Peace Like Oxygen

Peace I leave with you; my peace I give to you; not as the world gives do I give to you. Let not your hearts be troubled, neither let them be afraid.” (John 14:27)

And he said to them again, ‘Peace be with you. As the Father has sent me, even so I send you.’ And when he had said this, he breathed on them and said to them, ‘Receive the Holy Spirit. (John 20:21–22)

And the peace of God, which passes all understanding, will guard your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus. (Philippians 4:7)

There are days when you don’t even make it to breakfast before you feel it tightening in your chest. The group chat is already buzzing, your mind is replaying yesterday’s conversation, the news sounds heavier than last week, and your calendar looks like it’s daring you to try and keep up. You’re not just tired in your body; you’re tired in your breathing, like you’re spiritually trying to do life on half a lung. Most of us treat peace like a bonus: something we’ll enjoy after things settle down, after the inbox is clear, after we feel caught up, after the conflict is resolved. But Jesus doesn’t talk about peace that way. He doesn’t say, “When you finally get control, then I’ll give you peace.” He says, “My peace I give to you.” His peace is not a prize at the end; it’s the oxygen that lets you walk through the middle.

In John 20, the risen Jesus stands before His disciples, who are locked in a room, afraid, uncertain, and overwhelmed. Their situation has not calmed down. The city is still dangerous, the future still unclear, the grief still fresh. And what does He do? He says, “Peace be with you,” and then He breathes on them. It’s such a simple, physical image: the Lord literally exhaling toward His friends and saying, “Receive the Holy Spirit.” Peace and breath, Presence and oxygen, given together. That’s a picture of what He wants to do for you every single day.

You were never meant to walk into conflict, noise, and stress, holding your breath and hoping you’ll make it. You were created to live on a steady intake of Christ’s peace, as, “stay strong”, your lungs live on air. And just like oxygen, peace is not something you earn; it’s something you receive. All the pressure you put on yourself to “be calm” and “stay strong” and “hold it together” is like telling someone gasping for air to “try harder to breathe” with no oxygen in the room. Jesus doesn’t tell you to create peace; He invites you to inhale His.

So what does that actually look like in real life? It begins in the small, hidden moments. Before you step into your day, sitting at the table, standing at the sink, parked outside work or school – you pause long enough to remember: “I don’t walk into this alone.” You bring to Jesus what He already sees: the conversation you’re dreading, the deadline that feels impossible, the child that’s on your heart, the ache you can’t fix. You don’t need to give Him a polished speech. You can simply pray, “Lord, I’m short of breath today. I receive Your peace. Breathe on me.”

That prayer isn’t sentimental; it’s surrender. It’s you laying down the illusion that you’re the one holding the universe together. It’s you stepping out of the job of “private saviour” and back into the role you were made for: beloved son, beloved daughter, carried and led. As you name your fears and your stress in His presence, you’re not just venting, you’re opening space for His Spirit to fill. Then the practice continues as your day unfolds. Peace like oxygen means you don’t just breathe once in the morning and hope it lasts; you learn to “breathe Christ” all day long. Before you answer a difficult email, you pause internally: “Jesus, let Your peace guard my mind.” When the room is loud and people are tense, you silently pray, “Holy Spirit, be my calm here.” When your thoughts start racing at night, you place your hand on your chest and whisper, “Your peace is greater than my understanding, Lord. I choose to trust You again.”

Slowly, something shifts. The circumstances might not change, at least not straight away, but the way you move through them does. You become less reactive, more grounded. You listen more than you attack. You find words you know you didn’t come up with alone. You may still feel the weight of the moment, but you’re no longer carrying it without oxygen. The peace of Christ begins to act like Scripture promised, not just as a feeling, but as a guard around your heart and mind.

This isn’t personality; it’s presence. Peace is not a temperament for naturally calm people; it’s a Person who lives in you. The more you consciously receive His peace, the more you become someone who doesn’t just enjoy peace but actually brings it. In a culture that runs on outrage, anxiety, and hurry, that kind of quiet, Spirit-filled steadiness is profoundly different. It’s evangelisation without a microphone: people feel something different around you, and you get to point them back to the One who breathed on you first. You won’t do this perfectly. Some days you’ll walk into a situation without praying, react out of your old patterns, and only realise afterwards that you were holding your breath again. Don’t turn that into shame. Turn it into an invitation. Even in the “after,” you can come back to Jesus and say, “I lost my peace there, Lord. I’m sorry. Teach me. Breathe on me again.” His peace is not fragile. His patience is not thin. He doesn’t run out of oxygen for you.

Everyday action

Choose one anchor moment that happens every day, for example, sitting in the car before you drive, putting the key in the front door, or brushing your teeth at night.

Each time you hit that moment today:

1. Pause for just one deep breath in and out.

2. Pray, “Jesus, I receive Your peace.”

3. Picture Him breathing on you like He did for the disciples.

Let that one small practice become your daily “oxygen check.” Over time, it won’t just change how you feel; it will change the atmosphere you carry.

Prayer

Jesus, I confess that I often try to face my day without Your peace, and I end up exhausted, anxious, and short of breath inside. Today I choose to receive what You freely give. Breathe Your peace into my mind, my body, and my spirit. Stand guard over my thoughts, calm my reactions, and make me a carrier of Your presence in every conversation, room, and situation I step into. Be my oxygen, Lord.

Amen.