[Sermon] Peace Is a Weapon: Why God's Shalom Terrifies the World

David Horton, Minister of Music & Worship + July 6, 2025

Fourth Sunday after Pentecost / Lectionary 14

In Luke 10, Jesus sends out his followers with nothing but trust—and peace—as their mission strategy. In this sermon, David Horton explores how that peace, God’s shalom, is not passive but powerful, even terrifying to a world built on scarcity, division, and control. We are sent not with swords but with vulnerability, hospitality, and joy rooted in the abundant love of God. This radical peace challenges societal norms and confronts injustice. Our worth is not in success, but in the eternal truth that our names are written in heaven. Peace, in the hands of God’s people, becomes a revolutionary force.

Sermon Transcript

Grace and peace to you from our Creator, who delights in etching our names among the constellations.

My beloved community, today's Gospel reading from Luke, with its call to "knock-on-doors, look-people-in-the-eye, relational evangelism," might stir different reactions. For some, it's an energizing call to action. For others—and I'm particularly thinking of my introverted friends—it might feel like a cold dread, a challenge to our very nature. We often prefer to engage with faith quietly, through study or song, far from the "post-worship gauntlet" of coffee hour.

Yet, Luke’s Jesus is clearly calling us beyond our comfort zones. The gospel writer presents a direct confrontation for all of us with a crucial question: How do we effectively share the Good News in a world that often resists it, and how do we respond to opposition?This is especially vital during Pentecost, our season of mission. Jesus’ radical instructions—"Take nothing, not even shoes! Just trust the people you meet, eat whatever they give you!"—force us to examine God’s Plentiful Harvest, the Risky Business of Peace, Jesus’ Urgent Mission, and Our Eternal Connection.

This isn't merely about knocking on doors; it’s about confronting the core of our faith when faced with rejection, and every single one of us—introvert and extrovert alike—is called to lean into this profound discomfort.

So, where do we begin to lean? We start with God's Plentiful Harvest. We read in verse 2, "The harvest is plentiful, but the laborers are few; therefore ask the Lord of the harvest to send out laborers into his harvest." 

This isn't just some quaint saying from ancient times; this is a declaration that should absolutely rattle our bones. Jesus isn't merely pointing out a logistical headache; he's pulling back the curtain on a radical truth about God's economy and it utterly defies everything our world tries to sell us, everything consumerism screams at us, everything our own frantic little brains often cling to. Yes, we live in a society obsessed with scarcity.

Can I get an amen?

We're innocently bombarded with messages that there's not enough—not enough time, not enough money, not enough resources, not enough love, not enough hope. Our news cycles thrive on reporting crises and deficits. We're conditioned to believe that we must compete for dwindling supplies.

But Jesus, our wild, radical Jesus stands in direct opposition to this scarcity mindset. Never does he say, "The harvest is barely there, and we're lucky to get a few crumbs." No! He declares, "The harvest is plentiful!" He sees abundance where we often only see lack. God, the Lord of the harvest, is a God of extravagant provision, a God who pours out blessings beyond our wildest imagination, this is the nature of God.  

Now let’s talk about the Risky Business of Peace. Verse 3 and 5, "Go on your way; I am sending you out like lambs into the midst of wolves…Whatever house you enter, first say, ‘Peace to this house!’”

These passages, coming right after all that scandalous talk of abundance, hits us with an equally disarming and deeply provocative truth. Jesus looks us square in the eye and acknowledges the stark reality of our existence: we, his followers, are sent out as "lambs into the midst of wolves."

He's not talking about a slightly challenging neighborhood or a minor disagreement with a grumpy neighbor. He's speaking of vulnerability, of inherent danger, of a world that is not always friendly. In fact, it's often hostile, and sometimes it's outright predatory towards those who dare to carry his message.

This was true for his disciples back then, stumbling around dusty roads. And it is, undeniably, true for us now. We see the "wolves" everywhere, don't we? In the polarized rhetoric that rips us apart, in the injustices that crush the most vulnerable among us, in the cynicism that dismisses faith as childish nonsense, and in the despair that grips so many hearts, leaving them cold and empty.

