Lent Day 2: Pax Christi in Luke 2

Luke 2 tells the story of Christmas: the birth and childhood of Jesus, and a theme that runs through Luke’s story is peace. The two prayers contained in this chapter both focus around this. When the angels visit the shepherds, they break out in prayer, “Glory to God in the highest, and on Earth peace to those on whom his favor rests” (2:14). Upon seeing the Christ presented in the temple, Simeon exclaims, “Now, Master, you may let your servant go in peace, according to your word.”

Clearly, peace is in some way connected to Christ. It’s a theme that goes beyond Luke 2 Ephesians 2:14 calls Christ “our peace,” and Colossians 3:15 discusses “the Peace of Christ.” So what do we mean by this pax Christi? Do we mean lack of war? On one level, certainly. But the Roman empire was in the middle of the Pax Augusta—a period of relatively few armed conflicts enforced by the armies of the Emperor Augustus. If pax Christi means only world peace, we have a problem. After all, not only did peace exist before Christ (and to any Roman, peace within the Empire counted as world peace), but it was brought about by someone entirely different: Caesar Augustus. And anyone who has studied the Church can hardly claim that Christ brought about peace.

Yet, even living in the lack of armed conflict during the Pax Romana, Simeon says he may “go in peace” only upon seeing the Christ. And so we Christians believe Christ is the peacebringer. How? Well, Simeon also says Christ is a “sign that will be contradicted . . . so that the thoughts of many hearts may be revealed.” (2:34-35). It is this very “sign of contradiction” that allows us to look for peace in the life of someone whose life ended in anything but a peaceful manner. Us followers of Christ believe peace means more than not hitting someone. Consider the phrase “at peace with yourself.” It doesn’t merely mean you are not physically hurting yourself—though that is a prerequisite—it means more. It means a harmony—a tranquility—without fear and without tension. St. John of the Cross prays “O blessed Jesus, give me the stillness of soul in You. Let your mighty calmness reign in me. Rule me, O King of Gentleness, King of Peace.”

Even in the world in which armed conflict and death occurs in Iraq, Afghanistan, Syria, Chad, Mali, Somalia, Uganda, Colombia, Burma, Mexico—the list goes on and on—Christ is still present in each of our hearts. Even with all the hatred we witness daily in our very own country—even in the very name of Christ—we can still find peace our relationship with Christ. That is the sign of contradiction. And at Lent, as we prepare for that ultimate sign of contradiction—salvation through the Cross—we are called to remember that as we enter the Mass, and lay down before the altar, or even open up the altar of our heart in our daily prayer, we open ourselves up to the Pax Christi that Simeon found in Christ.

Privilege on the Cross

I am privileged.

Don’t get me wrong, I’ve worked hard to get where I am.  There are countless times I would have loved to cuddle up with a book or television show or go out on a Friday or Saturday that I spent in the Engineering Quad with my work on a Saturday night after the library had closed.  I will spend the next three years of my life reading countless legal texts to try and

But, thinking again, what a privilege that I could, in complete safety, swipe in to a beautiful computer lab, and work as much or as little as I wanted in a quiet place with constant access to caffeine that I could buy on a prepaid food plan.  

No one likes to talk about privilege, and that makes sense, but the mere fact that I was raised in a loving family willing to sacrifice for my sake, that I have had an education and other resources that so many lack. I did nothing to deserve that, and I have only my family’s generosity to thank.  

What privilege.

What grace. 

But that’s okay, because there is nothing wrong with privilege.  Nothing wrong with grace.  My accomplishments are not diminished by my privilege, by me having “built that” through grace I did nothing to deserve.  However, there is something wrong with me denying that privilege is there, or using that privilege improperly.  I cannot say a token prayer of “thanks, God” and using that grace merely to “get ahead” and “be successful” without appropriating for my own what simply isn’t mine.  For every luxury I was given, there are countless others who undeservedly did not receive the same privilege, the same grace, and have nothing.

Using my gifts to get myself ahead is no better than the servant who buried the talents his master gave him instead of using them for his master’s greater glory (Matthew 25).  That is not the way of the Cross. In words reminiscent Uncle Ben, the more grace I was given, the greater responsibility I have.  Indeed, it is written that the disciples decided “according to ability, each should send relief” to other believers in a time of famine (Acts 11:29).

This is the Cross: God empting himself, “taking the form of a slave,” and humbling himself “becoming obedient to the point of death, even death on the cross” (Philippians 2:7-8).  The Cross is the subjugation of power to the powerless.  It is Bryan Stevenson turning down a $160,000 annual salary starting salary at a big law firm to defend the lepers of our society—those we deem so irredeemable we condemn them to death.

This perhaps seems unreasonable for anyone to ask.  Our society allows us to put ourselves first, no matter how many more resources we have. But, “the message of the cross is foolishness to those who are perishing, but to us who are being saved it is the power of God” (1 Cor 1:18).  

Christ does not teach us to be ashamed of privilege.  Indeed, Christ had the greatest privilege of all—divine privilege.  Christ’s life shows us the ultimate purpose of this privilege.  His ultimate privilege—divinity—was fulfilled in becoming the most limited slave, subjugating himself to sinners who tortured him to death, in order to grace us all with equally undeserved salvation.

It is only on the Cross that privilege can be transformed from arbitrary reward into a vehicle for God’s love and redemption.  It on the Cross that privilege becomes grace.