You pray fervently for your son’s peace, and rightly so, for a mother’s love is a mighty force. Yet consider carefully the nature of the peace you seek. You ask for calm as his sister prepares for an interview, for ease in meals and travel, for the flight of every agitation. These outward things are not the true peace.
What advantage is it if the world around him is hushed, but within his own breast the war rages on? For there are three kinds of war: the public, the private with others, and the war within, when the body is at variance with the soul, raising up evil desires and arming the passions of anger and vexation. This last is the worst of all. A foreign war cannot harm the soul; but if a man is at war with himself, he falls pierced by wounds that bring the death that is in hell.
Therefore, while you command spirits to flee, do not neglect the greater battle. Your son’s turmoil of mind and senses is but the smoke of that inward conflict. The peace which surpasses understanding is not first a quieting of external circumstances, but the calming of that interior tempest. To seek a blanket of peace to saturate him while curious reasonings or spirits of uncleanness stir up the war within is to build on sand.
The peace I mean is that which Christ gives: peace with one another and with God, which renders a man stronger than any outward trouble. If this peace is not established, then even if the household is silent, he remains a miserable creature, disturbed when there is quiet. Your prayer races through many requests, commanding, declaring, standing on promises. But listen: we must not be like those who call on the Lord, yet not out of a pure heart, not sincerely, not approaching Him in peace.
Look first to the state of your own soul and the conscience of your household. Are there daily wars? Is there the anxious scramble to add to wealth, or the fear of poverty that chokes the soul? These things call for lamentation, not presumption.
Before we command spirits, we must examine whether we are at war with ourselves, giving our hands to unjust gains or our hearts to despondency. You claim healing by His stripes and plead the blood over your family. This is good, but do not let it become a charm spoken without the weight of repentance. When I hear of those who are crowned, I shudder, for I am not of them, and I suppose many share my fear.
We have need of sackcloth and prolonged fasting more than the Ninevites, for we face not the overthrow of a city but eternal fire. Yet you approach boldly, declaring victory and restoration. Where is the holy trembling? The beauty of a soul cultivated in godliness is imperishable; no anxiety or disease can wither it.
But the beauty that depends on outward ease is liable to be destroyed by anything and does not last twenty years. Train your son not merely for a calm meal or a successful interview, but for that eternal nuptial chamber. Do not seek first the removal of every sensory distress, but the cleansing of the heart from wrath, envy, and unrest. Go to those who have learned peace in the midst of trials; from them you will learn with how many bonds we are encompassed.
There you will find a table full of countless blessings, most sweet, without cost, delivered from care, free from envy and every disease, full of good hope. There is no turmoil of soul, no sorrow, no wrath; all is calm, all is peace. Strive for that peace first, and the rest will be ordered as God wills.