The urge to play Christmas tunes this November has been stronger than in years prior. I have been resisting this urge and instead have chosen to tune into non-Christmas oldies from Frank Sinatra, Nat King Cole, and Bing Crosby. There is something about nostalgic old recordings that conjures up a comparable feeling of security and comfort.
Turning to these playlists, I have also become more aware of the ways in which my heart, when troubled, reaches out towards various things for comfort. Whether it is turning on the “10 Hours of Crackling Logs” YouTube videos, steeping a cup of tea, or picking up my phone to scroll through a never-ending social media feed, I find myself again and again turning to earthly comforts when the stressors of life feel insurmountable.
Recently, I was talking with Gratia Plena, the Boston College Catholic women’s group, about the fourth Joyful Mystery of the Rosary, the finding of Jesus in the Temple (Luke 2:41-51). When Mary and Joseph lose the child Jesus for three days in Jerusalem and then scold Him for not staying with the family, Jesus says quite bluntly, “How is it that you sought me? Did you not know that I must be in my Father’s house?” (Lk. 2:49).
Reading this passage again, I heard this question directed at me: “Annemarie, how is it that you sought me?” I realized that in the moments when I think I have lost my peace, I seek it in calming music, in comfort food, in distraction from and evasion of my problems. Examining the fruits of this seeking for peace, I can see that, in reality, the peace that these comforts provide always fades and leaves me troubled again. I am looking for Christ’s peace in all the wrong places, when, in fact, it is close at hand and was never lost to begin with.
“Did you not know that I must be in my Father’s house?” In a larger sense of the text, the “Father’s house” can be taken to signify our own hearts, which, if we let them, can be small tabernacles of the Holy Spirit, “treasure in earthen vessels” (1 Cor. 6:19; 2 Cor. 4:7). The peace of Christ is far closer than I imagine it to be, as I hurry around anxiously seeking reassurances that all is well. St. Francis de Sales says, “Anxiety is the greatest evil that can befall a soul, except sin. God commands you to pray, but he forbids you to worry.”
Does this mean that we will perfectly understand God’s will if we can only seek Him first? I think Mary’s response to Jesus’ bewilderingly simple answer sheds some light on the answer: “They did not understand the saying which He spoke to them… and His mother kept all these things in her heart” (Lk. 2:50-51). We might not understand all, but the consolation that comes from laying these things down and pondering them in His never-failing presence is the true peace that we seek. Let’s pay attention to the ways we seek peace when our hearts are troubled, and try to remember that the peace of the Lord which “surpasses all understanding” (Phil 4:7) is ever-present if we will only seek Him in prayer.
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