Peace Is a Practice

Paul's closing words sound almost casual. Farewell. Get it together. Agree with each other. Live in peace.

But there's nothing lightweight about that list. He's urging a strained community toward unity and peace, and he's not wrapping up with pleasantries. He's handing them a to-do list disguised as a goodbye.

"Put things in order." That one's worth sitting with. Order isn't rigidity. It's more like tending a garden: you keep showing up, you keep clearing out what's crowding the good stuff. It takes attention. It takes honesty about what's actually going on.

Then he ends with something that doesn't feel like an ending at all. Grace. Love. Communion. One attributed to each Person of the Trinity, offered to all of them together. Not to the ones who had it figured out. To all of them.

That's the thing about the Trinity: it's not just a doctrine to understand from a distance. It's a life to be drawn into. The Father, Son, and Holy Spirit exist in perfect self-giving love, and Paul is essentially saying, that's what's available to you. That's what's on offer, right now, in the middle of your mess.

Today is the feast of the Visitation. Mary, freshly carrying the Word made flesh, goes to be with her cousin Elizabeth. She doesn't wait until things are settled. She goes. She brings peace by showing up.

Maybe that's the move. Stop waiting for the community to be easier, the relationships to be smoother, the timing to be right. Go. Greet someone. Live in peace, even a little.