Peace in the going

I registered for my first seminary class this week while eating a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, listening to a tutorial on a new computer upgrade for work, and cleaning up popcorn someone had spilled on the floor. It took 5 mins and … click, I was a seminary student. And as if on cue, a kid hollered that the printer was offline again and that we were out of milk. I think I thought the whole thing might be a little more holy.

I added milk to the list, fixed the printer, swallowed the rest of my sandwich, and waited for the peace I knew would surely settle on my heart. “Well,” I said to my empty office, “I did it. Here we go”. The lady on the video still playing on my phone continued her explanation about playlists in Pro Presenter unaware of my life-changing decision. It seemed the world was just going to go on spinning.

Here’s a thing you should know about me. I am not good at making decisions. God’s call on my heart to apply and enroll in seminary is a call that has been chasing me in circles for years. But I have just as much trouble choosing a paint color for the kitchen or where we should go out to eat. Something about the finality of declaring my intentions pushes too harshly against my need to leave all of the options open. I mean what if I make the wrong decision, what then? Doing the next wrong thing is my greatest fear. Everything seems to hold the possibility of failure, or it affects too many other people, and I spend much time begging God for visions of right things so that I can perfect the art of living my life.

But in the meantime, I find myself missing my actual life.

Maybe you can relate? Even if you are a quick decision-maker who never wavers in your choosing, you can agree that we humans are built with an innate desire to choose wisely. When life requires us to pick a way, we want to be certain we are choosing the right way. And once we make that choice, we want that peace that passes all understanding so we can walk forward knowing that all will be well.

But life doesn’t work that way. Choices aren’t always clearly marked good and bad and peace doesn’t always come in attaining perfection. Often we have to choose without being able to see the road ahead and if we want to follow where Jesus leads us, we almost always have to start walking before we understand the directions.

“Come let us return to the Lord…he will restore us that we may live in his presence. Let us acknowledge the Lord… as surely as the sun rises, he will appear. He will come to us like the winter rains…” (Hosea 6:2-3).

It is these ancient words from the prophet Hosea that have been running through my head lately as life seems relentless in its insistence that I make a move. The Lord gave Hosea these words to speak over the wayward Israelites when they had forgotten their need for God. They had begun to believe that peace was a thing they could create. They were attempting to place their hope in their own abilities to navigate the world and God knew that would never work. Peace and hope aren’t ours to generate. They are possible only in the presence of the Lord.

But like those ancient Israelites, I tend to think I can coerce them out of life with my persistent goodness. I long to amaze God with my right decision-making techniques. Real peace, though; real relationship with the Lord of our lives comes only when we seek him,  only when we acknowledge his presence, his sovereignty.

The prophet Hosea spoke of the Lord coming to us in ways we don’t expect; cold rain pouring down on the parched ground seems an unlikely way to heal what’s broken. We serve a God who comes as a baby born into the darkness of our unsettled world without us having to fix it first; a Creator who chose to become like those he created. He comes to us right where we are; it’s always been his way. The Lord of heaven and earth walking into the lives of some obscure fishermen and calling them to drop their nets and follow him. None of this is exactly how we imagine a king entering into his kingdom.

But generations later, Jesus would say it like this, “My peace I give to you. I do not give as the world gives. Do not let your hearts be troubled nor let them be afraid” (John 14:27). I hear it play out this way:

The peace you are seeking? The way that you want it to work out all nice and neat and secure. It isn’t going to look like that. You are going to have to hold onto me and realize that I AM the peace. You are going to have to hand it all over and let me be the Lord of your life. That’s where the real peace is found.

“Come, let us return to the Lord” (Hosea 6:2).

Come, let us step out into unknown places; places where we can’t control the outcome or see the ending. Let us make holy and hard decisions right in the middle of the mundane and messy parts of life. Because, honestly? God does his best work right at the intersection of overwhelm and ordinary.

Let us walk through our regular days full of peanut butter sandwiches, kids’ homework, and dinners that always need to be made knowing we are called; certain we are sent, but always aware that we are never alone. And may the peace that passes all understanding overtake us in a way that trains our eyes to see how as we go it all becomes holy and sacred. This day, this decision, this next thing; for me, it is a seminary class on a track to a profession I once felt was completely off-limits. For you, it may be a conversation you need to have, a move you need to make, or a kid you need to hug a little tighter.

It all matters.

And maybe as we go, the peace actually comes in feeling the truth of this promise all the way down to our bones: The One who calls us is faithful and He will do it. Come, let us return to the Lord. Here we go.

Alleluia. Amen.