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Promise of the Prince of Peace

In a world as broken as our’s how can we accept the message of Christ as the Prince of Peace?

Isn’t that a Christmas message, Cassia? 

Sure, it’s past Christmas but isn’t this when it’s hardest to accept the message?

Now that the holiday season has behind us, when will we hear about another Paris? When will the next Earthquake take hundreds of lives? Who’s beloved children will been taken away them for the rest of their lives this year? How many graves will be dug? How many should have been dug?

I’ve written the narrative poem below with this in mind. I wrote it in silence so I encourage you to read it in silence. Turn off the music, the cellphone, the television.

Peace—Sholom—is not an idea: it is Jesus and he was born during one of the most violent times in history. Still, he came. And he was crowned the Prince of Peace.



I woke up one night

To the sound of a mother screaming

her child’s name.

The sound of her horrified voice

Paralyzed me

Her desperate scream tore through

the clear night air and echoed

off the cold stone walls of the village.


And her piercing cry did not ring


Many more cries of many more

mothers accompanied her’s.


Sitting up, I looked to the window and

the clear night beyond.

The sounds coming from the

streets did not match the

Serenity of the sky that night.


Hooves of dozens of steeds

clattered through the streets.

Babies wailed before their squalls

were cut off suddenly.


If it weren’t for the gust of wind,

and the smell of smoke;

if it weren’t for the pit in my stomach:

I would have thought I was dreaming

because in all my life, never would

I have imagined a time when

I would wake to

A chorus of grief.


A burst of white light

filled the room, illuminating the

grey walls with a

Majestic glow.

The light shone like none I’d seen before.

No candle, no star, no fire

could match it.


When the brilliance faded to

lambency I looked upon

the face of an angel of God.


The angel held out a hand and said,

“Walk with me.”


And so I stepped forward,

frightened—not for

my life but instead for

Where the angel may

take me.


To my horror, I followed

this messenger of God

into the streets

Where the shrieks of

mothers, of fathers,

of siblings, of neighbors,

of witnesses,

Encased my body with

fear and confusion.


What war had come to

Our once quaint town?


A blur of soldiers,

dressed as Herod’s men do,

sprinted across the street,

Swords drawn


I watched with eyes wide as

a child’s as

one soldier broke through a

door, showering

The street with splinters of wood


And the screams:

They would not stop!


Sobs so violent I struggled

to breath and

the wailing of children calling for

their mothers until—


A serene voice spoke beside me.

The angel said, “Peace be with you, servant

of the Lord”


Fiery anger burned with

these words for

how could there be peace

amongst destruction?

How could tranquility trump



The angel lead me further

into the village and onto

another street where crimson

Blood coated the rough



Who here had died? What

heart stopped beating?

And then I heard the cries nearby.

I turned and saw what made my

entire body shake with rage.


A young mother held a

Lifeless bundle to her

chest. A scarlet stain

soaked through the white

cloth she had wrapped her

Precious babe in and she wept—


No—She howled for the loss

of a child she still loved

but could no longer hear the

beating heart of.


Her tears ran rivers through

the dirt on her cheeks

And I could feel her world ending—


It wasn’t fair!


No mother deserves to lose her child,

No life so young should end so soon,

It was not fair!

But the angel of God said, “Sholom. Do not let your heart be troubled. Do not be afraid.”


I turned my gaze from the woman to

the angel.

In the dark streets, God’s messenger


What prompted this angel to speak

such strong words of rest?


Before I could ask, the angel

knelt down next to the mother

and her dead child and prayed

quietly over them both


Though I could not hear the words,

I witnessed, the mother’s sobs lessen.


However the weeping of the

rest of the village

continued to reach my heart and

the helplessness of the

Atrocity consumed my soul.


As the messenger of the Lord lead

me further yet into the village,

I felt my own tears

Fall to the ground and watched as they

mixed with the blood of the innocent.


Soldiers shout while riding

on the backs of frantic horses.

A mother cuts in front of me,

Fleeing for her life, clutching

her two year old.


Her husband stops to stand up to

a soldier who runs after

his wife but his life is

taken by the sword.


He fell to the ground, slain.


A house is set ablaze up ahead

driving a family from the inside

out only

to be greeted by six

soldiers who cut down the young


All I could do was stare

and weep for the lives lost

in a mere second.


Falling to my knees I shed

Tears for those who could

not and for the

entirety of the human race—

how wicked was the act of

slaughtering a child!


“Sholom: he is here.” The voice of the

Angel declared next to me.

I looked up, eyes red,

hands trembling. “Who is here?”


“Sholom is here.

The Prince of Peace has

been born.

Take heart. He will overcome the

world and bring Peace to every corner

of the earth.”


Among the massacre, I stood,

an unexplainable quietness settled

My angry and grieving heart.


The angel held out a hand once more.

and said, “This is the Lord’s promise.

Though the world is full of trials

and tribulation,

Find rest in the coming of our Lord,

Jesus Christ.”

— Cassia Schaar

About Cassia

Cassia is the kind of person who wears jeans and zip-up hoodies in the summer but is stubborn to bring a jacket anywhere in the icy Canadian winters. In her last year of high school she's ready to explore the world ahead of her and hopes to find and express truth, love and Jesus in the conversations she has with people and in the new experiences she hopes to have.

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