“For to us a child is born, to us a son is given, and the government will be on his shoulders. And he will be called Wonderful Counselor, Mighty God, Everlasting Father, Prince of Peace” (Isaiah 9:6, NIV).
“Glory to God in the highest, and on earth peace, good will toward men” (Luke 2:14, KJV).
“And the peace of God, which transcends all understanding, will guard your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus” (Phil. 4:7, NIV).
My first real experience with the peace that transcends all understanding was as a young Marine. At Kadena Air Force Base on Okinawa, I made my way to the empty base chapel and laid down in the floor at the altar. I had passed through Okinawa once before thinking I was on my way to Vietnam, but my orders were changed and I was sent to Iwakuni, Japan, instead. Now, I was back. Temporarily. My destiny; where I went, what I did, my very future were all hanging in the balance and beyond my control.
Jim White
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I lost track of the time as I lay there praying — talking and listening. When it happened, I don’t know exactly. There was no sound of a rushing mighty wind, no cloven tongues of fire to mark the occasion. But I became aware of a perfect peace that had dawned upon me. My outward circumstances were no different, but I was somehow different. I had been changed by the knowledge that no matter what happened, it was OK. It wasn’t an assurance that I would be OK, but something deeper. An awareness that things being OK didn’t depend on my being OK. And that was OK.
I left that chapel aware, I think for the first time in my life, of the truth of Paul’s words, “In him we live and move and have our being” because I was filled with and surrounded by the loving presence — the peace — of God. The words of the hymn rang in the ears of my soul, “Filled with his goodness, lost in his love.”
Other times of peace present themselves almost as books on a shelf to be taken down and remembered for their unique contributions to my spiritual journey. One such high-impact time when I remember being awed by God’s peace occurred when I was a young pastor. A divorcee with a 7-year-old son learned that she had lung cancer. During her valiant struggle to survive, I championed her cause before the Lord often explaining to him why she needed to live and why he should intervene with miraculous healing. I reminded him that in certain circles his image was beginning to tarnish and that such a miracle would go a long way toward restoring the luster of his damaged reputation.
Her condition continued to deteriorate until finally, all hope of recovery was extinguished. I visited her and discovered a woman, a young mother, who knew she would soon die yet she was completely and inexplicably at peace. She described it as a rest before a journey. She had made preparations for her son and had talked with him detailing who would be taking care of him and that she didn’t want to leave him, but she knew he would be OK. Listening to her became a sacred time when we were filled with and surrounded by the very presence of God’s peace. Linda would live only a few more days, but despite that she was filled with peace; and because of her, so was I.
A few years later, at the same church in Liberty, Mo., we had gotten home from a revival service and, after helping put the kids to bed, I stretched out, exhausted, on the floor. I hadn’t rested long when the phone rang bringing the shocking news that my mother and grandmother had both been killed in an auto accident. Our minister of education, who lived down the street, came immediately to console us and to spend the night with our children.
As soon as we could make and field calls, arrange child care and pack, Connie and I said goodbye to deacons who had gathered to pray for us, one of whom pressed a $20 bill into my hand for gas, and we were on our way to my parents’ home in St. Louis driving through the night from Kansas City. I was in shock and grief. Tears rolled non-stop down my cheeks. I hadn’t even thought to invite Peace along on this trip, and even if I had I wouldn’t have expected him to join us under the circumstances. But halfway across the state, unexpectedly, I discovered that Peace was making the journey with us. Unmistakably the presence of Christ filled and surrounded us bringing us peace that transcends understanding.
On many occasions since then, sometimes in grief and sometimes in celebration, I have been awed by the presence of God’s peace. As I have reflected on those times, it seems to me that when I have been visited by the indescribable peace of his presence, certain common elements exist.
First, I have noticed that when I have a very clear understanding that I am not God, I am more likely to experience his peace. Not only am I not God, but the Almighty has not even contracted with me to serve as his consultant.
Secondly, when I have given up holding preconceived notions about what God should do or how God should act, I am more likely to sense his presence and experience his peace. When I accept that, as God, he has complete freedom to will and to act according to his good pleasure I open myself to his peace. As long as I view his activity with a certain amount of criticism, I am not likely to know peace. This is not to say that everything that happens is pleasing, of course. But to accept that his ways are not my ways and his thoughts are higher than my thoughts provides his peace with an acceptable environment. I have come to trust him. If I insist on understanding why things happen as they do, I am unlikely to experience the peace that transcends understanding.
Thirdly, when I accept that my own interpretation of or understanding of what God has done or failed to do has no bearing whatsoever on his love for me, I am more apt to experience his peace. Whether he loves me was settled when an infant’s cry pierced the night chill in Bethlehem so long ago. When God became man and dwelt among us, his love for me (us) was settled. And when the cry from those same lips rose from the cross, “It is finished!” so also were finished any doubts that remained about how much God loves me (us).
I wish I could say to you that I now live in a perpetual state of peace. In truth, I do not. I am still troubled by questions, still too prone to offer God advice, and sometimes assume that God’s love depends on my worth rather than upon his promise. But I have experienced precious times of peace from the Prince of Peace. The peace that transcends all understanding. The peace that depends not on outward circumstances, but on inward surrender.
Glory to God in the highest, and on earth peace, good will toward men.