Bishop Barron preaches on finding deep peace through prayer and the good, true, and beautiful
A Sunday sermon by Bishop Robert Barron on Philippians 4, exploring the nature of Christian peace and how to find it.
Summary
Bishop Barron delivers a Sunday sermon focused on Paul's Letter to the Philippians, chapter 4, choosing it over the assigned Gospel reading because of its deep spiritual significance. He addresses Paul's instruction to "have no anxiety at all," arguing that this does not mean the elimination of fear and worry — which is impossible in this life — but rather a rootedness in Christ that produces a deep inner peace beneath life's inevitable turbulence. He draws on the imagery of ocean depths, the medieval wheel of fortune, and the spiritual writings of Teresa of Ávila, John of the Cross, and Thomas Merton to illustrate this. He also invokes Pope John Paul II's motto "Be not afraid," grounding it in Karol Wojtyła's personal experience of Nazi occupation and communist dictatorship. The sermon closes with Paul's exhortation to dwell on whatever is true, honorable, just, pure, lovely, and gracious — arguing that the good, the true, and the beautiful all participate in God and lead the soul back to him.
Key Takeaways
FULL TRANSCRIPT
Introduction and the Choice of Text
Bishop Barron: Peace be with you. Friends, for this 27th Sunday of the year, I'm again going to skip the Gospel. If you want to find something about the Gospel, go back maybe three years ago — I probably preached on it. But there's something about Paul's Letter to the Philippians that just kind of seduces me, so that whenever that reading comes up, I want to go back to it.
I mentioned to you last week that the church of Philippi is very important — the first church Paul establishes in Europe. So it's the mother church of all of European Christianity, and hence of most of the Christianity in the world. It's a church that Paul had special affection for. We read last week the magnificent kenotic hymn — so-called — "though he was in the form of God, he emptied himself," and so on. Well, today's reading is from chapter 4, the final chapter. Paul is really saying goodbye to the community here. It has some passages of enormous spiritual significance, and I want to dwell on that just a bit.
"Have No Anxiety at All"
Here's what he says to his friends in Philippi: "Have no anxiety at all, but in everything by prayer and petition with thanksgiving, make your requests known to God."
Now, you might say, "Okay, wait a minute — have no anxiety at all?" Well, this is coming from somebody — Paul — who was shipwrecked many times, who was beaten within an inch of his life, who was threatened and harassed and persecuted and opposed, and who finally was arrested, dragged to Rome, and decapitated. It's hard to imagine that man going through his life without any anxiety at all.
That word anxiety — from angustiae in Latin, Angst in German — it means the narrows, like when you're between the rock and the hard place. If I do this, I'm in trouble. If I do that, I'm in trouble, and I'm stuck. That's what anxiety means. That's where it comes from. Was Paul never there? Well, clearly he was. So what is he talking about? How could he tell his people never to have any anxiety, never to worry about anything at all?
Here's the clue: by prayer and with thanksgiving, make your requests known to God. What's he talking about? Not the elimination of fear and anxiety — that's never going to happen this side of the eschaton. I don't care who you are. You're living in this world, and you're going to end up at times between the rock and the hard place.
The Wheel of Fortune and the Ocean Metaphor
I've explained before that great image of the wheel of fortune from the medieval churches. The wheel turns, and you're on top sometimes, you're down sometimes, you're going up sometimes, you're going down sometimes. That's just the way it goes. Life is like that. And at every point on the wheel, if you're successful, you're anxious about losing it. You're going down — well, you're anxious because you're going down. You're at the bottom — you're anxious because you're at the bottom. You're heading up — you're anxious because you might not make it. So wherever you are in life, you're in a place of anxiety.
In the great image of the wheel of fortune, at the center of the wheel is an image of Christ. And that's the idea: move from the rim to the center. Or — shifting metaphors — move from the relative surface of life to the depths.
Here's an ocean metaphor. I'm from Chicago, Lake Michigan, which is like an inland sea. On the surface, Lake Michigan can be roiling, with waves crashing and whitecaps and all of that. But go down, down to the depths of it, and you'll find great serenity and peace. The surface of the ocean can be a tumult. You go to the depth of the ocean and it's a place of peace.
That's what we're talking about. Make the transition in your consciousness from surface to depth, from the rim of the wheel to the center of the wheel. Root your life in Christ, who links you to the eternal power of God — who is the same yesterday, today, and forever. Do the storms on the surface go away? No. Does the wheel stop turning? No. That's life. It just is. But you're not living on the rim or the surface. You're operating out of that deeper place.
Shalom and the Meaning of Peace
And in that place, what do you find? Here's the great biblical term: shalom. When Jesus says "shalom" — peace — he's not talking about a life that's free of any anxiety or trouble. No. He's talking about this rootedness in God that brings a serenity despite any and all anxiety, any and all Angst.
