advent for everyone - peace

One of the most beautiful themes of the Advent season is that of peace. In the writings of the figure Isaiah, the coming messiah is prophesied as a "Prince of Peace." 

But peace means so much more than just a lack of conflict or chaos. To the ancient Jews, shalom was a peace that meant not just the absence of unrest, but the presence of wholeness, justice, and restoration. "Justice" and "peace" are only tangentially related terms in the western, English-speaking mind. To us, one holds more firm and heavy connotations while the other is likely more light and calm. But the kind of peace that these Jews so desperately hoped for was very deeply part of true justice. We see this in the poem attributed to Mary as she awaits the arrival of the Prince of Peace:

“My soul glorifies the Lord
47     and my spirit rejoices in God my Savior,
48 for he has been mindful
    of the humble state of his servant.
From now on all generations will call me blessed,
49     for the Mighty One has done great things for me—
    holy is his name.
50 His mercy extends to those who fear him,
    from generation to generation.
51 He has performed mighty deeds with his arm;
    he has scattered those who are proud in their inmost thoughts.
52 He has brought down rulers from their thrones
    but has lifted up the humble.
53 He has filled the hungry with good things
    but has sent the rich away empty.
54 He has helped his servant Israel,
    remembering to be merciful
55 to Abraham and his descendants forever,
    just as he promised our ancestors.”

Like the ancient Jewish authors, writers, prophets, and mothers, we also want more than a stand-down of conflict. I am back in America for the Christmas season, and the amount of turmoil culturally here begs for so much more than for everyone to "stop fighting." A cease-fire - be it of guns or words - will only do so much. 

What do I want to see? 

What would a true vision of peace - the great reckoning and righting of all things - look like in this world? Or in our country? Or in our communities? Or in our families? Or in our own hearts?

I don't know if I really know. 

Today is my birthday, and the word I have chosen for myself this year is acceptance. I think the practice of acceptance will be a path to peace for me, but not perhaps in the way it sounds. I don't mean "acceptance" in the sense of a detachment from caring deeply, not a stoic emotionlessness or Buddhist lack of attachment. As a perfectionist on many deep levels, for me "acceptance" will mean the willingness to acknowledge the places of imperfection in my life - internally or externally. It will mean seeing those often tumultuous elements - conflict, discontentment, fear, disappointment, grief, anger - and staring them in the face. Opening myself to their presence. And with that acceptance, I hope I will be able to find the way to true peace - shalom. No more avoiding and ignoring and rejecting. This year I hope to learn to accept, and in that process I believe I will move forward toward wholeness. Toward peace. 

And acceptance feels like an appropriate theme for the story of a young woman thrown into the most chaotic circumstances two thousand years ago. "Let it be to me as you have said" were her words of acceptance. And oh, how much more she had to accept: fear of her community, disgrace, untimely birth, a child like no other who would leave and then die. And yet, twice the gospels tell of Mary as one who did not run or ignore, but who "stored up these things in her heart."

I have a lot to learn, and this story teaches me.