Tuesday of the Fifth Week of Easter

A bridge in Cherokee Park

Peace I leave with you; my peace I give to you.

Not as the world gives do I give it to you.
Do not let your hearts be troubled or afraid.

As Jesus disappears into the maelstrom of agony and death he breathes shalom upon his disciples. As he predicted, his disciples will be scattered by fear and horror, only to reunite when he calls them together on Easter. His terror had felled Jesus to the ground in Gethsemane; theirs pursued them to Emmaus and beyond for a few days; but his shalom finally calls them back, soothes their fear, and binds them together with unexpected courage.

Occasionally I meet devout men and women whose lives have been shattered by alcoholism or prescription drug abuse. They have hit bottom and want both healing and peace, but they are still unwilling to join a group. “I should be able to pray my way out of this.” they think. “God will help me (on my terms.)” For whatever reason, they fear sharing their anguish and remorse and hope with others. 

The two men on the road to Emmaus, recognizing Jesus in the breaking of bread, did not make that mistake. They immediately hurried back to Jerusalem, although the hour was late and darkness had descended with its threat of thieves and murderers. Generously they announced to their fellows, “The Lord has risen!”

They found their peace in the sacramental fellowship, with its customs of prayer, sacrifice and mutual reassurance. This is nothing like the peace the world gives, which is fastened to the uncertain mooring of wealth and weapons and human alliances. The best one can hope of that peace is to die of "natural" causes.

Jesus’ shalom is an outreaching generosity, a willingness to sacrifice and suffer hardship, and a joyful assurance that all things will be well, and all manner of things will be well.

Thank you, Jesus, on this 36th anniversary of my ordination.