Finding solace in Christ, the Prince of Peace

The summer after high school graduation, I expected to be carefree, splashing through sunset-coated saltwater like someone in a Pinterest photo. Instead, I wrestled with unexpected anxiety and exasperating restlessness. Every time my notifications lit up, I felt a stab of unease. Conversations that should have been casual and enjoyable kept me up at night. I felt lost. 

I told myself that I needed time and space. I created a bucket list — places I wanted to go, hobbies I wanted to resume — all in the hopes of savoring summer and quieting my mind. I was particularly excited to visit Seaside, Oregon. A week of watching sunsets, painting on the beach, hiking through old-growth forests, and keeping my phone off sounded like exactly what I needed.

Seaside came … and Seaside went.

The same anxiety … the same restlessness.

I was disappointed and a little dumbfounded. Why were the places and hobbies that were normally so relaxing and invigorating marred by worry? Why did I leave feeling as disoriented as before? 

But then it hit me, a thought that drowned my desperation and stilled my mental flailing: Christ, the Prince of Peace, is the summit of every search, the answer to any question, and the shore of still waters. 

I knew these words from John 16:33: “I have told you this so that you might have peace in me” (emphasis added).

Apparently, what I knew deep down had been hovering in my head without penetrating my heart. That summer, I was reminded of the call to know, in our hearts as well as our heads, that only Christ provides true, lasting peace. Anywhere else we search will provide only a fabrication, a fleeting relief. 

Christ, the Prince of Peace, is the summit of every search, the answer to any question, and the shore of still waters. 

With this reminder, I felt knots of tension release. I no longer half-expected the books I read, the breathwork I practiced, or the forest trails I traveled to leave me completely unburdened. There’s nothing inherently wrong with any of them, for God can reveal himself to us in the beauty of nature or the words of a prolific writer. But when we separate the two, when we forget who’s doing the revealing, that’s when we lose out. 

We can encounter Christ, the Prince of Peace, in various places.

Eucharistic adoration

I remember Monday evening holy hours with my mom when I was seven or eight years old. It always felt different when the chapel doors closed behind us, like being engulfed in an embrace or wading into warm water, everything muffled. As I grew, I continued visiting Jesus in Eucharistic adoration. During my first quarter at college, I couldn’t help but smile when I read the sign outside the campus church: Prince of Peace Catholic Newman Center. I took the name as Jesus’ invitation to rest in him after a summer of searching.

It also made me think of something St. Thérèse of Lisieux wrote: “Do you realize that Jesus is there in the Blessed Sacrament expressly for you, for you alone? He burns with the desire to come into your heart!” 

I checked my schedule, figuring out how long I could spend in Eucharistic adoration between classes. While there, I’d mentally ramble, or thank Jesus for being with me, or embody the words of one of St. John Vianney’s parishioners: “I look at him, and he looks at me.” It can be that simple. In Eucharistic adoration, we can allow Jesus to look at us, to love us, and to offer us his peace. 

“Do you realize that Jesus is there in the Blessed Sacrament expressly for you, for you alone? He burns with the desire to come into your heart!”  — St. Thérèse of Lisieux

Personal prayer

I will be forever grateful for my parish priest, the one who urged us to commit to twenty minutes of personal prayer each day. Twenty minutes of conversation, telling Jesus about everything happening in our lives and then asking, “What do you, Jesus, have to say about it?” 

I experimented with praying in the morning or the afternoon, sitting cross-legged or upright in a chair, praying out loud or in the silence of my heart. Eventually, I settled on prayer journaling at my desk early in the morning. This helped me focus and offer Jesus the first fruits of my day.

In whatever capacity, time spent in prayer makes room for Christ’s peace to envelop our hearts. We may find our supplications give way to gratitude and expressions of love. We can find comfort knowing there is always a heart that will listen to and understand ours. We can picture Jesus sitting across from us, embracing us, or holding our hands. There’s solace to be found in his closeness. 

Scriptural reflection 

St. Padre Pio differentiated personal prayer from scriptural reflection in this way: “In prayer and meditation it is ourselves who speak to the Lord, while in holy reading it is God who speaks to us.” 

Indeed, some word, phrase, or image usually stirs my heart while reading Scripture. More often than not, it’s something directly linked to a worry, thought, or experience swirling in the back of my mind. I can feel Jesus saying, “See the good I’m doing for you. I hold you in the palm of my hand.”

“In prayer and meditation it is ourselves who speak to the Lord, while in holy reading it is God who speaks to us.”  — St. Padre Pio

Sometimes, I read Scripture on my own. Other times, I allow myself to be led by my favorite prayer app or devotional book. Practices like St. Ignatius of Loyola’s Spiritual Exercises facilitate a deeply personal encounter with Scripture. Through them, I place myself in a scene: lifted out of storm-tossed water, led to green pastures, huddled in the Upper Room. There is peace to be found in all these places, in allowing Jesus to gaze at and work in us through his sacred word. 

So let us hear Christ, the Prince of Peace, say this to each of us: “Come to me, all you who labor and are burdened, and I will give you rest” (Matthew 11:28).

Grace is majoring in English and minoring in textual studies at the University of Washington. Her favorite places on campus are the Prince of Peace Catholic Newman Center and Suzzallo Library. She loves quiet visits with Jesus in Eucharistic adoration, time spent praying to St. Thérèse, and long drives that end in a forest. Her interest in writing, art, and paper goods have culminated in an Etsy shop, Graces & Glimmers, where she hopes to commemorate the daily gifts we receive from God and each other.