Peace in the In-Between

A reflection for the second week of Advent

The December wind groans through bare branches outside my window, carrying the last stubborn leaves of autumn with it. I watch them dance—a chaotic ballet of letting go—and wonder about peace. Real peace. Not the kind we paste onto Christmas cards or sing about in carols, but the deep, soul-settling peace that feels so elusive in our world of breaking news alerts and endless notifications.

In this second week of Advent, as the second purple candle flickers to life, I sit with an ancient paradox: how do we hold peace in a world that seems anything but peaceful? The prophet Isaiah's words echo across millennia: "For to us a child is born... and he will be called Prince of Peace." Yet here we are, watching our screens fill with images of conflict, our hearts heavy with the weight of a world at war with itself.

Sometimes, I wonder if we've misunderstood peace entirely. We imagine it as the absence of conflict, like a still lake on a windless day. But what if peace is more like a river that cuts through rocky terrain, finding its way despite the obstacles? What if peace is less about perfect circumstances and more about perfect trust?

I think of Mary, carrying the Prince of Peace beneath her heart while her world teetered on the edge of scandal. Her "yes" to God didn't guarantee smooth sailing—quite the opposite. Yet in her Magnificat, she sang of God's faithfulness with a peace that transcended her circumstances: "My soul magnifies the Lord, and my spirit rejoices in God, my Savior."

Perhaps peace is God’s presence amid our troubles rather than their absence. It's the courage to light a candle when darkness presses in, the strength to keep loving when hate seems louder, and the quiet certainty that dawn will break, even on our longest nights.

As I write these words, I feel the tension between what is and what should be. The peace we seek in Advent isn't a temporary cease-fire or a fragile political agreement. It's the deep shalom that God promises—the putting right of all things, the healing of ancient wounds, the reconciliation of all that's broken.

Until then, we live in the in-between.

We light our candles.
We pray our prayers.
We choose love over fear again and again.
We trust that the same God who wrapped infinity in swaddling clothes is still at work, weaving peace through the fabric of our fractured world.

In this second week of Advent, may we find the courage to be bearers of peace in a world desperate for it. Not because we have all the answers but because faith allows us to live in the tension of our questions and embrace the mystery of it all. And may we remember that even now, especially now, the Prince of Peace is still coming to make His home among us.