June 21, 2026
- Jeremiah 20:7-13
- Psalm 69: 8-11, (12-17), 18-20
- Romans 6:1b-11
- Matthew 10:24-39
“Don’t think that I have come to bring peace to the earth; I have not come to bring peace, but a sword.”
Boy, what a Gospel lesson to hear on Father’s Day! I should have asked Joseph to preach this passage instead.
What does Jesus mean by that? After all, isn’t Jesus supposed to be the Prince of Peace? Why would he talk about bringing a sword and setting family members against one another?
When Jesus says he has come to bring a sword, I don’t think he is talking about violence. I think he is talking about truth—the kind of truth that cuts through our excuses, our pretenses, and even our false peace.
We hear that struggle throughout today’s lessons.
Jeremiah is exhausted. He has tried to be faithful to God, yet people mock him and laugh at him. He is frustrated, weary, and ready to quit. Yet every time he tries to remain silent, God’s word burns inside him like a fire.
The psalmist sounds much the same. He feels abandoned, ridiculed, and isolated because of his devotion to God. He cries out for God to show up and help him.
Neither Jeremiah nor the psalmist abandons God. They simply refuse to pretend everything is fine when it isn’t. They bring their pain honestly before God.
Then we come to Paul.
Some Christians in Rome had taken God’s grace in a strange direction. If God’s grace is always greater than our sin, why bother resisting sin at all? Why not do whatever we want and let God’s grace cover the rest?
Paul reminds them that grace is not permission to remain the same. Grace changes us. Grace calls us into a new life.
And that brings us back to Jesus.
The hardest battles of faith are rarely between believers and unbelievers. More often, they happen within our own hearts, our own families, and our own communities. God’s truth forces us to confront things we would rather avoid.
I know something about that.
There was a time when my faith was shattered.
What shattered it was not atheism.
It was not science.
It was not intellectual doubt.
What shattered my faith was bigotry wrapped in kindness.
Hatred wrapped in religion.
Power disguised as compassion.
I saw people use God as a shield for prejudice. I saw religion used to justify exclusion. I saw people speak about love while treating others without dignity.
I became frustrated, angry, helpless, and lonely. Somewhere along the way, I lost trust—not only in people but in God.
It took a long time for my faith to be rebuilt.
And it was not rebuilt by arguments.
It was rebuilt by faithful friends.
Patient friends.
Honest friends.
Accepting friends.
Fearless friends.
They did not preach at me. They simply showed me what God’s love looked like. Their lives reflected the love they had learned from Jesus. Through them, I slowly began to believe again.
And that is where Jesus’ sword comes in.
His sword cuts through falsehood.
It cuts through hypocrisy.
It cuts through self-righteousness.
It cuts through the illusion that we can have peace without truth, reconciliation without repentance, or love without sacrifice.
The sword of Christ exposes whatever separates us from God’s love.
And that is uncomfortable work.
It is much easier to point out someone else’s shortcomings than to face our own. It is much easier to defend ourselves than to repent. It is much easier to maintain a superficial peace than to do the hard work of honesty, forgiveness, and transformation.
But unless we are willing to let our sin die, we have no business rising with Christ.
Being faithful does not mean using God to justify our hatred or our prejudices.
Being faithful means allowing God’s love to transform us.
If we truly understand God’s grace, we should be able to extend grace to people we do not fully understand.
If we truly understand God’s mercy, we should be quicker to forgive others than we are to excuse our own sins.
If we truly understand God’s love, we should be willing to see Christ even in those who are different from us.
Jesus does not reject peace.
He rejects a false peace that hides sin, avoids truth, and protects our comfort.
The peace of Christ is deeper than that.
It is honest.
It is courageous.
It is trustworthy.
And it takes work.
Every time we choose honesty over appearances, repentance over defensiveness, understanding over caricature, and love over fear, we allow Christ’s sword to do its work in us.
My prayer is that St. Paul’s will continue to be a dojo for that kind of faith—a place where we sharpen one another in faith, hope, and love; a place where we are not afraid of the truth; and a place where God’s transforming love is strong enough to hold us together as we continue this messy and beautiful journey of faith.
Amen.
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