Dona nobis pacem

 

In the world’s most memorable sermon, the Man of Galilee said to a world haunted by violence: “Blessed are the peacemakers, for they shall be called sons of God.”
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It’s a moonless night in a small, poor village in Galilee, not far from Nazareth.
In a dimly lit cinder block home, a woman lies dying.
A priest sits with her, holding her cold, tremulous hand.
Toward the dark morning hours, her breathing stops.
The priest offers to deliver the news to the grieving son’s three brothers.
But the son stiffens, scowls, and says: “If they set foot in this house, we will kill each other.”
For the truth is that the brothers have such hate in their hearts for each other that even the death of their mother cannot bring them together.

These brothers are believers, once active in their village church.  Their vicious hostility toward each other has infected others, like an invisible toxic fog seeping through the walls of souls and spreading its evil poison.  Fathers won’t speak to sons, mothers and daughters spread false rumors about each other. 
Most of the Christians in this village no longer show up in church.

Except for Holy Week.  On Palm Sunday every seat is taken, though the hostility is palpable.  The feuding brothers are there also, but sitting widely apart from each other.

Before the benediction and dismissal, the priest descends from the pulpit and strides toward the back of the church.  He locks the huge double doors that have been open with a chain and padlock. Returning to the front, he faces his astonished congregation.
The priest now turns prophet: he confronts God’s people who have become lost in their hate and malice. 

“If you can’t love your brother,” he thunders, “whom you see, how can you say you love God who is invisible?  I have failed to unite you, but there is someone who can.  His name is Jesus Christ, who gives you power to forgive.  And if you will not forgive, we will stay locked in here.  You can kill each other and I’ll provide your funerals gratis.” 
Silence.  Tight lips.  Clenched fists.  Stony glares.  But silence, as the minutes crawl by in agonizing slowness.

Then the mysterious power of God invades.
Someone rises.  It is the man who would not let his brothers come to mourn their mother’s death.
Head lowered, voice faltering, the hardness of his heart melting with the irresistible grace of God, he turns to his fellow villagers: “I have hated my brothers enough to want to kill them.  I need forgiveness more than any.”
He turns to the priest now.  “Can you forgive me, too, Father?”
They move toward each other, embrace, give the kiss of peace, and of forgiveness.
The repentant brother now moves down the aisle, where, the wonder of it all, his three brothers rush to meet him.  They hold each other in a long, tearful embrace of forgiveness and long-denied love.

God’s peace that’s beyond understanding descends on the congregation.  People who haven’t spoken to each other for years now weep together.  Repentance and forgiveness mingle in a holy stream of divine grace.
A second service follows, a joyous service of love and reconciliation.
Afterward, the transformed spill into the streets.  Groups move from house to house to ask forgiveness for a certain wrong.  And, amazingly, it’s always freely given.
                                                                                          ~*~

Today, more than 40 years later, that once almost forgotten village of Ibillin in northern Galilee is a pilgrim and tourist destination.  The man from Galilee, Elias Chacour, is now Archbishop, Leader of the Melkite Catholic Church of Akko, Haifa, Nazareth, and all Galilee, the first Palestinian leader of the Palestine Christians in the Holy Land. 

The dilapidated church he came to has been replaced by a beautiful and thriving Church of the Sermon on the Mount located on the campus of the Mar Elias Educational Institutions, named after the prophet Elijah.  Founded by Father Chacour, the eight schools include kindergarten through high school, a gifted student program, technical college, theological school and university, and open to students of all races and religions.  More than half are Muslims.                                                                                           ~*~

We long for peace: within our heart, our family, our church, our land, our world.
But how serious are we about peacemaking?  Is our church and denomination a force for peace?
Are our politics?  Do we know about organizations like Peace Direct, Peace Action, Peace Now, or the Canadian Peace Alliance, and do we offer them our participation and support?
If we are not peacemakers, can we still be the sons of God?