New places scare me. As I wrote last week, moving to a new place brings with it a kind of sorrow that reminds me of my displacement from the Philippines in 2015 and my (forced) assimilation to the United States. But here I am again — moving to a new place, to a new unknown, anticipating the surprises of unfamiliar things.
Even having completed my first week-and-a-half at Princeton Theological Seminary, what belonging might look like in this new place still scares me. There is so much to discover: new friends, a new church, new professors, new buildings, new classrooms, and new ideas. Everything is new, and sometimes, amid all the newness, I feel lost and confused — missing the unique familiarity of Chicago, the people and places I’ve called “home” for years.
Don’t get me wrong. I really enjoy being here, having already learned so much from professors like David Chao and Ki Joo “KC” Choi, who teach Asian American history and theology, and postcolonial interpretations of the gospel narratives from Dr. Eric Barretto. Even taking a class called “Wine and the Bible” at the seminary’s Farminary, where we began exploring the history of wine, wine production, and their prominence in the Bible — all while doing wine tastings and eating from a charcuterie board (“Wine and the Bible” has certainly become the most unique course I’ve taken).
The past week-and-a-half has certainly been all sorts of fun. But, sometimes, rooting myself again in an unfamiliar place feels more chaotic to me than it is peaceful, only highlighting deeply entrenched desires for me to be home.
Yet, during these mixed emotions, I remember peace. There is something so beautiful about receiving God’s peace that transcends all human understanding (Phil. 4:6). Even amid the newness and changes of life, God breathes new life by the intimate presence of God’s Spirit, whom Jesus called our divine “Advocate”:
But the Advocate, the Holy Spirit, whom the Father will send in my name, will teach you everything and remind you of all that I have said to you. Peace I leave with you; my peace I give to you. I do not give to you as the world gives. Do not let your hearts be troubled, and do not let them be afraid. You heard me say to you, ‘I am going away, and I am coming to you.’ If you loved me, you would rejoice that I am going to the Father, because the Father is greater than I.1
In this passage, Jesus reminds us of the intimacy of our union with him. We are bound to Jesus forever by the indwelling of the Spirit, whom the Father sends as Jesus provides his peace. In this way, the Spirit and God’s peace are intertwined and interwoven because they are one and the same.
The Holy Spirit is God’s peace, and God’s peace is the Holy Spirit.
The Spirit is the very presence of the Triune fellowship — Father, Son, and Holy Spirit — indwelling within our bodies, hearts, minds, and souls to fill us with the song of God’s divine and eternal embrace.
St. Francis of Assisi knew this. He was an Italian friar who meditated on God’s peace as it related to human affairs. His prayer (as cited below) shows not only the transcendent qualities of God’s peace but what it means for our daily, material lives. He receives God’s peace as a tangible means for reconciliation, justice, forgiveness, joy, and understanding — that God’s peace is not abstracted from who we are and what we do as human beings. Instead, peace and the mundanity of human life are deeply intertwined and inseparable, and this was precisely what calmed my fears over the past few weeks. I realized that I don’t need to live an extraordinary life to have God’s peace because I already have it through the intimate presence of the Spirit, who is always with me wherever I go.
Thus, I hope this prayer blesses you as it blessed me.
The Prayer of St. Francis (Peace Prayer)
Lord, make me an instrument of your peace: where there is hatred, let me sow love; where there is injury, pardon; where there is doubt, faith; where there is despair, hope; where there is darkness, light; where there is sadness, joy. O divine Master, grant that I may not so much seek to be consoled as to console, to be understood as to understand, to be loved as to love. For it is in giving that we receive, it is in pardoning that we are pardoned, and it is in dying that we are born to eternal life.
Reading:
A Multitude of All Peoples: Engaging Ancient Christianity's Global Identity by Vince Bantu (IVP Academic)
Enchantment v Spectacle by Gabes Torres (Taglish Tangents)
blasphemy and beauty by Amar Peterman (This Common Life)
Watching:
Asian Americans (PBS)
Central Park (Apple TV+)
Listening:
instrumentals by Adrianne Lenker
Beautiful Life: The Gospel According to Death by Soll
Things Take Time, Take Time by Courtney Barnett
John 14:26-28, NRSV. Emphasis added.