Homily

The early Church Fathers loved making comparisons, and we find many examples of this for the Nativity of Christ. So they would, for example, compare the Roman emperor to the newborn king lying in a manger. We even see this in our liturgical texts, even tonight when we sang, "Nations were registered in the name of Caesar Augustus, and we, the faithful, were registered in Your Divine Name, O Incarnate One." Caesar Augustus — Jesus Christ. The emperor of Rome — the king of heaven and earth.

When Christ was born, the whole world of the lands surrounding the Mediterranean Sea was under Roman control, and Caesar Augustus had achieved a peace that part of the world had never seen before. It begins a long period of peace and prosperity that became known as the "Pax Romana," or the "Peace of Rome," but it is also called the "Peace of Augustus." It allowed people to travel more freely and safely, it prevented the destruction and disruption of the food supplies throughout the empire. It lowered inflation, increased business, and allowed millions of people to go about their daily lives without the threat of war. That was the "Peace of Augustus," and it was quite an achievement for any man.

Then we have the birth not of a noble Roman, but of a Jewish child, born of a Virgin, Who will be called the King of Peace, and His army is an army of angels who appear on that night not to declare war on Rome or any other political power. They appear with the message of peace, a peace that will be given from the hand of God. But the peace that comes from the King of all is not like the Peace of Augustus. It's not forced on anyone, it's not imposed upon nations or individuals. It's not a political peace, it's not just about the absence of war, or the ending of hostilities between enemies. The King of Peace will tell His followers later, "Peace, I leave with you, my peace I give to you. Not as the world gives do I give it to you. Do not let your hearts be troubled or afraid." That is the peace this King promises to His followers. That is the peace He offers to us.

But since it is His peace He offers, it is not always the peace that we want. Many times the peace that we desire is a peace that is outside of ourselves. We could be at peace, we could enjoy peace, if only this thing would happen and that thing would not happen, and if it goes well and if it doesn't fail, and if it turns out as I want it to turn out, then I can have peace. And if he would only do this, and if she would stop doing that, and if they all just would leave me alone, or never leave me all alone, then I could have peace. Out there, with people, events, situations, circumstances, if only things would go well, I could be at peace. And these can be genuine opportunities for peace. We pray for peace in the world at every Liturgy.

But this is not the kind of peace that Jesus offers to His followers. If it were some kind of external peace or some kind of harmony among people that He promised, He picked a terrible time to proclaim it on the night before his suffering and death.

"Do not let your hearts be troubled or afraid," He said. But we are afraid. Each one of us, we have our fears and they are fears for other people and they are fears for our own selves. They rarely all come at us together at one time, but they are there, embedded in our minds and our hearts and they pop up, here and there, time to time, the big ones and the small ones, and like the arcade game, "Whack-a-Mole" we keep trying to use a hammer to beat them down whenever they pop up but only rarely do we get rid of them.

And our hearts are troubled because we are not sure, we're not always decided, we're not always clearly set on what we want in life, or how we want to live. We go back and forth many times. We want to be 100% with the Lord, unless something else looks better to us on any given day. We want to be kindly and loving, except for when we don't want to be. We want to give, but we count the costs. We want to pray, but instead we play. We admire virtue, but find vice to be a lot easier. We are troubled. We're divided in our hearts. We struggle with ourselves, even more than we struggle with others.

All too often we want the "Pax Augusta, the Peace of Augustus," where all out there is calm and quiet and not warring against me. But the "Pax Christi, the Peace of Christ," is greater than that, for it is a peace that carries us through no matter the turmoil or danger, even at the cost of our own lives, it is a peace that carries us on to the fullness of life, even if we are facing death, because it is a peace that unites us with Jesus. It is a peace that carries us into the love of our Savior, and it is stronger than any fear or tragedy.

It's rare for the Peace of Christ to overwhelm us all at once, because it only comes as we are willing to put ourselves into Christ's hands. It only comes when we surrender our own wills in order to follow His will. It only comes when we acknowledge Him as the only way, the only truth, the only life that we desire. And, for most of us, getting to that peace in Christ is a gradual process, a step-by-step journey, and we are drawn closer to it only a little at a time. But why can't tonight, at this very Liturgy, be a time where we surrender ourselves just a little more, as much as we're able, and beg the Lord to help us put our lives more firmly in his hands? The Peace of Augustus is limited and temporary, and it can never heal the wounds of our hearts and our souls. The peace of Jesus is eternal and unfailing because it is not so much a "something" that is given to us. It's found in the life of the King who wants to share His own life with us.