The Sword of Peace: God’s Gospel

When the Prince of Peace says something on the subject of peace, Christians should listen. And when Jesus seemingly says, “Do not think that I came to bring peace on earth; I did not come to bring peace, but a sword” (Matt. 10:34), believers should be especially attentive—not just because of the confusion brought about by such statements, but because of Christ’s effort to get our attention. This is important.

When Jesus says, “I come not to bring peace, but a sword,” he demands that we imagine in the same moment a Prince of Peace and a sword-wielding Savior, images that seem contradictory. But it is not unusual for a prince to carry a sword, and discomfort with this concept may speak to the poverty of our own imaginations. Another of Christ’s sayings on peace helps to expand our thinking. Like the first saying, given at a time of separation, when Jesus sent out his disciples to minister in surrounding towns, the second also comes at a time of separation, just before Jesus is betrayed. Times of separation apparently demand reminders of what true peace is. Christ promises, “Peace I leave with you, my peace I give to you, not as the world gives” (John 14:27). The distinction here between Christ’s peace and the world’s peace, between the kingdom of God and the kingdom of the world, is crucial. This distinction requires a two-edged sword, cutting away the old with one edge, and making room, with the other, for the new.

No wonder Jesus has to assure his disciples, “Let not your hearts be troubled, nor let them be afraid!” Separation is not something we like. Intimacy, immediacy, and attachment are how we prefer to think of our life with Christ. Yet within the peace of Christ, there must be a healthy sense of detachment lest we settle into a thin and flimsy way of life. “Pure and undefiled religion,” as James writes, demands both participation in the kingdom of God, and a rejection of the kingdom of the world. This, then, is what it means “to visit orphans and widows in their trouble, and to keep oneself unspotted from the world” (James 1:27).

But Jesus goes out of his way to emphasize the importance of the sword that separates and purifies, scraping off worldly spots in order to uncover heavenly skin—perhaps because, as Thomas Kelly observes, “We fear it [detachment] means world-withdrawal, world-flight. We fear a life of wallowing in ecstasies of spiritual sensuality while cries of a needy world go unheeded. And some pages of history seem to fortify those fears. But there is a sound and valid contemptus mundi [contempt of the world] which the Inner Light works within the utterly dedicated soul.”

A more than “sound and valid” example of a soul purified by the piercing sword of the Inner Light is Mary, the mother of Jesus, over whom it was prophesied, “Yes, a sword will pierce through your own soul also” (Luke 2:35). Could a greater detachment be required of someone than to give birth to the Christ, to call him son, and to watch him die? But in Mary’s pain (pain that certainly erased what little spiritual pride she possessed), a profound truth is revealed: the painful experience of the sword is akin to the joyous experience of giving birth to and mothering God’s unimaginable creative and redeeming action in the world, the gospel of Christ. This is Christ’s whole peace. For he came not to bring peace, but a sword, and not a wordly sword, but a spritual sword, the spirit of his gospel—and his gospel is peace.

by Jay Miller, Newberg Friends

Jay is a double major in English and political science at George Fox University. He’s interested in American literature (especially when it touches on religion and/or nature). He enjoys being outside, mostly in the form of walking around Newberg, but occasionally something more adventurous like rock climbing. He loves good conversation and making soup for large groups of people.