A New Exchange of the Peace

“I had to hold on for dear life.” Most of us have said this at one time or another, possibly with breathless panic or abject fear. Many of us can recall situations when we felt that if our grip wasn’t tight enough, we were certain we would fall into oblivion. So we held on.

The challenge is to continue to walk voluntarily into that excruciating tension, doing so in hope and faith that something new will emerge.

At important moments we hold onto things that can’t be seen: morals, faith, hope. But what appears to be overtaking those timeless assets, and what is increasingly regarded as the most important value to hold onto, is our political orientation. In a conversation I had several months ago with John C. Danforth ’63 B.D., retired Republican Senator from Missouri and an Episcopal priest, he observed that people are investing more of their heart and soul in politics than politics deserves. And what I have seen and heard is that more and more people, be they Republican or Democrat, not only overly invest in politics, but are holding onto their political preferences for dear life—for fear of what will happen if the other side wins.

The Trouble with Railings

Regula is a Latin word from which we get regulation and rule, or straightedge ruler. In spiritual disciplines, regula is depicted as a railing that leads us to more abundant life. The railing provides a level of safety as we hold on while navigating the rocky paths and unseen potholes (which sometimes end up being chasms) that life throws at us.

Building codes require railings on stairwells. We cannot safely go up and down stairs without them. We need railings. We need the security they provide. Many of us have developed a rule of life, which is essentially a spiritual railing we hold onto in order to maintain and enhance our faith.

And yet.

What is happening these days is that people are holding onto railings at hand ever more tightly, which creates the temptation to demean or dismiss people who are not clutching the same railing. And there are countless media platforms eager and ready with forces and voices urging that theirs is the only railing—and that we must hold onto it—for our physical and spiritual survival. Some of these forces and voices also suggest, if not insist, that people remove a portion of the railing and use it as a weapon to whack people over the head who don’t respect the railing—and who then are regarded as political apostates or enemies. The railing becomes an object of control rather than a path to wholeness. Resentment reigns. The prospect of violence looms.

Hildegard and Us

Several years ago my spiritual director introduced me to an image and concept that expanded my world view and deepened my spiritual rule of life. It is the mandorla, the Italian word for almond, which is the shape that is created when two circles intersect (think Venn diagram from sixth grade math). Whereas a railing is something we hold onto, the mandorla is a space we live into. Much of medieval Christian art is framed in the shape of the mandorla, which was intended to represent the intersection between heaven and earth. Many scholars think that Hildegard of Bingen (1098-1179), a Benedictine nun, medical scientist, and mystic, was one of the first artists to depict the mandorla. She lived in a time of intense political polarization and rampant violence. In her visionary work, Scivias (completed in 1151 or 1152), she presented a mandorla of the cosmos. 

The traditional Anastasis Icon, prominent in Eastern Orthodox spirituality, features the newly risen Christ pulling Adam and Eve out of hell into the almond mandorla of resurrection and freedom. As representatives of all humanity, they are beseeching the risen Christ to draw them out of the darkness of hell into the light of new life. They want to join Jesus in the transformational space, and they visibly show they have the faith that he can bring them there. The implication is that Jesus will remain in the mandorla for as long as it takes to pull people into new life, beginning with Adam and Eve and ending only when the last resident of hell desires to be lifted out.

Entrepreneurs of Conflict 

These medieval images of the mandorla have direct application to the world today, particularly when we consider the political polarization of red and blue circles. The conflict entrepreneurs, whose ubiquity fills the airwaves and creeps into our psyches, want us to keep the circles completely separate, with no possibility of intersection. I have had many people tell me that they consistently resist, if not refuse, to engage with people in another circle because they would then feel they are betraying their values.

Millions of people cannot even begin to imagine how the circles of Democratic blue and Republican red might intersect, even as the slenderest of slivers. “I can’t believe they believe that” has become a frequent mantra, uttered from both sides. It is as though they have found a railing at the far reaches of their circle, which they hold onto for fear of being sucked into the other side. This state of affairs can seem hopeless. But there is always a mandorla to be found, because by definition the polarity can never be separate—each side unwittingly needs the other in order to bolster its own precarious identity and offer fresh oppositional material to feed the panic and conflict. The challenge is to continue to walk voluntarily into that excruciating tension, doing so in hope and faith that something new will emerge.

Entering the Mandorla

Moving into the mandorla involves a level of risk and a willingness to be vulnerable. But it can be a place of transformation and healing. Though they never used the term, Martin Luther King Jr. and Desmond Tutu were leaders who invited, if not challenged, people to enter a mandorla or a space of reconciliation. In their own decisive ways, each was passionate about bearing witness to this mandorla space of potential harmony, and each was unrelenting in his commitment to bring it about. Neither of them ever sacrificed their values or their focus.

