Lord, make me an instrument of Your peace.
It’s repeated on Sundays at my church, something we have added to the liturgy because it reminds each of us that the change we hunger for in this world is linked to the way we walk in the days we’ve been given. Before we step into that world, our small sanctuary fills with the sound of the Prayer of St. Francis:
Lord, make me an instrument of Your peace;
where there is hatred, let me sow love;
where there is injury, pardon;
where there is discord, union;
where there is doubt, faith;
where there is despair, hope;
where there is darkness, light;
and where there is sadness, joy.
Grant that I may not so much seek to be consoled as to console,
to be understood as to understand,
to be loved as to love.
For it is in giving that we receive,
it is in pardoning that we are pardoned,
and it is in dying that we are born to eternal life.
I love the rhythm of the words, the cadence of the way the prayer is recited. But I’ve never considered the transformative power of the first stanza – until now.
In a world hellbent on destruction, make me an instrument of your peace.
What will transform hate into love? Peace.
What will bring pardon to injury? Peace.
What will reveal hope in the midst of despair? Peace.
A peace that is pure.
A peace that posts guard over our hearts and minds.
Peace within us, given by its Creator, the Lord of peace.
A peace planted, cultivated, grown, and harvested like the fruit that it is. A peace that gives life to those it fills.
A peace that brings unity. A peace that calms fears. A peace that heals. A peace that points the way.
The way to love, pardon, union, faith, hope, light, joy.
Finally, brothers and sisters, keep rejoicing and repair whatever is broken. Encourage each other, think as one, and live at peace; and God, the Author of love and peace, will remain with you. 2 Corinthians 13:11 VOICE
We are instruments of peace. Each of us.
We are the delicate and holy good work of God.
We are pens, writing peace into the stories of the days.
We are knives, carving tables that offer peace to all.
We are hands, planting peace in gardens of hope.
We are an orchestra, playing peace to a world aching for a song.
We are a prayer, a presence, a response. We are a meal, a moment. We are the listening ear, the broad shoulder, the whispered, “I see you.”
Peace is the tears that water the soil of a better day. Peace is the embrace that carries us there.
We are instruments of that peace – understanding, consoling, giving, pardoning, loving.
Peace that gives its life for a life eternal. Peace that transforms all it embraces. Including the instrument.
May I be willing to kneel in the mire when planting the seeds. May I graciously wait to be filled when the pen runs dry. May I yield to being stretched and plucked, honed and refined.
May I be willing to carry the weight, bake the bread, offer the place at the table.
May I step bravely into the hatred, the injury, the discord, the doubt, the despair, the darkness, the sadness.
Lord, make me an instrument of Your peace. Even now. Even today.