Somewhere on the Roller Coaster

There’s a great little scene in the movie Parenthood. Steve Martin plays Gil, a neurotic perfectionist father who, despite his best efforts, seems likely to raise some screwed up kids. In the middle of a gripe session with his wife (played by Mary Steenburgen), as he complains about the chaos and complications of his life, his elderly grandmother steps in with a story about the time her husband took her on a roller coaster. “You know, it was just so interesting to me that a ride could make me so frightened, so scared, so sick, so excited, and so thrilled all together! Some didn't like it. They went on the merry-go-round. That just goes around. Nothing. I like the roller coaster. You get more out of it.”

This little story, to me, clearly defines two kinds of people: those who can handle the thrill of the roller coaster and those who cannot. Though the story’s meant to convince Gil to embrace life’s chaos and get on the ride, I know in my heart that, like Gil (at least in that moment), I’m just a merry-go-round gal.

The merry-go-round is predictable. It’s organized, orderly, no chance of your sunglasses flying off mid-ride. The merry-go-round is peaceful.

But of course, life really isn’t like a merry-go-round at all. It is more like a roller coaster. But dammit, grandma, not all of us like it.

Lately, I’ve had some health episodes—two early-morning ER trips, two bowel obstructions, two NG tubes, one surgery, and thirteen days in the hospital in a single month. All of that, combined with Tuesday’s Gospel reading, has me thinking about peace—what it is, and where to find it.

Jesus said to his disciples: "Peace I leave with you; my peace I give to you. Not as the world gives do I give it to you.” (Jn 14:27)

The world is very busy trying to give us peace. Every single day on the interwebs, there are people telling us where to find peace, how to make it happen, and always with the dig that if we’re not listening to them, our lives will be chaos. This is the kind of peace the world promises.

The first things we usually point to when we talk about the world’s peace are money, power, and position. And yes, these things do give peace. If you don’t have to worry about money, you can relax and know you’re provided for. If you’re in control and wield some power or control, you can feel pretty secure. If you’re in a high position in a company, you probably don’t have much to worry about. Of course, all these things can change. The rug can easily be pulled out.

But there are also very subtle peace-promises that I am tempted by even more than these things. Organization, meditation, exercise, diet, reading the “right” books or essays, following the “right” influencers, appearance, attitude, mindfulness, manifestations. All these are big, tempting rabbit holes I can easily fall into (and I have fallen into most of these). And sometimes I can come close to the peace they offer. When I open my linen closet and nothing falls out onto my head, there is a certain peace to that.

But all these things are temporary, superficial.

Jesus said, “Peace I leave with you; my peace I give to you.”

He gave it to them. He gives it to us. He didn’t give them the roadmap to peace, he didn’t give them the seven secrets to finding peace, he just gave peace to them. It was theirs to claim. And it’s ours.

Now I know what you’re thinking, and I was, too. If he left us peace, if he gave us his own peace, then why does my life feel like a roller coaster? I must be doing something wrong.

But, as with everything Jesus does, there is more to it than just giving us that “peaceful feeling.” Remember, this reading is from the Last Supper Discourse. It’s like he’s cramming with the disciples before the test—getting them ready for what comes next. And it’s not cracking open a cold one on a Saturday afternoon at the lake. He’s heading straight into the Passion, where everything he is telling them, including this part about giving them his peace, is meant to help bolster them, give them the foundation to understand and endure what’s coming.

That’s when he says it: “Get up, let us go.”

Which is very similar to what I said to Bob when I woke him up to take me to the E.R. (twice in a month). It was scary, disorienting, and painful. When I was admitted the first time, not really knowing how this whole thing would go, I will admit that there were moments when I was very far from experiencing the peace that Jesus left us. An NG tube alone can just suck all the peace right out of you. But, between pain meds, heparin shots, and vitals checks, I did find peace. It was in my daily rosary (still there in my hand when I dozed off), Scripture, and prayer. Even if it didn’t feel particularly “peaceful” or holy at the time, it was important for me to stay connected, to seek out God’s presence in that hospital bed. I may not have named this “Jesus’ peace” at the time, but that is exactly what it was. And I want more of it.

The beautiful thing is that we, like the disciples, don’t have to go looking for it, earn it, or manufacture it in our own (often confused) minds. He gave it to us. It’s there any time we make the connection with him. Like the disciples during the Passion, we might break that connection. But like the disciples after the Resurrection, we are welcomed back, embraced, and loved.

That’s peace in the middle of the roller coaster. 

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