Each year, we choose a theme to dwell on: not just to think about intellectually, but to practice. Last year our theme was Light. Before that, Vision. We’ve explored Miracles deeply. And now, as we move toward 2026, the theme that keeps asking for our attention is Peace.
Not surface-level calm. Not temporary relief. But the kind of peace A Course in Miracles points to again and again—the peace that does not depend on circumstances.
Lesson 200 says it plainly and unapologetically:
“There is no peace except the peace of God.”
At first glance, that line can feel confronting. Maybe even harsh. But the clarity of it is also its mercy.
Why the Course Sounds So Direct About Peace
The lesson begins with words that stop us in our tracks:
“Seek you no further. You will not find peace except the peace of God. Accept this fact and save yourself the agony of yet more bitter disappointments, bleak despair, and a sense of icy hopelessness and doubt.”
That’s not subtle—and it isn’t meant to be.
What the Course is pointing out is something we already know, if we’re honest with ourselves. We often chase peace through external fixes: relationships, success, beauty, productivity, validation, even spiritual accomplishments. Yet no matter how many boxes we check, peace remains fragile when it’s built on the world’s terms.
When we look to the world—the “next deal,” the next achievement, the next escape—we’re trying to squeeze lasting fulfillment out of something that was never designed to provide it.
Peace doesn’t come from mastering the simulation. It comes from reconnecting with the Source.
Remembering What Actually Powers Us
A helpful metaphor is our digital devices. They’re astonishingly advanced. They can do almost anything—if they’re charged.
When the battery is dead, none of the apps matter.
We’re not so different. Our creativity, intelligence, compassion, and resilience all depend on staying connected to our inner power source—what we might call divine guidance, Spirit, or God. Without that connection, even the most impressive outer life eventually runs on empty.
The Course invites us to stop obsessing over the apps and plug back into the charger.
“Come Home”: The Prodigal Story Revisited
Another line from Lesson 200 feels especially tender:
“Come home. You have not found your happiness in foreign places and in alien forms… This world is not where you belong.”
It’s impossible not to hear echoes of the Prodigal Child story. The child who leaves home, demands the inheritance, squanders it in a foreign land, and eventually returns—ashamed, depleted, convinced they no longer deserve belonging.
And yet the parent never revoked the birthright.
That story isn’t about punishment or morality. It’s about abundance. About a love so infinite that nothing can threaten it—not mistakes, not distance, not time.
Both sons in the story misunderstand abundance. One believes he lost his worth through failure. The other believes worth must be rationed and earned. The parent understands something else entirely: nothing real can be diminished.
This challenges one of our deepest habits—believing we must earn peace, forgiveness, or belonging. From the Course’s perspective, peace isn’t a reward. It’s our inheritance.
Forgiveness: Why We Need It Here (But Not There)
Lesson 200 also says something that can feel confusing at first:
“Forgiveness… has no function and does nothing, for it is unknown in Heaven. It is only hell where it is needed.”
So why forgive at all?
Because forgiveness isn’t for Heaven—it’s for us, here.
In truth, we were never condemned. But within the illusion of separation, we experience blame everywhere: blaming others, blaming ourselves, replaying grievances, seeking justice through punishment. Forgiveness is the tool that loosens our grip on that cycle.
In a healed reality, forgiveness wouldn’t be necessary. But in a world that constantly reinforces fear and scarcity, forgiveness becomes a powerful practice of liberation.
Peace in the Headlines: Choosing a Different Lens
When we look at current events, the absence of peace is loud.
We see governments using lethal force without due process while simultaneously pardoning powerful offenders. We see public feuds framed as justice but fueled by revenge. We watch cycles of harm play out in politics, entertainment, and media—often with the same underlying story: someone must pay.
These stories pull us toward outrage and judgment. And while accountability matters, the Course asks us to notice something deeper: how rarely we pause to bring these situations to a higher perspective.
Peace doesn’t mean denial. It means refusing to let the world’s chaos dictate our inner state.
When we bring even the darkest headlines to what the Course calls atonement—the willingness to see through love rather than fear—we stop feeding the cycle that keeps pain repeating itself.
The Practice: Silence as a Doorway
Lesson 200 doesn’t give a long list of exercises. Instead, it offers a quiet invitation:
“Now is there silence.”
Silence isn’t emptiness. It’s availability.
One simple way to enter that silence is through breath. A practice many of us are finding helpful is extending the exhale—letting the body signal safety to the nervous system.
Try this:
Inhale for 4 counts
Exhale for 8 counts
As you exhale, gently repeat:
“With every exhale, I surrender to peace.”
Peace often requires surrender because, without realizing it, we sometimes cling to tension, grievance, or control. Letting go can feel unfamiliar—but it’s where peace lives.
A Gentle Call to Action
This week, we invite you to experiment—not with doing more, but with seeking less.
Pause once a day for two minutes of silence or breath.
Notice where you’ve been trying to extract peace from circumstances instead of Source.
When the news pulls you into fear or outrage, ask: What would it look like to bring this to peace instead of judgment?
And most importantly, remember this: you are not broken, behind, or unworthy of peace. You don’t need to earn it. You only need to accept it.
Peace is not somewhere we arrive.
It’s where we remember we’ve been all along.