Prophets have long been identified as courageous witnesses who call people back to God. They do so by calling people’s attention to dimensions of life they cannot see, or refuse to see. It is nearly habitual today to identify prophets who reinforce our own belief system, who inspire us to see more clearly what we want to see. Yet as we continue to find ourselves more anxious during this pandemic of polarization, I am more and more convinced that the prophetic voice is that which is calling us into the mandorla—into the space of risk and vulnerability—so that hope and healing can emerge in a new way. This prophetic voice is even more urgent now as America adjusts to a post-election landscape, where many on the losing side are gripped with fear and resentment, and many on the winning side are tempted to proceed with unyielding certainty and vindictive arrogance. Can a way forward emerge from the bitter polarity? We need to take the risk that it can.

One arena of American life where people tend to fiercely grasp a railing, intensely resist conversations around reconciliation, and adamantly fight about legislation, is on the issue of guns in America. In 2012, after the massacre of 26 children and teachers at Sandy Hook School in Connecticut, I co-founded Bishops United Against Gun Violence, which has grown to 100 bishops. I have been working in the gun violence prevention (GVP) movement ever since. What I have learned is that there is a historic fault line between gun rights advocates and GVP activists. Simply put, the gun rights side insists that more guns make people safer; the GVP side seeks to demonstrate that more guns make people more vulnerable to violence. In conversations between the two (and I have had many of them) it is extremely difficult to find common ground. The idea of finding an intersection between the two often feels like a fool’s errand.

Several years ago, in searching for common ground, I went to a gun show. The hotel ballroom venue was filled with guns, knives, holsters, ammunition, and all sorts of accessories. There was talking, lots of talking, between the vendors and shoppers, and with the representatives from the NRA Foundation and local gun clubs.

Gun Safety: Common Ground

And I listened. In truth, I eavesdropped—and hoped that people wouldn’t recognize me as an outlier, which I certainly was. In very short order I realized that the language these men (they were mostly men) used so comfortably was language I didn’t understand. But I could certainly see and hear the passion. The passion was real, and it was deep—and the gun show was a safe place where they could claim their identity, an identity that had a long history and that was uniquely American. On the surface, their identity was about guns, but it ran deeper than that; the vendors and shoppers were a part of an American culture that is not easily acknowledged and is often misunderstood. And it is a culture that is not going away. It has been here ever since Europeans came and settled on this continent, claiming it as their own, using guns to kill for food, protect livestock from predators—and more than occasionally to kill or subdue whoever blocked the path of manifest destiny. 

An insistent inner voice in me wants to dodge this history, or at least erase the weapons of destruction from its telling. That inner voice is shared by millions of others who claim to be advocates of peace. This desire to view our history minus guns is what the gun rights advocates fear—that gun disdainers will try and take away their guns and the culture in which guns are an integral part.

It is a vicious cycle—of arrogance and self-righteousness on one side, and defensiveness and armed defense on the other. And it was at the gun show that I discovered anew my own arrogance and self-righteousness, traits that undermine the possibility of entering the mandorla. I have learned to temper both, and to adjust my language: instead of saying “gun control,” which inevitably causes guns rights advocates to shift the conversation to the Second Amendment, and which ends up shutting down conversation, I now say “gun safety.” This provides a space to potentially open up dialogue and find common ground.

In the past several years, as polarization has become more paralyzing, various movements and organizations have emerged across the country to help bring about reconciliation. I have been deeply involved with Braver Angels, a national organization that began after the 2016 national election, recognizing that polarization was crippling discourse and blunting mutual understanding. Braver Angels brings red and blue people together, in various workshops and through a wide array of interest groups (education, politics, arts, faith), not to pull one side to the other, but to see if participants can find common purpose. Braver Angels now convenes over 300 bridge-building groups (from the National Institute for Civil Discourse to various Rotary Clubs to The One America Movement and Sojourners) into a network that seeks to depolarize America and generate civic renewal. Though Braver Angels is a secular organization, more and more faith communities are getting involved, undertaking their long-standing commitment to reconciliation. These are emerging prophetic initiatives.[1]

“Which Passes All Understanding”

Many of us worship in communities that regularly include the exchange of the peace. For me, the peace is a liturgical activity that is offered in direct response to Jesus’ challenging invitation from Matthew 5:23-24: “So when you are offering your gift at the altar, if you remember that your brother or sister has something against you, leave your gift there before the altar and go; first be reconciled to your brother or sister, and then come and offer your gift” (NRSV). Jesus is inviting his followers to enter the mandorla—a space of reconciliation, the almond created by different circles, each filled with hurts and hopes, resentments and gratitude. The exchange of the peace declares that whatever separates us—and there is so much that separates us—can be overcome through the reconciling love of Christ.

The mandorla space is always there. It offers the prospect of peace which “passes all understanding.” We only need to have the courage to be open and vulnerable to find it. I have seen it happen. I have been in the room when people achieve a breakthrough to become friends despite polemical differences. The world needs our witness.

Bishop Mark Beckwith ’78 M.Div. served as bishop of the Diocese of Newark in the Episcopal Church for 12 years until his retirement in 2018. Long involved in interfaith and anti-violence initiatives, he co-founded the ecumenically driven Faith Leaders for Ending Gun Violence and provided leadership at Braver Angels. He is the author of Seeing the Unseen: Beyond Prejudices, Paradigms and Party Lines (Morehouse Publishing, 2022) and hosts the podcast Reconciliation Roundtable. He blogs weekly here.