And yet, here's where the mandate becomes truly breathtaking in its audacity: Jesus does not call us to arms. He doesn't equip us with swords, or shields, or even cunning strategies for self-preservation, like some kind of spiritual ninja training. Instead, he issues a singular, radical command: "Whatever house you enter, first say, ‘Peace to this house!’"

I don’t hear this as Jesus calling us to naive optimism, like we should skip through a minefield singing "Kumbaya." No. This is a profound, Spirit-empowered conviction that the peace of God's Kingdom, that shalom-kingdom Jesus talked about, is the only true answer to the hostility and brokenness of our age. We are not called to conquer by force, but to incarnate peace, to become peace wherever we go. We are to trust that it's the very presence of God that transforms even the most wolf-like environments into something new, something hopeful. 

And it's this very act of incarnating peace, of embodying God's presence in the world, that directly connects to the intense urgency of Jesus's mission. Jesus’s announcement, found in Luke 10:9 and 11, wasn't a gentle suggestion, but a foundational declaration of his ministry: "The kingdom of God has come near to you."

This phrase, "come near," isn't merely descriptive; it signals a new age breaking in, an immediate, unfolding divine plan that places these disciples—and by extension, us—squarely within a grand, unfolding drama.

Here, however, we encounter a profound tension: the Kingdom of God feels simultaneously present now, something that was near in Jesus's time, something we eagerly look forward to in the future, and something that unfolded in the past through Jesus's life, death, and resurrection. Despite the fact that the 'apocalyptic timeline' might not have unfolded exactly as expected, does this passage still resonate with us today? Emphatically, yes! The core of this urgent mission remains profoundly relevant.

While we might not be anticipating an immediate, literal cataclysm, the Kingdom of God is breaking into our world right now. It breaks in through acts of healing, through the pursuit of justice, and through profound compassion. When we work for equity, when we offer forgiveness, when we build communities rooted in grace, we are embodying and announcing that the Kingdom has indeed "come near."

The apocalyptic framework of Jesus's time highlighted an urgency we cannot—and should not—ignore. Even if the timeline has shifted, the radical call to action, the transformative presence of the Kingdom, and our essential role in proclaiming it remain unwavering. We are still called to spread the gospel, not as an explanation of a delayed prophecy, but as the living, transforming truth of God's reign that is both "already" here and "not yet" fully realized.

And within this dynamic, active participation in God's Kingdom, we discover something even more profound and enduring: our Eternal Connection. We read in verse 20, “However, do not rejoice that the spirits submit to you, but rejoice that your names are written in heaven.”

After experiencing the thrill of seeing demons cast out and the sick healed—tangible, undeniable proof of God's power working through them—Jesus gives a crucial, counter-intuitive redirect. He essentially says, "That's great, but don't let that be your ultimate source of joy." He points them to something infinitely more significant than any earthly or even spiritual success: their eternal relationship with God, enjoyed through Christ.

This isn't about downplaying their incredible work; it's about reorienting their joy to its true and lasting foundation. In a world obsessed with metrics and visible triumphs, Jesus reminds us that our ultimate value and deepest cause for celebration isn't found in our achievements, no matter how miraculous.

This profound truth resonates especially as we've just celebrated Independence Day. What we celebrated on the Fourth of July is, at its heart, a declaration of freedom and rights endowed by a Creator, not earned by merit. Similarly, our standing with God is not based on our spiritual "triumphs" or how many "demons" we cast out. It's a grace-based relationship, a profound gift. Our names are written in heaven not because we've achieved enough, but because of God's unmerited favor through Christ. This divine "Declaration of Independence" for our souls liberates us from the exhausting burden of having to earn our worth or prove our belonging.

So, while we are definitely called to be active in God's work—spreading peace and sharing the good news of the Kingdom—our deepest joy doesn't come from how successful we are. Instead, our ultimate joy comes from the sure knowledge that, by God's amazing grace, our names are forever known and loved by God. This powerful truth sets us free. We can serve with genuine joy, without needing our efforts to be "validated" by success, and we can bounce back easily when we face challenges.

A profound shift occurs in our daily lives when our deepest joy is rooted in our security in Christ, not our achievements. This principle becomes critically urgent—even challenging—when we confront today's socio-political landscape, where our government and much of modern culture stand in stark opposition to Jesus's fundamental mission.

