Shalom fell from the sky on Saturday in the form of snowflakes that streaked silently from the heavens.
The song, ‘Still, Still, Still,’ by Georg Gotsch captured well what crept down the balsams and settled into our mountain meadow:
Still, still, still,
One can hear the falling snow.
For all is hushed,
The world is sleeping,
Holy Star it's vigil keeping.
Still, still, still,
One can hear the falling snow.
The falling snow clouded the distant view of our mountains and erased the ridgetops nearest our home. The billowy down settled first in the cracks and crevices of things and then began to dress the sugar maples and firs in our yard. Road noise from the nearby four-lane was replaced with the silent hum of snow cascading from the clouds that had snuggled up to our mountain home.
The snow drew me to the window and outside onto the porch. I marveled as it accumulated. I was fascinated by the waxing and the waning, the ebbs and the flows, the spurts and sputters of the falling snow. The snow delighted my soul. The snow was peace. Shalom.
It is testimony to the fact that we haven’t seen much snow lately that I can wax poetic about a measly two inches of the white stuff. In the end, it may not have been much of a snowstorm. But it was certainly good for my soul.
Why?
Well, of course, the falling snow was pretty. But more than that, why would falling snow bring me such a feeling of peace, even well-being, and wholeness, as the word shalom suggests?
Snow feels like a welcome interruption. In our context, snow is certainly a change agent. It provides us with a different kind of reality. Snow dampens noise and it invites a collective pause. But mostly, snow transforms.
When we get a good snow, our harsh and steely-toned landscape is changed. The uneven tufts of grass disappear. The half-raked leaves vanish. Roads slowly fade away. The eyesores are dressed up, and the evergreens get their highlights.
Likewise, shalom is enchanting because it transforms.
God’s peace brings change. It reduces noise. It brings child-like wonder. It disrupts the status quo, and it elicits joy.
Sometimes, shalom washes over us as pure, inescapable gift and grace. A good snow has the power to do this. But at other times, shalom is present but not acknowledged; it is there, but not tapped into. The trick, of course, that the great saints and heroes of the faith knew well, is to experience God’s shalom when it is not apparent. This requires a keen eye for God’s blessings and a faith that trusts that it is there. God’s shalom must be sought after, hungered for, and ultimately practiced. Spiritual disciplines like reading scripture, praying, giving, sharing, serve as gateways to God’s shalom. The practices of the Church can provide windows for us to see the beauty and serenity of falling snow.
Thanks be to God, who is the author and creator of shalom! May God’s shalom, like the falling snow, invite us to be still, still, still.