Blessed
Are the Peacemakers
Before we talk about peace today, I want to talk
about a scientific principle called homeostasis. That’s a 75-cent word that
simply means that things tend to want to stay the same.
According to my computer encyclopedia, Homeostasis
is the tendency of biological systems to maintain a state of equilibrium. This
tendency ranges from systems of internal balance in individual living things to
ecological patterns of balance in a community, such as the balance between
numbers of predators and prey. Examples of homeostasis include the body's
self-regulation of hormone and acid-base levels, the composition of body fluids,
cell growth, and body temperature. Homeostasis,
then, is about equilibrium and balance.
It works kind of like a rubber band.
You can stretch it, but the rubber has a memory, and tends to want to go
back to its original shape and size. A
bowl of water illustrates the same thing. You
can shake the water and it will move, but if you stop, it will gradually go back
to the calm state it was in before you rudely interrupted it.
The principle of homeostasis can apply to our mental
state as well as our physical state. And
it can apply to group or family dynamics as well.
There is a tendency in social groups to find a certain balance or
equilibrium and then to do everything in its power to maintain that balance.
I like to talk about homeostasis in relation to
peace-making, because people often confuse homeostasis with peace.
People often pursue homeostasis instead of peace.
They often say they are “keeping the peace.”
Homeostasis has a familiar feel to it; it’s comfortable, dependable.
You know where you fit, and where everyone else fits.
The surface waters are calm, like a bright windless day on the bay.
When this equilibrium is upset, we have a tendency to fight to get it
back. We resist (and resent) any
attempts at upsetting the homeostasis that we have fought so hard to achieve.
Homeostasis,
in social groups, often feels like what happened in this biology experiment:
There is a particular kind of caterpillar called a “processional
caterpillar.” The biologist lined
the caterpillars up on the rim of a clay pot that had a nice green plant growing
in it. He arranged them so that the
leader was head to tail with the last caterpillar,
no gaps. The tiny creatures
circled the pot for a full week. Not
once did any one of them break away to go over to the plant and eat.
Eventually, the caterpillars died from exhaustion and starvation.
With food and well being just inches away.
(Illustrations Unlimited, 121)
Peace and homeostasis are not identical.
Sometimes they overlap, but other times they are not even related.
Homeostasis is about staying the same.
Peace is about getting wholeness, health and well-being. Homeostasis is about peace-keeping, remembering the way
things were. Peacemaking is about
looking to the future and envisioning what could be.
The biblical background to the concept of peace is
found in the Hebrew word Shalom. Shalom
does not describe the absence of conflict or disruption.
Shalom is about being everything you can be.
It’s about life being good and wholesome and healthy.
Shalom is that deep, abiding blessed contentment we’ve been talking
about for several weeks now.
The problem of course is that don’t always want to
be wholesome and healthy. Sometimes
we just want things to stay the same.
For example, a family in which one or more of its
members are addicts have a fragile kind of equilibrium that depends on everyone
filling a particular role. The
needs of the addict run the household but everyone has a role to play.
And each one seeks to keep things on a steady even keel.
Not to disrupt or disturb. The
pattern may perpetuate itself for years and even bridge generations.
What happens when the addict starts to recover?
It changes the chemistry of the whole system.
Suddenly no one knows what their roles are anymore, and the equilibrium
is upset. Very often, the family
members try to get the addict to start using again.
Why? To get the equilibrium
back.
It’s tough to make changes, isn’t it?
Even when those changes are healthy and good.
After her husband's checkup, a woman was called into the doctor's office.
The doctor told her, "Your husband has a serious disease. There are several
things you'll have to do for him, or he will surely die. Each morning, fix him a
healthy breakfast. Be pleasant to him. Make him a nutritious lunch for work, and
a especially nice meal for his dinner at night. Don't give him chores, or that
will increase his stress. Don't discuss your problems with him either. Try to
relax him in the evenings by wearing lingerie and giving him backrubs. Let him
watch his favorite sports on TV. In essence, you need to satisfy his every whim.
If you do these things for the next 10 months to a year, I think he'll pull
through."
On the way home, the husband asked his wife what the doctor had told her.
“You’re going to die,” she said.
Blessed are the peacemakers, Jesus said, for
they will be called children of God.
There was a particular kind of homeostasis that
existed in our country in the 1950’s. People
knew their place in society. June
Cleaver was in the kitchen with her apron, and Ward went to work.
Black people sat at the back of the bus.
