This year, our school theme has been “Seeking Shalom.” We have discussed that shalom does not simply mean peace, but mercy, justice, and peace that comes with being in a place of right relationship with God, with ourselves, with all of creation, and with each other. This state of shalom is not only something aspirational, to be ours when Jesus returns and makes all things new. Jesus tells his disciples “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). Shalom is something we can work for, pray for, and seek in Jesus’ name, even now. In a world as full of turmoil, disruption, anxiety, depression, anger, and pain as ours, nothing gives greater testimony to the abundant life Jesus promises his disciples than to be people of shalom.
For me, and probably for all of us, the most complex area to negotiate with shalom is our relationship with others. People are hard to love, starting with the one I see in the mirror when I shave daily. We were created to be in a perfect relationship with each other, but since the fall, we live in constant relational disruption and enmity toward each other. Despite that, God gives us others and calls us to love them to shape and mold us into more loving, gracious, patient, kind, and self-controlled people. He also gives us each other to be his hands and feet in each other’s lives.
We have a student who is being treated for a terrible illness, and the other day, a group of families met at her house to welcome her home as she returned from the hospital in Dallas, where she had received her last treatment for a season. It warmed my heart to stand in the rain, watching families place a welcome sign in her yard and cheering her on as she drove by. These moments are precious to me, representing our Christian community’s best, demonstrating how we love each other.
If I’m honest, though, it’s pretty easy to love a kind and gracious family, a beautiful child as she struggles with a difficult illness. But, what about that guy on social media who voted for the other guy, who comes from a completely different ideological background than I, the one for whom when I read his writings, the word “moron” echoes in the back of my brain? In the wake of the debates in the news over immigration, what about “those people,” the Other, whoever “they” are, the ones who don’t come from where I’m from, have the same background as I do, maybe don’t even speak the same language? What if they aren’t here legally? What if they even committed a crime? Do I have to love these people? Am I called to be in a state of shalom with them?
This is when love and peace get tough.
What about forgiveness? What about the person who really hurt me? What about the person who wounded me deeply in my youth, wounds that I’ve spent years trying to heal from? What about the person who plagues me still, the one who immediately comes to mind like a knife in my side as I read these words? Surely I don’t have to be at peace, in a state of shalom, with this one?
From the beginning, God tells us, “God created man in his own image, in the image of God he created him; male and female he created them.” (Gen. 1:27) In a Bible full of critical verses, this is one of the most important. It doesn’t just mean that we’re a separate creation, but also that each of us has a special dignity, value, and worth.
Tim Keller points out in Generous Justice that God declares murder heinous in Genesis 9 because “for your lifeblood I will give an accounting…for in the image of God has God made mankind.” It isn’t just murder that God declares a violation of human dignity and value. In James 3, the apostle criticizes sharp-tongued people, those who condemn and criticize others, because in verbal abuse we “curse human beings, who are made in God’s likeness.”
All human beings have this intrinsic value, not just the “good” ones, and not just the ones I think are “good.” This means that when I’m reading the social media post and thinking “moron,” much less speaking it out loud or posting it, I’m actually robbing that person of the dignity God has bestowed upon him as his image bearer. Paul tells the Roman church in Chapter 12, “if it is possible, as much as it depends on you, be at peace (shalom) with all people.” When I curse others, I’ve broken that command, and I’m in sin. If there’s any doubt about that, I can recall Jesus’ words at the Sermon on the Mount, “But I say to you that everyone who is angry with his brother will be liable to judgment; whoever insults his brother will be liable to the council; and whoever says, ‘You fool!’ will be liable to the hell of fire.”
The same admonition applies to those who are the Other, those not like me. If I claim others aren’t entitled to the same treatment I should be, or aren’t entitled to justice or legal protection because of their race or ethnicity, I’m essentially asking, “Who is my brother?” “Who should I love?” Jesus answered that question thoroughly for his people through the story of the Good Samaritan. God responded to that question for the Israelites when he commanded them in Exodus 23, “Do not oppress a foreigner; you yourselves know how it feels to be foreigners, because you were foreigners in Egypt.” I know these are hard questions in our culture, and I struggle, too. But, for God’s people, the answers to the questions, “Who should I love?” and “With whom should I be at peace?” are not difficult to answer correctly. “All people” means “All. People.”
The answer is, however, often difficult to implement, especially in the area of forgiveness. I read a great article by pastor Ben Cremer the other day, reflecting on Jesus’ confrontation with Peter by the fire after his resurrection. Peter has betrayed Jesus three times, wounding Jesus deeply as only a friend can do. Jesus now confronts Peter, and has every opportunity to shame him and seek vengeance for Peter’s cowardly betrayal. Yet, Jesus chooses to love Peter, offering him forgiveness, a chance to repent and to do justice: “Peter, do you love me? Then feed my sheep.”
Cremer notes that Jesus’ model provides a powerful example. ”I believe this calls us as his followers to respond to the cruelty and injustices we are witnessing, not with a desire to shame and seek revenge towards those who support what is happening, but with a bold love and passion for justice for those these actions are harming the most.” The best justice against evil and Satan is to see goodness, restoration, and peace done; it’s here we heap coals on our enemy’s head, rather than yielding to his ways. It’s not easy, but the right thing rarely is. Peace always comes at a cost, in this case, our pride, our self-righteousness, and our right to stay angry. But, since these things are killing us anyway, the sooner we rid ourselves of them, the better.
The ability to love, forgive, and be a person who lives in shalom with others is supernatural; it’s impossible on our own. The Holy Spirit has to do it, in and through us. Only people who realize how much they are loved, how much they have been forgiven, are capable of it.
If what I’m saying doesn’t make sense, or you find yourself incapable of being this person of peace, be still and be alone with the Lord. Ask him to reveal how deeply he loves you. Only the depths of his love can transform you into a person capable of shalom love. Then, reflect on and remember who you were and what God has freed you from. As Keller says, “If a person has grasped the meaning of God’s grace in his heart, he will do justice…if he doesn’t care, it reveals at best he doesn’t understand the grace he has experienced, and at worst he has not really encountered the saving mercy of God. Grace should make you just.”
Working for shalom like this, loving the Other, seeking forgiveness, loving and striving for peace with everyone, is flat-out hard work. It’s hard to fight the cultural tides, the political winds, and our flesh to be people of the Spirit, to live and love like Jesus. To be people of peace. God knows this, and that’s why he rewards us with peace. My grandfather, who was a lifetime resident of Tyler, died in 1953, 70 years ago, when my mother was a child. He died long before I was born. Almost all those who knew him have now passed. Yet, up until about 15 years ago, more than 50 years after his death, people who knew who I was would stop me to tell me what a kind, generous, and gracious man he was.
The other day, my wise friend Scott reminded me that there are resume virtues and eulogy virtues. Although many of us spend the first part of our lives working on resume virtues, it’s the eulogy virtues that matter. Those are the things people remember. My grandfather sought shalom with others, which resonated with them deeply, so much so that they stopped the grandson he never knew in the grocery store 50 years later to make sure he knew what kind of man his grandfather was. The hard-fought shalom of loving and living well with others leaves a legacy of peac
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