"The Peace of God," a sermon by the Rev. Charles James Cook, Professor of Pastoral Theology and member of the ETSS Class of 1974, given on March 27, 2007, in Christ Chapel

The late Southern aristocrat, William Alexander Percy, wrote the words to that familiar and rather haunting hymn, “They Cast Their Nets in Galilee .” Percy, who claimed to be a bit of a religious hybrid having sojourned in the Episcopal, Presbyterian, and Roman Catholic traditions, was also the beloved relative, or “Uncle Will” as he was affectionately called, who took young Walker Percy under his wing when the boy’s father and mother died at an early age. We see some of William Alexander Percy’s theological convictions expressed in the first stanza of that hymn:

They cast their nets in Galilee

Just off the hills of brown;

Such happy, simple fisher folk,

Before the Lord came down.

 Yes, things were indeed happier for those fisher folk, marked as future disciples, before Jesus of Nazareth called out to them, “Follow me.” Their lives would never again be the same. The disciples, throughout their long travels with Jesus, often wished that they could return to a time when life seemed simple, and one could take joy in just the small pleasures of this world. But the longer they stayed with him, the deeper they all found themselves, eventually reaching past the point of no return.

Søren Kierkegaard told a story about attending a reception for a young woman of sixteen who had just been confirmed by the bishop in her local congregation. As all the friends, family, and guests enjoyed a splendid reception, complete with fine wine and cuisine, there was a break in the festivities when the bishop presented the new confirmand with a copy of the New Testament, nicely wrapped with a white ribbon and bow. Kierkegaard, observing the moment from a distance, remarks to himself: “Now, that is what one may call Christianity!

To tell the truth, no one expects – and probably rightly – that she, any more than anybody else, will read it... This book was given to her as a potential consolation in life; here, should you need it, you will find consolation; of course, it is assumed that she will never read it... but if she does, it will not be ‘primitively’ or she would discover that right there in that book you will find such terrors that, in comparison, other terrible things that occur in the world are almost a joke.”

The brooding, melancholy Dane has made a point – life is easier, happier, less complicated without the truth of the Gospel. It is better that the young woman of sixteen summers keeps the New Testament wrapped, perhaps relegating it to a respected place among coffee table literary treasures. For to know the message, to respond vocationally with heart, soul, and mind, is to risk everything.

Contented, peaceful fishermen,

Before they ever knew,

The peace of God that filled their hearts,

Brimful, and broke them too.

 It is a cool autumn evening in North Carolina , and the preacher steps into the pulpit to deliver the word to the gathered congregation. His name is John Elbridge Hines, recently retired Presiding Bishop of The Episcopal Church. His voice is strong and clear, unwavering in commitment to the message – “those who would save their life will lose it...those who would lose their life...for the sake of the Gospel...will gain it.”

It is a text that fits the man. He carries within him the stresses and blows of one who had the courage to lead a church into the realms of justice, equality, and full participation of all persons regardless of race. The sermon winds down, and now the preacher’s voice gets softer, almost a whisper. He looks directly into the eyes of his audience and says: “Why would those of us who follow Jesus Christ as Lord and Savior, and consider ourselves to be his faithful disciples...why would we ever think that what happened to him will not happen to us?” It is not poetry, to be sure...rather it is prophecy. Kierkegaard once wrote a little essay: “Beware of Preachers Who Become Poets.” John Hines would retire early – the cost of discipleship is both a blessing and a burden – the cost of discipleship, even effectively and fully practiced, carries a price.

Young John who trimmed the flapping sail,

Homeless, in Patmos died,

Peter, who hauled the teeming net,

Head-down was crucified.

In this morning’s narrative from Luke, Jesus gathers his disciples and tells them that they must now follow him to Jerusalem , where he will be handed over to the authorities, charged, humiliated, and crucified. It is, in some respects, a second call for the disciples – perhaps a call that clarifies the first when they heard his voice, beckoning them to leave their nets and venture into the unknown. The signs and wonders, the miracles, the healings, the exorcisms, the feedings, the withdrawal from admirers and detractors – all of those glorious moments leading to this final surge.

“Oh Jerusalem , Jerusalem , how I wanted to gather you under my arms as a mother might care for her children... Oh Jerusalem , Jerusalem , the beloved city with its magnificent Temple and bustling markets... Oh Jerusalem , Jerusalem , the city that cries out in defiance of the prophets and stones them in order that order might prevail. Is there no turning back to a place known long ago – the nets, the sea, the boat tossing in the waves, the catch of fish, the wine, bread, and song at the end of a long day? Then a peaceful sleep until dawn breaks, ushering in another familiar day. Is there no turning back?”

The peace of God, it is no peace,

But strife closed in the sod,

Yet let us pray for but one thing –

The marvelous peace of God.

 A young theologian, Dietrich Bonhoeffer, sits in a prison cell, writing his friends, corresponding with colleagues about the relationship between one’s religious convictions and the reality of this world. While hopeful of release, he knows all too well the cost of discipleship for him may be great. In one letter he writes, “When Christ calls a man, he bids him to come and die.” In another letter – “Jesus calls us not to a new religion, but to life...and we are called to drink this earthly cup to the dregs.” Near the end of the war, the prison guards will come to his cell, lead him to the gallows, strip him of his clothing, pronounce the sentence and hang him. His last letters, written just before his death, are filled with words of encouragement for others, rather than himself. Love is stronger than death.

And so here we are, gathered together on the cusp and brink of Holy Week. Jesus calls us to follow him to Jerusalem , where the hosannas will ring out with joy, the triumphal entry promising that even then, the reign of God might break through. There will be the meal, the prayers, the passing of the cup, the breaking of the bread, the washing of his follower’s feet, a friend’s betrayal in the dark of night worth thirty pieces of silver, the arrest, the trial, the mockery, the washing of the governor’s hands, the weeping and wailing on the way to the foot of the skull; the gates of the city now closed behind. The cross.

Jesus calls, “Follow me.”

“Can you drink the cup that I drink?”

“Will you be baptized with the water of my baptism?”

The peace of God, it is no peace,

But strife closed in the sod.

Yet let us pray for but one thing –

The marvelous peace of God.

The mysterious paradox is this: When we follow Jesus Christ, embrace his life as our own, we begin to understand that the peace of God is a peace that is beyond all human understanding.

Resources

Bonhoeffer, Dietrich. Letters and Papers from Prison. Collier Books. New York. 1972.

The Holy Bible . New Revised Standard Version. The Gospel According to St. Luke 18:31-34.

The Hymnal 1982 . Church Hymnal Corporation. New York. Hymn 661.

Rhode, Peter. The Diary of Søren Kierkegaard. Citadel Press. New York. 1 960.