And a key here is that word prayer. Paul says, "By prayer you find this peace." What is prayer? Asking God for things — yes, and that's okay. We're like children, and we do ask God for things. But I'm with Thomas Merton on this: to pray is to find that place in you where you are here and now being created by God. That means you've consciously moved to this deeper and more central place. And that's where you find peace. The surface doesn't go away. You still have these fears, yes — but you're not living in the midst of them.
The Storm at Sea and the Mystical Tradition
Think now of the disciples in the boat and the storm at sea. Jesus walking on the water is evocative of what Paul is talking about and what I'm trying to talk about — that place of peace that conquers the storms. Or that other story about the storm at sea, where Jesus, when the disciples are screaming in fear, is asleep in the back of the boat. He's not indifferent to them. No. He's evocative of this place of shalom, accessible only through deep prayer.
Go through the great spiritual tradition and they're all talking about this. This is Teresa of Ávila's interior castle. Do the threats cease all around the castle? No. But if you retreat into that castle, you can find safety. It's like a keep, a place of refuge. Even as the battle rages around the castle, you're in this place of serenity and peace. That's Christ living in you.
It's John of the Cross's inner wine cellar. He said we all have an inner wine cellar where the spirits are kept. The trouble, he said, is we've lost the key — we don't know how to access it anymore. And so we live in anxiety and fear, when in fact there is a place — shifting metaphors again — of intoxication, meaning I'm filled with the Holy Spirit, finding that inner wine cellar, that central place, the place in the depth, Christ living within me. They're all metaphors. They're all references to the same basic truth. And I think that's what the spiritual life is all about.
John Paul II: "Be Not Afraid"
What comes to mind here too is the great John Paul II. What was the motto of his papacy? Be not afraid. He said it in his opening sermon when he was installed as Pope. It echoed like a refrain throughout his public discourses and sermons.
And here's what's interesting about that, coming from Karol Wojtyła — born 1920 — which meant he was born at a very unpropitious time. As he comes of age, in his sophomore year of college, the Nazis — the worst people of the 20th century — roll into his hometown, decapitate Polish society, imprison the best and brightest, and impose this oppressive dictatorship. Karol Wojtyła makes his way to the underground seminary of Cardinal Sapieha — literally underground, in the basement of the episcopal residence — knowing that as he made his way to the seminary he could be shot, and coming back at the end of the day he could be shot, as some of his classmates were.
Having endured that for years, then the Nazis were finally kicked out, only to be replaced by the communists, who imposed a maybe slightly less brutal but still deeply brutal dictatorship. If anybody had a right to be afraid, if anyone knew the truth about anxiety, it was this young man. He never denies that. He never denies that he endured all of that. But yet when he becomes Pope, he can say to all the world, "Don't be afraid."
How could he say it? Because he had confidence that the geopolitical situation would turn? No. Because he had some sociological plan to improve the human condition? No, no, no. It's because he was rooted in Christ. It's because of the practices of prayer — many of them, by the way, from the Carmelite tradition of John of the Cross and Teresa of Ávila — because he learned the ways of prayer as a young man, and he found this place of depth and centeredness and peace. And from his own inner peace, he could say to the world: do not be afraid. That's what Paul is talking about here. Have no anxiety at all. Live in the center.
Whatever Is True, Honorable, Just, Pure, Lovely
And as I close, let me go back to what Paul goes on to say: "Finally, brothers and sisters, whatever is true, whatever is honorable, whatever is just, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is gracious — if there's any excellence, if there's anything worthy of praise, think about these things."
Now, I know it's a lovely, lyrical passage, but it can sound like a banality — like "it's nice to be nice," or "good things are good." But there's a very important spiritual point being made here. How do you find this place of peace, this central place of shalom where God dwells? Through prayer, indeed — but also by associating with those good, true, and beautiful things that are redolent of God.
Does that make sense? Anything that's good or true or beautiful is participating in God and therefore leads you back to God. So Paul says: what's true, honorable, just, pure, lovely, gracious — think about these things.
Just think for a minute. An elegantly formulated mathematical equation, in its beauty and truth, leads you to God. The musings of a real philosopher. A well-crafted short story, if you like literature. An authentic act of kindness that's morally beautiful. The heroic apostolic work of Mother Teresa's sisters. The fresco in the Sistine Chapel. A properly proportioned building. A handsome face smiling in friendliness. An innocent child at play. If you like sports — a crisply executed fast break. A well-written TV program.
You see what I'm driving at. Whatever is true, good, beautiful, lovely, gracious — stay with those things. Cultivate those things. Learn to love those things. Not out of aesthetic interest alone, but out of theological interest, because the good, the true, and the beautiful lead you to God.
And listen, everybody — they produce in us a sense of peace. Why is it that we love to contemplate the Pacific Ocean, or the Sistine Chapel, or a beautiful cathedral, or a beautifully executed double play? What is it about that? It's communicating to us something of the shalom of God. So hang around those things. Learn to love those things. Cultivate them, especially in an attitude of prayer, grateful to God for these beautiful, true, and good things around you. And that leads you by steady steps toward the interior castle, toward the inner wine cellar, toward the central place, toward that place of deep peace.
And God bless you.