The Candle That Burns Without Flickering

In the monastery chapel at Gethsemani, Thomas Merton once described a moment during night vigils when the wind howled against the Kentucky hills, rattling windows and bending trees to the ground. Yet inside the chapel, a single candle on the altar burned without flickering. Its flame held perfectly still, not because the storm had ceased, but because the walls of silence around it were deep enough to absorb every gust.

This is the peace Christ speaks of in John 14:27 — "not as the world gives." The world's peace is the absence of wind. Christ's peace is the flame that does not move.

Those who practice centering prayer know this distinction in their bones. You sit in stillness, and the mind rages — worries, regrets, plans spinning like debris in a gale. The temptation is to fight the storm, to wrestle each thought into submission. But the contemplative path teaches surrender. You release each thought like an open hand releasing a leaf. You return to your sacred word. And somewhere beneath the chaos, you discover what John of the Cross called the "deep caverns of feeling" — a place where the Spirit of God already dwells in unshakable calm.

The peace of Christ is not something you manufacture. It is something you descend into. It was always there, burning steady in the chapel of your soul, waiting for you to stop reaching and simply be still.