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Peace be with you
In these times of multiple conflicts and calls to war, peace seems an increasingly inconsistent and illusory concept. Yet the agitation also lies —and above all— in our hearts, anguished by an uncertain future.
The prestigious Nobel Peace Prize, which was not in fact established by Nobel, the inventor of dynamite, has become a political instrument, awarded even to barbarians such as Obama after only one year in office, during whose presidency more bombs were dropped than by all his predecessors… And the current U.S. president clings to the prize like a child to a toy, while financing the genocide in Gaza and attacking Venezuela outside even the most basic framework of international law.
The Pax Romana, the Pax Britannica, and the Pax Americana were, in essence, treaties imposed by the victors upon the defeated. They were undoubtedly preferable to perpetual war, and Pliny the Elder (23–79) marveled that throughout the Roman Empire people could freely exchange ideas and goods, including medicinal plants…1
Where, then, is true peace, the kind that “nothing can disturb”?
A calm sea may reflect this sense of peace, but at any moment it can be stirred again. We need a deep peace, beyond superficial and fleeting calms. Air is too volatile, water too inconstant; what we need is the rocky seabed, and to reach it, we must descend from the mental agitation of air and pass through the emotional turbulence of water. We must settle like sediment in what endures: stone, earth.
This peace must also transcend uncertain temporality, the ephemeral nature of phenomena, to become stable, lasting, immutable. It therefore belongs to the order of Eternity; it does not pass. It remains unperturbed amid movement, like the axis of a wheel or the eye of a hurricane.
Finally, we aspire to a living peace, not the peace of cemeteries and the petrified bodies of Pompeii.
Traditional Amazonian medicines reveal to us that this space of possible peace exists, located in the lower abdomen, in the entrails. This is where what is “in our entrails” resides, the visceral part of ourselves. It is the place where, between the ages of 7 and 12, in contact with the sacred as it presents itself, the human being inscribes his or her choice to serve God or to renounce Him, freely, beyond any psychological, emotional, or circumstantial considerations. This free choice contradicts our rationalist minds, which confuse the spiritual with the psychological. At seven years of age, a child acquires awareness of his or her own existence and reflective thought, freedom within innocence; and at twelve, reaches a spiritual maturity that precedes that of the sexualized body, the psyche, and the emotions. From the deepest part of the heart (visceral), the child responds to the call of transcendence.
Hebrew, when referring to the entrails, uses words that denote a visceral mass located in the lower part of the abdominal cavity, which simultaneously carries a symbolic meaning of compassion and love, and is the seat of the most hidden and profound feelings. This equates it with the innermost self, the very essence of being. This terminology, which designates the innermost self both in the physical body and in its spiritual sense, corresponds in Hebrew to the word “mercy.” For this reason, Saint Luke (1:78) evokes the “tender mercy of our God,”, which he immediately links to the Nativity by specifying “by which the Dawn will visit us from on high.” Put in secular terms, the visceral “nature” of God is Mercy.
The peace we long for is hidden in the deepest part of our being, where God meets us through His Mercy. It is a hidden place where He frees us from all guilt, shame, and bad conscience, and offers us the forgiveness that brings peace to the soul.
This inner foundation, situated beneath mental and emotional agitation, purified of its denial (non serviam) of the divine call, can become the rock upon which our being rests. Christ invites us to rest in Him, to build upon this rock and not upon soft sand that is easily swept away by emotional floods. It is a place of refuge recognized by the mystics. Elizabeth of the Trinity asks to dwell there, “immutable and at peace as if my soul were already in Eternity.” Teresa of Ávila assures us that in this place “nothing disturbs you, nothing frightens you; all things pass, God does not change; patience attains all.”
Indeed, all things pass, but Christ specifies: “Heaven and earth will pass away, but my words will never pass away” (Mateo 24:35). The Prince of Peace does not offer worldly peace and even announces that His Word includes the sword, conflict, and division within families (Matthew 10:34–36). The sword separates between “serving” and “not serving.” The peace He offers is, above all, reconciliation with God, which generates all other forms of forgiveness and peace: “Peace I leave with you; my peace I give to you. I do not give to you as the world gives”; therefore, “do not let your hearts be troubled, and do not be afraid” (John 14:27).
May the blessed fruit of the womb of the Virgin Mary bring us true peace this Christmas, the peace of the entrails of mercy.
Jacques Mabit, Christmas 2025.
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