The Spirit of Peace

Robin Weidner

As a child I looked forward to the holiday season all year. It was a time where my beautiful family became a more peaceful one. The nightly Christmas specials on our black and white TV spoke hidden messages to my introverted soul. Charlie Brown Christmas promised inclusion for the socially awkward. The grinch, whose real problem was that he buried his feelings, became an empathetic giver. Why, even misfit toys or reindeers with mud-covered noses had a purpose. 

By the time I reached my pre-teen years, there were seven of us (5 kids) living in a small 3-bedroom, 1-bathroom house. We were chaotic, loud and messy, and arguments burst out often. My mom would threaten us and I would wait in fear for dad to return at night and administer discipline. The holiday season meant we all buckled down to be good (for goodness’ sake). Fear subsided.  On Christmas Eve, my mother (an artist) filled our small house with candles, appetizers and Christmas music. It was glorious.

For a highly sensitive little girl who savored quiet -- Christmas meant a reprieve. Pure peace.

My parents attended elegant holiday parties at the Moose Club, my mother decked out in luxurious clothing she designed and made herself. She was a classic brunette beauty, my dad -- the handsome intellectual. However, alcohol and cigarette smoke were becoming problems; as a fledgling empath I sensed the danger and the mood changes these brought.

He is our peace

In 1971, I was 14 and my youngest sister was born. By her toddler years, my father’s drinking had turned to alcoholism and his discipline to abuse. In 1974, one early summer day, a young man came to our door to awkwardly share the gospel. Although I stepped outside in my bikini, teasing him, he was an instrument of God’s appearing. Was real peace possible? Even in a family where your parents screamed at each other in the night? 

The first time I went to church and heard a hymn in four part acapella harmony, my heart was overjoyed. This was IT. I wanted this. I was baptized in November of 1974 during my senior year of high school. My father’s loss of control over me (I gave up a life direction which he had invested heavily in) gave way to verbal/spiritual abuse. 

“What is wrong with you? Are you stupid?  Did you hide my windshield scraper and write scriptures on it?” That Christmas gave me a reprieve, but afterwards the accusations amped back up. In June of 1975, just 17 years old, feeling driven away from my family, I moved in with a little old lady who needed companionship. 

God was moving. A Ron Willingham “Adventures in Christian Living” course taught me the spiritual discipline of, “in everything give thanks.” Daily giving thanks for my father’s abuse laid the foundation for a conviction that only just recently solidified for me—that peace is among the highest forms of spiritual warfare.  

Moving across the country to study at two Christian colleges gave me peace. On Sunday mornings at Harding University, college students packed the College Church auditorium. Before the service even started, we would spontaneously, yet softly, sing songs like, “Peace Perfect Peace.” There I met my husband to be, Dave, a fellow zealot and seeker of peace. 

The battle for peace 

Both soul mates and best friends, Dave and I married and were blessed with three children within a five-year span. As the kids grew, the holidays offered tradition, connection and warmth. But they did not insulate me from pain. When I was in my early 30’s my parents split up --  the week before Christmas. My dad’s adultery was quickly followed by his abandonment. Three months after he left the house, one of my sisters was killed in an automobile accident.  

Marriage would eventually bring pain as well, as addiction led us towards crisis. Dave had been exposed to pornography at a young age. In our marriage, over twenty years of devastating disappointments would pass before he identified it as an addiction. Likewise, in answer to my prayers of desperation, God revealed my addiction to romantic love—an unstable source of peace.  

In the difficult years, the holidays were an opportunity to tuck away the echoes of past or even present trauma. Christmas attracted my yet unexplored and unhealed parts like a moth to the light, whispering, “You must make this beautiful, regardless.” Still, as time went on, something brand new was being born in my marriage, as recovery began doing its work.  

To this day, the holiday season, with all its joys, can bring anxiety, and with that a subtle shame. Shouldn’t we as Christians be light-hearted this time of year?  Going back to the birth of Christ reminds me that Advent brings both promise and pain.  

