Advent Peace

When do your Christmas decorations go up? Ours usually appear on the last weekend of November, though every year there is a spirited household debate about whether that is too early and whether we should wait until December. Those who lean towards the grinchier end of the spectrum always vote for delay. When the day finally arrives, what ought to be a cheerful time of tree buying and music often dissolves into a small argument because someone has moved someone else’s decoration. Why would anyone think that the handmade woolly mammoth doesn’t deserve pride of place on the mantelpiece? Every year we plan to do it differently, to be calmer and every year we fail. Yet, somehow, we still look forward to it.

Peace in a household can be elusive at the best of times, never mind during December. And peace in the wider world feels even more fragile.

Perhaps for that reason I have found myself returning repeatedly, in prayer and in preaching, to the theme of ‘peace’. We often think of peace as the absence of conflict, yet Scripture points us to something deeper: the inner steadiness that shapes our life with God and our relationships with others. That tension lies at the heart of Advent. We proclaim Christ as the Prince of Peace while living in a world where conflict, misunderstanding and spiritual disturbance remain part of ordinary life. If the world is ever to recognise Christ’s peace, it will be through people who have learned, slowly and imperfectly, to live from a place of spiritual rootedness.

Teresa of Ávila helps us here. In her image of the soul as an interior mansion, she describes the journey inward towards our ‘beloved’ as an encounter with the various rooms where our peace is disrupted. She does not pretend that inner peace is automatic or easy, and recognises the reality of resistance, both within us and around us. I find comfort in that honesty. Peace is not merely the absence of struggle but the presence of Christ, formed gradually and sometimes painfully.

And of course, the struggles Teresa names are not confined to our private prayer lives. We carry emotional conflicts that come with being human: unresolved conversations, resentments that flare at awkward moments, grief that can ambush us without warning, and anxieties that sit just beneath the surface. These tensions shape the atmosphere of our relationships and even the feel of particular places. They don’t simply evaporate because we wish them away, and they often become the very places where Christ’s peace must be invited, again and again to take root.

Many of us may also know of moments when the atmosphere of a place unsettles us: a heaviness in a village or a room that feels spiritually off kilter. Such moments can erode our peace, yet they can also invite us to lean more deeply into the presence of Jesus, asking him to help us discern what is stirring and how to respond.

I experienced this very vividly while working with a mission agency in Uganda. One night several of us found ourselves wide awake, unusually disturbed. A friend and I, sharing a room, finally admitted that something had shaken our peace. Instead of wrestling alone, we prayed. It wasn’t quick or tidy, but as we prayed, flashes of light appeared in the room and a deep peace descended. I remain convinced that angels were present. It reminded me that while the enemy seeks to disrupt and disturb, Christ brings life and restores peace in ways beyond our capacity.

All of this raises a simple Advent question, where in your own life do you feel spiritually unsettled? If something is disturbing your peace, I encourage us to not ignore it but to pray with others, to invite Jesus' peace and see if the atmosphere shifts.

What’s this all about? When we are settled in Christ, be it in the midst of a spiritual battle, in middle of a disagreement or simply in the midst of Christmas chaos. When Jesus’ peace roots itself within us, we find we are gentler, more interruptible, and more receptive to others. That is the kind of peace that spills outward into households, congregations and communities.

So as a simple Advent practice, I encourage you to use this exercise drawn from Ignatian spirituality in Margaret Silf’s writing. Read the blessing slowly. Let one word or phrase rest with you. Notice what God may be saying through it today.

May the Lord bless you and keep you,

the Lord make his face shine upon you,

and be gracious to you.

The Lord turn his face towards you

and give you peace.

Jo Allen

Joint CEO, Rural Ministries