While I was attending my grandmother’s funeral at St. John’s Episcopal Church over in Southeast Charlotte, I got lost.  It’s a big church and I got turned around in it.  There was nobody much wandering around where I was in the church that particular day and, given my shoddy geographical skills, I got really lost.  I get lost all the time.  The only thing that made this particularly interesting was what I saw painting on a staircase as I was ambling around St. John’s Episcopal Church.  It declared loudly (the print was really large).  Know Jesus (kn), kn(ow) peace.  NO Jesus.  No peace.  It was a providential sign, really.  Having gotten lost, my peace was completely gone and I was beginning to wonder if I was going to have to ramble around the church for some time looking for my family.  So, I was a little nervous.  Seeing that sign made me put things into reality – the strong likelihood was that I’d find my way back before I starved or anything like that.  The sign gave me a measure of peace.  That allowed my mind to destress for a moment and figure a way out of my temporary predicament.  Sometimes that’s all we need, just a moment or two of peace to clear our minds just a bit so that we can see past our anxiety and confusion into the solutions which are all around us.  Sometimes, when life is particularly vexing, we’re going to need more than just a few minutes.  We’re going to need to have something (or someone) in order to connect with in times of crisis.  Because crisis can drain us like nobody’s business and the overall effect of a world still broken by sin is going to cause us problems.  A lack of peace can bring us quickly to our knees. 

  I’ll never forget one time, experiencing the absolute antithesis of peace.  Long before I was a pastor, even before I was a chef, really, I was a radio salesguy.  That doesn’t mean I sold radios.  No, I sold advertising time on a local rock and roll radio station.  Now, I liked rock and roll but the older stuff.  This new radio station I was working for, they played the newer rock groups.  One of the groups we played, White Zombie, was doing a performance at the Charlotte Hornets Training facility in South Carolina if you remember that place.  Anyway, we had tons of free tickets to it.  Even though they definitely weren’t my cup of musical tea, I decided to go anyway.  One of the DJs found out I was going and made a point to warn me, “Stay out of the mosh pit.”  Now, I only partially understood this at the time but there is an area at certain rock concerts called the mosh pit.  It’s basically a place you can go and slam your body into others musically, I guess.  It’s a free for all and it’s not uncommon for people to walk away with minor injuries as the result of going in the mosh pit.  Anyway, my DJ friend was really clear, you want to be away from the center front of the stage when the lights go down for the show.  Well, the night of the event came and I wasn’t really paying much attention, when I realized, “Gee, I am standing right in front of the stage.  The exact place where my knowledgeable friend told me not to me.  Golly, I’d better get out of here.”  Just as I was thinking that, no kidding, the lights went off and the first chords of this loud, oppressive heavy metal music came out.  The next thing I know, it’s dark with flashing lights beaming me in the eyes, there’s this blaring music and now, bodies are literally slamming hard into mine.  Worse still, the first blow had disoriented me.  I had no idea which way was the most expedient out of the mosh pit.  I was still getting slammed around pretty hard when I chose a direction, carefully headed in that direction, just trying to avoid these maniacal mosh pitters.  In between the blaring music I didn’t like, the strange people seemingly intent on slamming into me with the full weight of their whole bodies and the overall lack of orientation I’d say it was like a small sliver of hell located right there in Gold Hill, South Carolina.    

  I remember that moment because, in it, I was the least peaceful in the moment I have ever been in my life.  There have been other difficult moments, to be sure, but that one remains in my mind as a visceral reminder of what it is like to be completely without peace.  Peace, I’m finding, is a commodity you value more as you age.  When I was younger, a night out of the town of revelry sounded like just the ticket to fun.  Now, no kidding, if I’m not in bed by nine pm, something is seriously wrong.  So too do I value less, let’s call them, engaging, entertainments.  That is to say I don’t require rock concerts any more to entertain me. A quiet night at home with the family is all I really want or need anymore.