't have to be shared in church in a few harried minutes in the middle of a worship service. It can happen at any time and in any place.