Peace I leave with you; my peace I give to you. I do not give to you as the world gives. Do not let your hearts be troubled, and do not let them be afraid" (Jn. 14.27)

I

"Somewhere up there, behind those mountains," said the Sherpa guide, "there's a sacred valley called Khembalung. A long time ago, when Guru Rinpoche came here, he set the gods to watch over it and keep it hidden from the world. It's supposed to be a peaceful place, with everything you need to live and practice meditation."

That's the description of the myth of Shambhala, a Tibetan Buddhist vision of one of a number of hidden valleys said to be secreted away in the Himalayas as "refuges where Tibetans can flee to find peace and sustenance in times of turmoil and famine." [Parabola, fall 1996, 6]

Does it sound like Shangri-la? Do any of you remember Frank Capra's movie "Lost Horizons" (it came out in 1937, as World War 2 was brewing)? In it, a plane crash delivers Ronald Colman to the hidden valley of Shangri-la in the Himalayas where all is peaceful.

Ah, a place . . . where the world's troubles are gone, the frustrations and aggravations of life are no more. Could it really exist somewhere?

And ask this: if there WAS such a place, would you want to run away to it, to hide-away from the troubles of the world?

Last month, while dealing with eschatology -- the ology about the "last things" -- we talked about the Kingdom of God, the future world when all would be finally put "right."

Our theme this month is really a continuation of considering the Kingdom of God, for "peace" is an essential element of the Kingdom. But there is a difference: the Christian vision of the Kingdom of God is not an escape from this world, like Shambhala or Shangri-la, but a transformation of this world. Peace is not something "away from" our world, but something that needs to be found in the midst of this life. To be sure, we can take respite, a retreat, a vacation, even a sabbath (we even need to take that sabbath, so that we are not defeated or discouraged by the world's onslaught) . . . but lasting peace is something deeper and far more complicated.

It's "thy kingdom come," not "get me out of here!"

Where does peace begin? I want to suggest this morning three visions of what peace might mean to us, and to pray that some take hold in us.

II

First, peace is the absence of strife. You simply cannot strive for anything of value or worth if you are not safe in body. Philosophical considerations mean absolutely nothing -- no considerations of love and life and the meaning of it all -- if you may be killed in a random act of violence in Roxbury or by a roadside bomb in Baghdad. The absence of strife is the goal of police protection and of homeland security, even if it doesn't always work well.

Peace is the absence of strife. Without that, little else is possible.

But what about the causes of strife? Can even the most powerful police presence bring peace in the midst of discontent?

A second vision of peace.

Do you know the Jewish word "shalom?" In Arabic it's "salaam." It means peace. But it's not just the absence of hostilities. Shalom means also justice, and reconciliation. It means a world at peace because the world is fair and just and kind.

This is the vision of St Paul in Second Corinthians when he asks that WE who call ourselves Christians should engage in the "ministry of reconciliation" (5.18).

Reconciliation. Have I told you my favorite story about forgiving annoying and obnoxious people? A colleague tells about a parishioner who was always telling him what he was doing wrong. When he would try one of those active listening techniques learned in Pastoral Counseling 101, she would say "I don't like ministers. Don't try to be my minister." But, somehow, he forgave one nasty comment after another, kept in contact with her. Eventually, they became something approaching friends. One Thanksgiving, she gave him a poem she'd written for him: "Some / couldn't stand me. / You / stood me. / It may be / because you stood me, / I'm more standable." There is much more peace in forgiving people than there is in fighting them or in trying to change them.

Miller Williams puts it this way: "Have compassion for everyone your meet, even if they don't want it. What appears as conceit, cynicism or bad manners is always a sign of things no ears have heard, no eyes have seen. You do not know what wars are going on down there where the spirit meets the bone."

I fear there will be no peace in the Middle East until perceived injustices are healed by ministries of reconciliation. "True peace," wrote Martin Luther King Jr in his Letter from a Birmingham Jail, "true peace is not merely the absence of tension: it is the presence of justice."

Where does peace begin? It's probably not wise to give away most of one's sermon in the Call to Worship, but I did. Lao-Tzu (the name means "old master") was the ancient Chinese author, in the sixth century before Christ, of the Tao Te Ching, the central book of Taoism ["If there is to be peace in the world ..."]. Revenge and resentment build, grow, in response to outrages committed against one's beloved community -- mess with us, and we'll find a way to mess with you. If we want to find peace among the nations, there will first be peace in the cities, and before that peace between neighbors, and before that peace in the home, and, alas, peace in the heart. The last may well be the hardest to achieve.

So, my third vision of peace: peace in the heart, inner contentment.

Do you know what is the enemy of inner contentment in your own life? I stumbled upon this quote from Petrarch, the 14th century Italian poet, in my research: "Five great enemies to peace inhabit within us," he wrote, "namely, avarice, ambition, envy, anger, and pride. If these enemies were to be banished, we should infallibly enjoy perpetual peace."

Do you need that again? -- avarice ("greed"), ambition (sometimes the incentive to achieve, but sometimes mere self-aggrandizement), envy, anger, pride.

Jesus said that the peace HE gives is NOT the peace of this world, but something different. THIS world -- all our committees and job achievements and stock market stupendous moments -- may not be finally satisfying, not in the long run, not when you look back on your life and wonder what it has all meant.

If you can take that long-range perspective -- maybe even that personal eschatological view: what does MY life mean? What does my life mean?

Jesus offers "deep peace," peace that the world cannot give or take away. Just what is that? I think it is the peace of knowing that we are loved . . . loved from a power at the center of the universe, loved in a way that cannot be broken, loved in a way that will not let us go. Loved . . . not promised that everything will go well, not guaranteed the absence of pain and hurt, but loved. Can you believe that? I think that the love of Christ, God's love for us, is not something that we understand intellectually, but rather we know it the same way we know we are loved by parent or spouse: we feel it. We feel it perhaps in the sheer gift of being alive, of receiving gifts and blessings we did not earn, of being given second chances and receiving forgiveness we did not deserve. One reason why we read those Bible stories over and over again is that, bit by bit, it can begin to dawn on us what that love is like, so that we can recognize it, appreciate it, accept it, and maybe even pass it on.

Peace: the absence of strife, the presence of shalom, and inner contentment, perhaps even the deep peace of Christ.

III

A great concern of mine, my friends, is that peace "in our time" may be disrupted by suspicion, doubt, fear and even animosity between "us" and those who have immigrated here more recently, especially those from Arabic countries. Those countries, to be sure, have sent us people who want to destroy our way of life. We should not underestimate that: there are people who hate our way of life and want to oppose everything we represent.

But here is another vision. Rabbi Charles Sherman offers this: what if we see our country as "a symphony rather than a melting pot"? "Instead of melding together into a bland, mush of blended sameness, he [talks] of taking our diverse religious heritages and becoming like an orchestra with different instruments all playing their unique sounds in ways that create a song of love and peace. He [imagines] God as the conductor, as the one whose directions we follow and whose aim is to create a beautiful sound that blesses the world. Like musical instruments, each religion is made up of different elements, each has its own history and is studied and played in different ways. The idea in religious cooperation as in musical cooperation is for each unique instrumental to be played as well as it can be played while being in conversation with the other instruments. An orchestra with only one instrument would be limited and dull. Yet, a symphony orchestra with competing, jealous, arrogant or inhospitable musicians, or one with musicians who do not respect each other or are at war with each other cannot produce a song of love."

My friends, can we yet be a symphony?