“Lord, make me an instrument of your peace”
There is something deeply beautiful about beginning this prayer with the words:
“Lord, make me…”
Francis does not begin by asking God to change the world.
He asks God to change him.
That is where peace begins.
(The prayer commonly known as the Prayer of St. Francis was not actually written by Francis; it first appeared anonymously in France in 1912. Yet Franciscan writers emphasize that although Francis did not write these words, he lived their spirit.)
Perhaps that is why the prayer has endured.
It is not simply a prayer to be said.
It is a prayer to be become.
“Lord, make me an instrument of your peace.”
An instrument does not create the music by itself.
It allows the musician to make music through it.
Perhaps this is what Francis understood about discipleship. We do not have to manufacture God’s peace. We simply have to become available to God.
This can be very difficult, especially for me.
“Lord, make me…”
Make me available.
Make me gentle.
Make me patient.
Make me willing.
Make me an instrument through which Your love can enter someone else’s life.
And then the prayer becomes very personal:
“Where there is hatred, let me sow love.”
Where is there hatred in my own heart?
Is there someone whose name immediately brings tension?
Someone I have stopped praying for?
Someone I have decided is beyond understanding?
Francis does not ask us to approve of everything.
He asks us to love.
Love does not mean ignoring injustice. It means refusing to allow hatred to have the final word.
This can also be very difficult especially in this digital, rushed rat race. It is by loving the difficult, the unloved, the unloving that we ourselves find true love.
“Where there is injury, pardon.”
This may be one of the hardest prayers to pray.
Some wounds take time.
Some wounds require boundaries.
Some wounds may never be completely forgotten.
But forgiveness means that I refuse to let the wound become the master of my heart.
I place it into God’s hands.
I say:
“Lord, I cannot carry this forever. Teach me how to release it.”
“Where there is doubt, faith.”
Francis himself knew uncertainty.
His journey began not with having every answer but with searching for God’s will. His prayer before the crucifix at San Damiano asked God to enlighten the darkness of his heart and give him faith, hope, charity, and knowledge of God’s will.
That is a beautiful prayer for us when faith feels fragile.
We don’t have to pretend certainty.
We can simply say:
“Lord, I believe. Help my unbelief.”
“Where there is despair, hope.”
Francis encountered people who were suffering, rejected, and forgotten.
And he discovered that sometimes hope begins with something very simple:
presence.
To sit beside someone.
To listen.
To remain.
To remind another person, without many words:
You are not alone.
Perhaps that is one of the greatest ways we can become instruments of God’s peace.
“Where there is darkness, light.”
We often wish we could remove all the darkness from the world.
But perhaps God asks something smaller of us:
Carry one little light. (Light your world)
A kind word.
A compassionate response.
A willingness to listen.
A refusal to participate in gossip.
A gesture of reconciliation.
A prayer for someone who is hurting.
We may not be able to illuminate the whole world.
But we can bring light to the corner of the world where God has placed us.
“Where there is sadness, joy.”
Francis was not joyful because life was easy.
His joy came from knowing that he was loved by God.
Franciscan joy is therefore deeper than happiness.
It is the quiet confidence that God is still good, even when circumstances are difficult.
And then comes perhaps the most challenging part:
“Lord, grant that I may not so much seek to be consoled as to console;
to be understood as to understand;
to be loved as to love.”
This is the movement from self to other.
And perhaps that is the heart of Franciscan spirituality.
We spend so much of life asking:
Does anyone understand me?
Does anyone appreciate me?
Does anyone notice what I am going through?
The prayer gently turns us around:
Who needs me to understand them?
Who needs consolation from me?
Who needs love from me today?
It does not deny our own needs.
It simply reminds us that love becomes most beautiful when it begins to flow outward.
And finally:
“It is in giving that we receive.”
This is the great mystery of the Gospel.
When we give ourselves away in love, we discover that we have not become less.
We have become more fully alive.
Francis discovered this paradox.
He gave up status and discovered freedom.
He embraced poverty and discovered abundance.
He served the marginalized and discovered Christ.
He sought peace and became an instrument of peace.
So perhaps the prayer is ultimately not:
“Lord, give me peace.”
It is:
“Lord, make me a person through whom Your peace can reach someone else.”
And that changes everything.
A Prayerful Way to Pray the Prayer
Tonight, take the prayer slowly.
Do not rush through all of it.
Take one line and sit with it for several minutes.
For example:
“Lord, make me an instrument of your peace.”
Breathe in:
“Lord…”
Breathe out:
“…make me an instrument of your peace.”
Then become quiet.
Ask:
Where are You asking me to bring peace?
Do not search for a grand answer.
Perhaps one person will come to mind.
Perhaps one situation.
Perhaps even one place within your own heart.
Offer that person or situation to God.
Then simply say:
“Lord, begin with me.”
And rest there.
Pax et bonum.
May God give you peace.
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