Consider these stark contrasts between the Kingdom Jesus proclaimed and the world we navigate:

Firstly, our political rhetoric often screams scarcity, focusing on limited resources and the need to "pull ourselves up by our bootstraps," rather than God's abundant provision. Secondly, our societal structures are built on "deserving" or "undeserving," directly opposing Jesus's message that our worth and belonging are gifts of grace, not earned achievements. Thirdly, we seek power from human institutions, while Jesus points to a Kingdom of God with ultimate, divine authority that transcends earthly hierarchies. Finally, and most egregious, our society often promotes transformation through conflict, violence, and "othering"—defining ourselves against those different from us—rather than Jesus's call to bring shalom and embody inclusion.

Can I get an amen?

Our ultimate allegiance lies with the Lord of the Harvest, the King of Shalom, whose abundance and grace supersede worldly scarcity and merit. We live as dual citizens, infusing the temporal with eternal values, even when it means direct opposition.

Understand this, beloveds: when you live this way, hostility isn't a possibility—it's a guarantee. Jesus didn't merely warn us; He promised it. However, don't just "dust it off your feet"; recognize it as a profound confirmation that you're on the right path. This isn't merely political disagreement or social friction; it's a spiritual battleground. You're confronting the very forces of division and violence that hold the world captive. Your peace—your radical shalom—becomes a blazing, prophetic act of defiance against the powers of fear and control, a declaration thundering that a different, divine reality is possible.

Can I get an amen? 

So, what would it truly look like for Trinity Lutheran Church & Schools to embrace a radical joy, a joy so deeply rooted in Christ that it empowers us to stand against cultural currents?

It's a joy that compels us to radical hospitality, stretching us beyond our comfort. It's serving warm meals and essential supplies to our unhoused neighbors on Saturday mornings, seeing the face of Christ in every person.

It's a joy that fuels our Diversity and Inclusion Ministry, where we speak truth with love, not anger. We actively seek to understand opposing viewpoints, engaging in civil discourse to find common ground without compromising the unwavering values of God's Kingdom.

It's a joy that inspires economic generosity—not just with our wallets, but with our time and talents. We examine our consumption habits, advocate for just systems, and support initiatives that combat poverty and inequality, freely sharing our resources to demonstrate the Kingdom's abundance in a world of scarcity.

Ultimately, it's a joy that cultivates deep inner peace, rooted in our secure identity in Christ. This peace blossoms through worship, prayer, scripture meditation, and communal fellowship—practices that replenish our souls and remind us of the ultimate source of our strength and joy.

Friends, in just a moment, we'll raise our voices to sing Audrey Assad's powerful hymn, "Your Peace Will Make Us One," set to the familiar tune of "Battle Hymn." But before we do, let's truly consider the profound weight of those words set against this tune.

Just as Jesus sent out his disciples as heralds of peace—vulnerable yet empowered by a divine mission—Assad's reimagining of a battle hymn calls us to be agents of a transforming peace. Her lyrics, "Your peace will make us one," echo the very essence of the disciples' mandate: to declare God's kingdom through acts of peace, healing, and reconciliation. This is a peace that dismantles empires of division, replants the vineyards of our lives, and ultimately, unites us in a way only divine love can achieve.

This peace we're called to embody—the shalom of God's Kingdom—is not a fragile truce; it is a weapon. It is a powerful, transformative force that directly assaults the fractured realities of our world. How does this peace engage in battle with the vitriolic political divides, the crushing economic disparities, and the agonizing social fragmentation that surround us? It doesn't shy away. Instead, it cuts through every hostile narrative, dismantles every us-versus-them mentality, and overthrows every system that perpetuates brokenness. This isn't a weak or passive peace; it is a strong, active, and relentless weapon that demands our engagement.

So, as we prepare to sing, rejoice in the profound truth that your names are written in the book of life—this is your ultimate joy, your eternal significance. Let that unshakeable, overflowing joy ignite a fierce commitment within you. Go forth, then, not just as recipients of peace, but as audacious agents of shalom in a world desperate for its wholeness. Let your very lives be a testament to the unifying, challenging, and utterly beautiful, weaponized peace of God!

And for that, we can say amen.