Sowing Peace
The eleventh of the 12 minor Hebrew prophets is a fella named Zechariah. It’s likely his granddad was the highest of high priests of the day during a particularly turbulent period in history for Israel (the people, not the country, y’all.) Turbulence for Israel usually signals a time when Israel is living for itself and becomes disconnected from or disassociated from God. Along comes Zechariah. He likely follows his granddad into the family business and becomes a priest of Israel, but he distinguishes himself by also becoming a prophet. Priests and prophets typically have roles distinct from one another. Zechariah, not afraid to hold Israel accountable for Her misdeeds, also pastors the people toward a renewed and loving reality. Even his name makes the point—Zechariah means “God remembers.” Zechariah reminds Israel that God remembers God’s affection for the people.
In the eighth chapter of Zechariah’s prophecy he writes, “For there shall be a sowing of peace; the vine shall yield its fruit, the ground shall give its produce, and the skies shall give their dew; and I will cause the remnant of this people to possess all these things. Just as you have been a cursing among the nations, O house of Judah and house of Israel, so I will save you and you shall be a blessing. Do not be afraid, but let your hands be strong.” I’ve been thinking about these words, especially during some time off, especially as we approach Advent and Christmas, and especially since we’ve made our way through yet another contentious election where political and social groups have been about the work of division, rather than connection. I’m particularly drawn to the idea of “sowing peace.”
What would it mean to put our hands, our whole bodies, our minds, and hearts to the good work of “sowing peace” in a time of discord? Let that be the focus of Advent, then. My plan thus far. . . as I wake in the morning, I set my intention, “may there be peace on earth, and may it begin with me.” At midday, “may there be peace on earth, and may it begin with me.” In the afternoon, “may there be peace on earth, and may it begin with me.” And, when I lay down to sleep, “may there be peace on earth, and may it begin with me.” In setting that intention, I expect action will follow, though I now know not what it will be. I expect God will inform in the way God does—through ideas and dreams and relationships and connections and through encounters that appear to most to be chance, but to the disciple are known to be messengers with messages. That’s good work for the Season of Advent. Join me, please. We can’t practice God’s love alone.
Love,
Jimmy
