THE words which furnish the title of this chapter are not to be found in the Authorized Version. They are found, however, in the Revised Version. For the best attested reading in Col_3:15 is, “Let the peace of Christ rule in your hearts.”
And that reading is not only recommended by manuscript authority, but has the advantage of bringing the expression into connection with the great words of the Lord, “Peace I leave with you, my peace I give unto you.” A strange legacy to leave, and a strange moment at which to speak of His peace! It was but an hour or so since He had been “troubled in spirit,” as He thought of the betrayer—and in an hour more He would be beneath the olives of Gethsemane; and yet, even at such a time, He bestows on His friends some share in His own deep repose of spirit. Surely “the peace of Christ” must mean what “my peace” meant; not only the peace which He gives, but the peace which lay, like a great calm on the sea, on His own deep heart; and surely we cannot restrict so solemn an expression to the meaning of mutual concord among brethren. That, no doubt, is included in it, but there is much more than that. Whatever made the strange calm which leaves such unmistakable traces in the picture of Christ drawn in the Gospels may be ours.
We should carefully accentuate the pronoun, “my.” It is not so much of the peace that He purchased with His blood, nor of the peace that He has made, nor of the peace of heaven, that our Saviour here speaks: but of the very peace that filled His own glorious nature, and kept it so calm and still amid the storms that swept around His pathway through the world.
So, though the words are musical words, the music is not of earth alone. They touch a strain above the world. In their consciousness of spiritual power, in their farness from the strife and trouble of men, they are of that true supernatural which abides in the secret of God. But in their tenderness for those who loved Him, in the sweetness of expression which brought together in them
human sadness and the Divine power which could so boldly promise peace and give it, they are of that exquisite quality which for ever moves the heart of man. Sorrow, power, and beauty meet and mingle in them.
There may be, there often is, peace in the midst of sorrow. It seems a contradiction, but it is a fact. There is much that causes sorrow, as, for example, sickness and suffering, sin and death. These are things that are near. Like clouds above us, they may obscure the sun. But let us remember that clouds may be near us yet not obscure the sun. When travelling in Switzerland, I have climbed some mountain-peak and have looked down upon the storm. Standing with a cloudless sky above, and in most brilliant sunshine, I have looked down at the storm-clouds rolling at my feet. I have seen them seething as in a boiling cauldron, and then with a flash of lightning and a sudden clap of thunder the storm has begun. The rain has fallen in torrents on the valleys below, while, untouched by rain or storm, we have stood in sunshine and looked down upon the clouds; they have been there close by, but not between us and the sun. [Note: J. G. Hoare, “Life” in St. John’s Gospel, 60.]
