By Pastor Jackson
I’ve always had a fascination with space. I don’t mean the galaxies, cosmos, final-frontier sort of space (although I’ll never turn down a Star Wars marathon offer), but rather the space we find ourselves occupying from day to day.
I think it comes from my mom. As kids we would always have “theme rooms;” one year we’d live in a jungle, the next a winter wonderland—eventually we’d grow up to fill our spaces with our heroes and hobbies. Posters of Ryan Smyth & Tommy Salo of the Edmonton Oilers would line our walls and Lego sets would adorn our shelves.
Our outdoor space was equally important, the woods and trails around our house were filled with strategically placed forts and lookouts. The prairie fields and their features all had specific designations: this hill is perfect for sledding, this field is flattest and therefore best for getting a skidoo up to dangerous speeds, this trail leads to where you can watch the buffalo graze on the border of Elk Island Park.
As I got older and left for university, space became something entirely new; I had a new level of autonomy never before experienced: suddenly a small dorm room in East Los Angeles, with a willing roommate, could become a tropical oasis or rustic cabin. (We were back-to-back “rate my space” champions for best room on campus, although the safety code violations we got away with were just as impressive.)
Fast-forward several years and, for the first time in my life, I have a job with an office: another space waiting to be filled and formed, but with what? I’ve never been in this situation before, and to think I’ve been hired somewhere that necessitates an office makes me think I’ve gotten away with something… aren’t offices for adults? Am I an adult now? It’s a strange predicament.
The desk I inherit looks straight at a large blank wall. Of course my Oilers Stanley Cup pennants can fill some of the space but not all. Forty years of failing to live up to a 1980’s dynasty has seen to that. And this office is for a pastor: what does a pastor put in their office? Don’t pastors meet with people? What do those folks need to see? What do I need to look at as I work on emails and lessons and ponder deep pastoral thoughts?? (Thoughts like what type of dodgeball flies farthest or what silly kids song best communicates theological truths!)
After some thinking and prayer, I realized what is needed to fill the empty space. It’s the same thing that has filled the space in my own heart and life since I was twelve: the first time I understood that I needed help from a humble man who lived a couple thousand years ago, that I’d heard about my entire life, a man who promised to give me something I’d need every moment of my existence: peace.
And so I found a flag, a peace flag, to fill the empty space. The symbol is a common one, known almost universally. Designed in the 50’s by Gerald Holtom, the “peace sign” actually began as the logo for the Campaign for Nuclear Disarmament and would be soon be used by those all over the world who were anti-war to express their beliefs.
First used on Good Friday in 1958, when crowds of protestors came to London’s Trafalgar Square to voice their concerns about the UK testing nuclear weapons, the iconic symbol has endured for over 50 years. And as I reflect on peace during this season, staring once again at the flag on my office wall, I think of those protestors and their desire for peace in their time, but also in their space.
After all, that is one of the purposes of peace, to fill the spaces around us. I’m certain their hope on that Good Friday was for the square itself to be filled with peace, but more than that, for the hearts and minds of those they opposed to be filled as well. I think that’s part of what the angels in the fields over Bethlehem tried to communicate to those lowly shepherds and, of course, us today. “Glory to God in the highest heaven, and on earth peace among those whom he favors!”
If peace exists among us, within us, then surely it can and will exist on earth—in the spaces we occupy.
During the Christmas season, my wife and I have a regular morning routine, it begins November 1. We let the dog out, make coffee, and then choose a record to listen to together from the stack of Christmas vinyl in the living room. A couple weeks ago I pulled out a personal favourite, Roy Rogers & Dale Evans Christmas Is Always, a must-listen in my opinion.
After half a dozen Christmas classics, along with some yuletide yodeling, Roy breaks out into a tune that doesn’t get nearly enough airplay during this time of year: Jill Jackson-Miller’s Let There Be Peace on Earth, a poignant and powerful song written during a time in her life when Jill was suicidal, reeling from a failed marriage.
Amidst the pain and anguish Jill discovered something I pray each of us find during this season, the “life-saving joy of God’s peace and unconditional love.” And out of that discovery came a song we all need to hear, and one Roy Rogers sings about as well as you can, beginning with the line “Let there be peace on earth, and let it begin with me…”
As I think about that lyric, I’m drawn back to the spaces I’ve had the joy to shape and be shaped by. I’m pulled back to snowy Alberta Christmas mornings, playing hockey on the pond in the back, and pulling siblings in a calf sled behind the skidoo. I’m pulled back to waves crashing onto Huntington Beach, sharing fish tacos with friends, and falling asleep in the sun. I’m pulled back to Hamilton in the early summer, walking the Bruce Trail with my wife and dog, marvelling at drive-in movies under the stars.
I’m also pulled to Gore Park and sharing freezies with complete strangers, drinking coffee with old friends outside the Wesley Centre, and eating some of the best meals I’ve ever had in the atrium on Thursday afternoons during Church at the Table. Each of these spaces, of course, is full of strife. Northern Alberta’s colder than you could imagine, L.A.’s filled with smog and crime, and of course we all know Hamilton. Yet each of these are places of peace for me. Why? Because I am at peace.
How could I not be? I’ve met the man Jesus, and he has given me peace. And so, the spaces around me, the cities, the fields, and the relationships get to meet him as well. Just like those shepherds, peace on earth. So, during this season I would encourage you to ask yourself, do I know peace? Am I expecting peace in the world, in the spaces all around me, if I don’t let it begin with me?
And if you don’t know that peace, I have good news for you, Jesus promises us in John 16 that “in me you may have peace. In the world you face persecution. But take courage; I have conquered the world!”
Like those protestors in 1958, we can be agents of peace in the world around us, not because of our greatness, but because of His. So take some time this Christmas to pray for the peace of God, the peace that surpasses all understanding. Let it fill you up, guard your heart and mind, let it overflow from you into the spaces all around you, let it pay witness to the person who gave you that peace, the baby boy who brought peace all the earth on that quiet Bethlehem night a couple thousand years ago. Oh, and listen to some Roy Rogers.
Let there be peace on earth
And let it begin with me.
Let there be peace on earth
The peace that was meant to be.
With God as our father
Brothers all are we.
Let me walk with my brother
In perfect harmony.
Let peace begin with me
Let this be the moment now.
With every step I take
Let this be my solemn vow.
To take each moment
And live each moment
With peace eternally.