Costly Peace

Some years ago, I was back in Michigan visiting family, and my Aunt Virginia, or Aunt Mookie as we grew up calling her, started telling me about her Bible study.

Now, Aunt Mookie is a faithful and devout Christian. She spends a lot of time at church. She knows her Bible. She loves the Lord. And yet, as she was talking about what they had been reading, she came to this passage from Matthew’s Gospel, where Jesus says, “I have not come to bring peace, but a sword.”

And then she paused.

And said, “I just don’t like that passage. Jesus goes too far.”

I tried to offer a careful explanation. I said something about context. I said something about how this passage is part of a larger collection of sayings Jesus gives to the disciples as he sends them out on mission. I said something about healing and preaching and opposition and persecution.

But she was not having it.

“The Jesus that I know came to bring peace, not discord. Yes, I know division happens, but Jesus would never encourage division in the middle of a family. How did this get into the Bible?”

Yeah Aunt Mookie… this is a hard Gospel.

It does not sound, at first, like the Jesus we expect. It does not sound like “Blessed are the peacemakers,” or “Peace I leave with you; my peace I give to you.”

And because we live in a world already so well acquainted with family discord, with estrangement, with religious manipulation, with people using God-language to justify cruelty, we have to be very careful with this text.

Jesus is not saying, “Go out and tear your family apart in my name.”

But Jesus is telling the truth about what happens when the Gospel takes hold of our lives.

The Good News of Jesus sometimes causes conflict.

This whole section of Matthew’s Gospel comes as Jesus sends the disciples out. They are sent to proclaim good news, to heal and to bear witness that the kingdom of heaven has come near.

And very quickly, they learn that good news is not always treated as good news by those who benefit from things staying exactly as they are.

When the Gospel sets people free, there will always be someone who prefers them bound.

When the Gospel lifts up the lowly, there will always be someone who liked the old seating chart.

When the Gospel says that every person bears the image of God, there will always be someone who wants to decide whose image counts.

When the Gospel tells the truth, false peace begins to crack.

And that, I think, is what Jesus means by the sword.

The sharp and unavoidable truth that allegiance to God will sometimes place us at odds with the powers, values, habits, and even relationships that have claimed too much authority over us.

Jesus is not against the family. But Jesus will not allow the family, or the nation, or the church, or the political party, or the comforts of this world, or anything else become God.

There are moments in the life of faith when we face a crisis of loyalty.

There are moments when following Jesus means we cannot keep pretending.

Maybe part of why this Gospel troubles us is because we know this to be true.

We know what it costs when following Jesus asks something of us beyond what is comfortable or convenient.

Because sooner or later, following Jesus asks us to choose between what is easy and what is true. And truth, even spoken in love, always carries a cost.

And so, in the middle of all this, Jesus says the thing he says again and again:

Do not be afraid of those who can wound the body but cannot destroy the soul.

Do not be afraid when faithfulness comes with a cost.

Do not be afraid when following Jesus changes the shape of your life.

Do not be afraid when the path of discipleship leads somewhere you did not expect.

And so, after speaking honestly about the cost of discipleship, Jesus turns to the tiny sparrows. He wants his disciples to know that the God who calls them into costly faithfulness is also the God who watches over them with intimate care.

Nothing is unseen by God.

Not one small life. Not one fragile creature. Not one frightened disciple. Not one person trying to do the right thing with trembling hands.

God sees us completely, knows us intimately, and holds us securely in love.

When telling the truth costs something, when following Jesus creates tension, when faithfulness feels lonely, God has not lost sight of you.

The God who counts the hairs of your head knows exactly where you are.

The Holy Spirit will be present.

The Gospel will endure.

The love of God will hold fast.

And even the suffering we endure for the sake of Christ will not be wasted in the hands of God.

When Jesus tells us to take up our cross, he is not telling us to accept abuse, remain in dangerous situations, or baptize injustice as somehow holy because it causes suffering.

The cross is not a symbol of passive endurance in the face of evil.

It is the place where Jesus meets the full force of sin, violence, fear, and death—and answers them with the steadfast, self-giving love of God.

To take up the cross, then, is not to seek suffering for its own sake. It is to follow Jesus in the costly work of love. It is to remain faithful when faithfulness has a price. It is to choose truth over convenience, mercy over self-interest, and courage over fear.

And in doing so, we discover something surprising: the life we cling to most tightly can never satisfy us. A life devoted to self-preservation above all else gradually narrows, leaving less room for love.

But the life entrusted to Christ becomes larger than our fears.

“Those who find their life will lose it,” Jesus says, “and those who lose their life for my sake will find it.”

At first, that sounds like a contradiction. But Jesus is naming a truth we know deep down: the harder we cling to our lives, the smaller they can become. A life spent guarding itself, protecting itself, and avoiding every risk may feel safe, but it can also keep us from the very things that make life worth living.

That is not easy.

But it is freedom.

A life built only around avoiding conflict, keeping everyone pleased, and never disturbing the surface may look peaceful, but it is not the peace of Christ.

The peace of Christ is deeper than that.

It is the peace that tells the truth without letting go of love, that faces suffering without surrendering to fear, and that walks toward the cross trusting that God will have the final word.

And that may be the word my Aunt Mookie needed.

She was right to resist any reading of this passage that makes Jesus sound like he delights in division.

But Jesus loves us too much to give us a false peace.

He loves us too much to let us build our lives on fear.

He loves us too much to let any lesser loyalty claim the place that belongs to God alone.

Jesus came to bring peace... but not peace at any price.

The peace Jesus brings is the peace of the kingdom of God. And that peace is so real, so holy, so alive, that when it enters the world, everything false begins to tremble.

Do not be afraid.

Not one sparrow falls outside the loving notice of God.

And neither will you.

Take up your cross.

Tell the truth.

Walk in love.

Trust the peace of Christ more than the peace of pretending.

And follow Jesus into the abundant, courageous, joy-filled life that God has prepared for you.