Then, people like Rosa Parks and Betty Friedan challenged that
homeostasis. They were highly
resisted, because they were tipping the balance.
Ed and I observe homeostasis in churches, too. Every church has certain unwritten (and written) rules. Often the unwritten rules are stronger than the written ones. I like this story that Kathleen Norris tells in her best selling book Dakota:
I was once at a pastor search committee meeting when a woman said, “We don’t want anyone too old.” A pastor from a neighboring town who was guiding us through the bureaucratic thickets [of the search process] . . .said amicably but firmly, “I know most churches feel that way, but maybe you should think about that.” Another woman jumped in and said, “Oh, we didn’t mean anything. It was all in fun.”
The bluntness of the first woman was at least useful; had she been more urbane, she would have disguised her prejudice. But the lie put forth by the other woman was intended to silence us. Thanks to the minister’s persistence, we did manage a brief look at the question of what age we wanted our pastor to be, but it was painful. Among other things, it forced us to look at the fact that our congregation is aging, and people wanted to drop that subject as quickly as possible. (81-82)
It’s ironic but true that peacemakers sometimes need to disrupt the surface peace in order to create real peace.
Let me explain by briefly lapsing into fishing language. When Ed and I went fishing for salmon in Alaska, we had to experience quite a paradigm shift. We were used to baiting hungry fish. But these fish were on a mission. The one thing on their mind as they swam upriver was: spawn. Food was the farthest thing from their mind. Some more experienced Alaska anglers taught us that spawning fish do not take the bait because they want to eat it. They attack the bait because it irritates them. In fact, if you want to catch a salmon swimming upriver, you have to get its attention first. Irritate the fish a little, so it will snap at your spinner or fly or salmon egg bait.
Ministry reminds me of fishing in Alaska sometimes. Many people today are living with the illusion of contentment. And they are on a mission. They are super-busy, active in their community, working hard to make a living and raise their kids right. In fact, they are doing everything except making a vital connection with God. They are super-charged with their own agenda, their mission in life. If you toss out a message of hope and healing, the grace of God, more than likely they will just move aside. No time for that now, I've got things to do.
If we’re going to be peacemakers, one of the things we need to do is to expose the truth--that they are not as happy as they pretend to be. That there is an emptiness that they are trying to fill with all that activity and accumulation. And that God has what they truly need, and what, in their heart of hearts, they really want.
Two things that I hope have begun to become very clear about this beatitude. First, that you can’t just sit with your backside on the couch and satisfy this challenge. You’ve got to get out into life. The other beatitudes that we have seen so far have been more or less about “being” rather than doing. But this one challenges us to be assertive; it engages us in ministry.
The second thing that becomes crystal clear is that it takes courage to be a peacemaker. And that’s because of homeostasis. We like the way things are, especially if we’re in control. And God help the one who points out the facts, no matter how true they are. People kill prophets. We’ve seen this even in our own day, with people like Martin Luther King. Many of us have seen it in churches, too. There the killing may not by physical but emotional, but it’s still devastating. Many good people draw back from peacemaking for just this reason. It’s too risky, too dangerous. I don’t want to get hurt, so I won’t disrupt the system. I’ll just let things be as they are.
But it is the peacemakers who will show to the world what it truly means to be children of God. Blessed are the peacemakers, Jesus said. For they will be called children of God. One of the comments people sometimes make about parents and their children is that “the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree.” People resemble their parents. Peacemakers resemble God, in that they are willing to risk their reputations, their comfort, even their lives for the sake of shalom.
We often say, ‘What difference can one person make? Nobody listens to me, anyway.’ If you think that your voice is unneeded or that it will be unheeded, listen to this fable:
“Tell me the weight of a snowflake,” a sparrow asked a wild dove.
“Nothing more than nothing,” was the answer.
“In that case, I must tell you a marvelous story,” the sparrow said. “I sat on the branch of a fir, close to its trunk, when it began to snow—not heavily, not in a raging blizzard—no, just like in a dream, without a sound, and without any violence. Since I did not have anything better to do, I counted the snowflakes settling on the twigs and needles of my branch. Their number was exactly 3,741,952. When the 3,741,953rd dropped onto the branch, nothing more than nothing, as you say, the branch broke off.”
Having said that, the sparrow flew away.
The dove pondered what the sparrow had said, and finally said to herself, “Perhaps only one person’s voice is lacking for peace to come to the world.” (Illustrations Unlimited, 405)