Hallelujah, Jesus was born in glory.  Angels visited shepherds in the fields. Three wise men traveled countless miles with priceless gifts. A star shone in the darkest of nights. A dream protected the child. A census fulfilled the scriptures. A child hungry for God displayed a prolific understanding of the scriptures. A Prince of Peace prepared for his mission. 

Yet, Jesus also arrived on earth against a backdrop of pain. Mary agreed to a shocking pre-marriage pregnancy. Her heart dropped when the inn had no room. A child emerged from her womb dependent, needy and hungry. A terrorist king circled like a vulture to murder the child. Joseph and Mary took their infant on a terrifying flight in the night to Egypt. Imagine knowing your babe lived, while countless others died.  

“Peace on earth and good will to man,” wasn’t a cheery Christmas card saying. These comforting words marked the beginning of some of the most intense spiritual warfare ever waged. It was an amazing promise, this peace and good will, but also our way to overcome.

Prince of Peace 

Jesus’ coming to this earth and his amazing healing ministry didn’t change the co-existence of joy and pain. When Jesus began to prepare his disciples for his death, he wanted them to understand that only His peace could triumph over the flood of troubles they would face. 

“I have told you these things so that you will be whole and at peace. In this world, you will be plagued with times of trouble, but you need not fear; I have triumphed over this corrupt world order.” John 16:33 (VOICE) 

Jesus spoke of peace and wholeness before trouble and fear. I too often go after it in the opposite order. Things get testy and I seek peace only after I am anxious or scared, much like the disciples in the boat (see Mark 4:35-41). When their boat was ready to capsize in the violent waves, completely panicked, they finally woke Jesus. Being already whole and at peace, he spoke peace to the waves and peace to their hearts. What a contrast! 

The Phillips version translates John 16:33 this way: “I have told you all this so that you may find your peace in me. You will find trouble in the world—but, never lose heart, I have conquered the world!” 

I hear him saying to me, “Robin, not your peace, but my peace in you.” Now I see. Clothing myself in peace is a daily discipline.  His will for me is a preemptive peace. An always-be-prepared peace. A conquering peace.

The spirt of peace 

In the book of Philippians, what is often considered the epistle of joy, there is one more secret buried that we could easily miss in the holiday hustle and bustle. In Colossians 3:15, Paul tells the church in Colossae, 

“Let your hearts fall under the rule of the Annointed’s peace (the peace you were called to as one body), and be thankful.” (VOICE) 

What a prayer! Let your heart fall under… the rule of peace. Like a “trust exercise,” where one person falls backwards into the arms of a friend, I imagine all my unruly emotions and expectations falling into the peace of Jesus. His ruling peace. 

How we need this ruling, overcoming peace. We need it for a world overcome by sorrow and disease. We need it for a pandemic that is stealing the lives of people we love.  We need it for accelerating natural disasters, overflowing hospitals, and the corruption of the world. Peace whispers that presence is infinitely more valuable than presents. 

I need his peace lest I fall instead into old habits of trying to get tranquility from the holidays instead of bringing the peace of Jesus to the holidays, submitted to his reign and rule. Having the peace of Jesus in me empowers me to treasure the tender moments and be fully present in the moments that test me.  

Perhaps this was the fuller meaning of the song sung on the day Jesus was born. “Glory to God in the heavenly heights. Peace to all men and women on earth who please him.” Luke 2:14 (MSG) Not peace without trouble. Rather: peace that sanctifies trouble and still finds the glory.

Father, just as peace was your battle cry, may it be mine for the suffering, the lonely, the oppressed during this holiday season. Spirit, please help me understand that true peace has room for both the glory and the pain, whatever may come. Jesus, please tuck my easily distracted heart under your anointed rule so that I may be a messenger of peace. You alone are my peace.

For journaling:

What temptations does this time of year bring you? What echoes of past losses might these contain?

How does it change your view of peace to think of it as a form of spiritual warfare? What daily practice will this require?

What does it mean to you to have the peace of Jesus living in you?