Once, while visiting Westminster Abbey in London, I noticed a chime acknowledging the top of the hour. A priest came upon the speaker, reminding us that even though we might be there as tourists, the Abbey was first and foremost a house of prayer. He then invited us to stop wherever we were and pray the Our Father in our own language. My son and I were nearly moved to tears as we prayed with those around us and heard whispers of Italian, Hindi, Russian and Spanish. There was a sense of the Church spanning the globe that we easily forget back home at our parish in Seattle.
Standing there, where so many had been over the past one thousand years, we felt connected to the history of the Church. At that moment, I wish the priest would have also invited us to Pass the Peace, to shake the hands of those we now knew to be our brothers and sisters in Christ who surrounded us in those hallowed halls. But he did not, and we all went along our way, looking at the graves of kings, queens, and poets.
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I know many who do not like the Sign of Peace, the gesture of communion exchanged at Mass after the Our Father. They feel it invades their introverted sensibilities. And yet, this is the moment in the liturgy when we reconcile ourselves to each other. This ritual is an outward expression of what has happened in our hearts as we prayed the Our Father.
I always feel convicted as I pray the words “forgive us our trespasses, as we forgive those who trespass against us.” I think of some of the very people in the church, or in my pew — perhaps even in my own family — whom I have held grudges against. I remember how I am angry and hurt by them or how I have angered and hurt them through my actions. These people come to mind as I pray, and I am overwhelmed by God’s grace with me and my shortcomings. I want to extend grace and forgiveness to them or hope that they will extend it to me. Sometimes I don’t just want to shake their hand; I want to embrace them as the brother or sister in Christ they are.
Sometimes it isn’t even about forgiveness. It is like that moment in Westminster Abbey, when I am reminded how we are all connected in his Spirit. Just as monks and priests bow to one another to acknowledge the Spirit within, I am inspired to do the same with my fellow parishioners.
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Many at my parish, after the pandemic, still will not grasp hands with hearty enthusiasm to grant peace to the very people around them — even those they might have prayed for. Of course, we can connect without touching, but I think how Christ came in a body, incarnate — he made our bodies holy. I long for this connection, to grasp the hand of others. I long for the unity which bestowing peace upon our fellow man brings.
I think about the times when my son has been stressed about oversleeping, or seeing a friend he had an argument with, or simply being an awkward teen, and how I was able to pass peace upon him. I say, “Peace be with you” with extra emphasis and he knows. He knows I notice and love him and that this peace of Christ is his to grasp.
I remember when my son was younger and cute and cherubic, how I would encourage him to pass the peace to those in our pew, even though he was shy. I’d tell him how much it would mean to people, especially coming from him. Then I’d watch, as even the coldest, most rigid people in our pew melted and relaxed as he shook their hand to pass the peace.
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“Peace be with you,” Jesus said so many times in the Gospels. Do not be afraid. Move through this world in peace — it is a fruit of the Spirit within us.
Many years ago, I came to Mass, anxious and frankly a bit fearful. I, too, am often introverted, and passing the peace was nerve-wracking to me. I remember dreading it. When it came time for the Sign of Peace, I turned to my right and mumbled a bit. When I turned to my left, I found my priest there. He had sensed my anxiety and discomfort all the way from the altar. He had walked down the pews to pass peace upon me. I’ll never forget that impactful gesture. My fear and frustration dissipated. I felt loved and connected, not only to my community but to Jesus. My priest served as a physical embodiment of Christ’s love and grace to me.
This powerful ritual connects us to each other and to our Lord. I find myself passing peace outside of Mass now as a parting gift instead of saying goodbye in person, on the phone or even on Zooms. “Peace be with you,” I say as we part. And they know, more than a goodbye would communicate, that they are loved and connected, to me and to Jesus.
