gets rolled into one third grade teacher?
A bulletin board outside the classroom with the heading "Wishing . . . " and below an assortment of student compositions of five or six lines each, with each line starting with "the deep peace of." The deep peace of sparkling snow to you. the deep peace of singing birds to you. the deep peace of beautiful mountains to you. Ad nauseum.
I imagine her classroom full of miniature zen monks with shaved heads and saffron robes, meditating during recess while the other, less enlightened, children lose their cool on the jungle gym.
But what bothers me most about this isn't the eastern mysticism thinly disguised as a language lesson. What bothers me most is that all of this deep peace is so incredibly shallow.
So this morning I too am wishing. I am wishing the deep peace of the cross to you. The deep peace of the cross of suffering and death, the cross on which a man died, a man who, alone of all the men who ever lived, did not deserve to do so. And that man who died, by his death, made a way for us beyond sparkling snow, beyond singing birds, beyond beautiful mountains into the court of the King of Kings where we will be welcomed on his account.
Thats the deep peace I wish for you.
1 comment:
The only thing that takes away from my appreciation of these posts is the knowledge of their limited audience; but that's a little thing I suppose. Thanks Joel!
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