Abiding Peace in Troubled Times

By Jessie Wells Clark

It was the Christmas season in 1940, but there was no peace. England was at war, and Nazi bombers were raining death and destruction from the air. Yet, in London’s underground shelters, the people sang, seemingly oblivious of the pandemonium above:

O little town of Bethlehem, how still we see thee lie!
Above thy deep and dreamless sleep, the silent stars go by;
Yet in thy dark streets shineth the everlasting Light.
The hopes and fears of all the years are met in thee tonight.

What a picture that must have brought to the minds of those singers! Perhaps never before had they realized the beauty that shone on that first Christmas night. The stillness of Bethlehem and the silent stars contrasted with the bursting bombs! They could not even see the stars, for enemy planes had driven the people underground. And then that line, “Yet in thy dark streets shineth the everlasting Light.” Surely they realized, as never before, that while man had the power to force these blackouts upon them, there was a Light that could not be extinguished. Jesus said, “I am the light of the world. Whoever follows me will never walk in darkness, but will have the light of life” (John 8:12).

With the assurance there was a Light no enemy could put out, can you hear the new note of triumph as they sang again of the Savior’s birth?

It came upon a midnight clear,
    That glorious song of old,
From angels bending near the earth,
    To touch their harps of gold:
“Peace on the earth, goodwill to men,
    From heaven’s all-gracious King.”
The world in solemn stillness lay,
    To hear the angels sing.

And there must have been a note of sadness as they sang on:

Yet with the woes of sin and strife
    The world hath suffered long;
Beneath the angel-strain have rolled
    Two thousand years of wrong;
And man, at war with man, hears not
    The words of peace they bring:
O hush the noise, ye men of strife,
    And hear the angels sing.

Now, let your imagination transport you thousands of miles to South America to a statue known as Christ the Redeemer of the Andes. In your mind’s eye, can you see it standing there in the Andes Mountains on the border between Chile and Argentina, with arms outstretched as though pleading with a reluctant world, imploring it to come to him for peace and protection?

How beautiful and fitting that the statue was made of old melted cannonballs by two nations who pledged to remain at peace with one another. And how impressive is the inscription: “Sooner shall these mountains crumble into dust than the people of Argentina and Chile break the peace which they have sworn at the feet of Christ the Redeemer.”

As a prayer, we might well use Henry Van Dyke’s words, which were inspired by this statue:

“Christ of the Andes,” Christ of everywhere . . .
Patient lover of impatient men, . . .
Who blindly strive and sin and strive again, . . .
Oh, teach the world, warring and wondering still,
The way of Peace, the foot path of Good Will!

The enormity of the struggles going on about us make it seem impossible that that prayer shall ever be answered. It seems there will always be men whose hearts are not right with God, and nations that want only to tear at each other’s throats. Yes, it seems impossible. But there is a way.

An African king once expressed the desire to find the town that had first gone to war so that he might destroy it.

“I know the place where war began,” one of his chiefs said, “but I do not think you can ever capture it. War began in man’s heart, and I am afraid that is a town you cannot take.”

Herbert Hoover said essentially the same thing: “Peace is not made at the council table or by treaties, but in the hearts of men.”

This matter of peace comes back to each individual Christian. We have no reason to believe this world shall ever be completely at peace until that day when Christ returns, but we, as Christians, have the terrible responsibility of doing all we can in our small circle to change the hearts of men and bring them in tune with the Almighty. As we work, recall that a pebble tossed into a pond causes circular ripples that grow and grow until, at last, they melt into the shore. We never can know the extent of our influence, but surely with the great God back of us, it must of necessity be far-reaching, even though it may never bring about the peace we long and hope for.

With the enormity of the task of world peace leaving us awed and afraid, we must look for another peace. And thanks be to God there is a peace that is sure. A personal peace in the midst of a world gone mad.

How can it be found? I saw this written: “Look to the heavens. Find the stars, they are still there. . . . The Magi in the quiet of the night turned their telescopes to the heavens and saw the star which led them to the Christ. So, in the quiet, we keep our tryst with God and through communion with him there comes a glimpse of the eternal things that cannot be destroyed—a glimpse of Christ who can bring to our hearts an abiding peace in troublous times and make us say with confidence, ‘God’s in his heaven, all’s well with the world.’”

In “Calm Me, My God,” Scottish churchman and poet Horatius Bonar asked for such peace:

Calm me, my God, and keep me calm,
Soft resting on Thy breast;
Soothe me with holy hymn and psalm,
And bid my spirit rest.
Calm as the ray of sun or star
Which storms assail in vain;
Moving unruffled thro’ earth’s war,
The eternal calm to gain.

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This essay is adapted from “There Is a Place of Perfect Peace,” by Jessie Wells Clark, which appeared in Christian Standard on December 23, 1950. The issue noted only that Clark lived in Newark, New Jersey. A brief editorial in March 1952 said that “for some time . . . [Miss Clark] has been engaged in a quiet but effective work of encouragement and assistance among Negro churches and ministers in New York City.”