Peace. The word immediately brings to my mind a sense of longing, yearning, for peace. I believe that everyone has a desire for peace, whether it is personal contentment or world peace, we all long to feel at rest, with nothing and no one to fight. But it doesn't happen. There is insecurity all around: wars at home and abroad, restlessness in the soul, and plain old discontent. Why is that? Why are we never at peace? I think that the poem
The Pulley by George Herbert answers the question quite nicely:
When God at first made man,
Having a glass of blessings standing by;
Let us (said he) pour on him all we can:
Let the worlds riches, which dispersed lie,
Contract into a span.
So strength first made a way;
Then beauty flow’d, then wisdom, honour, pleasure:
When almost all was out, God made a stay,
Perceiving that alone of all his treasure
Rest in the bottom lay.
For if I should (said he)
Bestow this jewel also on my creature,
He would adore my gifts instead of me,
And rest in Nature, not the God of Nature:
So both should losers be.
Yet let him keep the rest,
But keep them with repining restlessness:
Let him be rich and weary, that at least,
If goodness leade him not, yet weariness
May toss him to my breast.
Our only hope of real rest, a deep inner peace, is found in Christ alone. If we seek it not there, we will never
find it elsewhere.