Peace I Leave with You

John 14:23–29 

On this Memorial Day weekend, we gather together, experiencing conflicts that are felt deeply: the place between gratitude and grief, between memory and hope. We remember those who gave their lives in service to this country—those who did not return home. We honor their sacrifice. When I first arrived in Orwigsburg, I heard about Captain Jason Jones, killed in Afghanistan. It seemed like the whole town was grieving.  And we acknowledge the ache that lingers in the lives of those who love them still. Memorial Day is not a day of easy words. It is a day that calls us to pause, especially to remember, and, as people of faith, to reflect on the kind of peace we are called to seek.    It’s Memorial Day weekend. A time to remember those who have served in the armed forces and particularly those who have died in service to this country.

While it may seem like the many wars the US has fought are often in other countries, these wars come home to us.  They come home as we think of the service given by our soldiers.  I’m pretty sure that you, like me, wish there would be no more wars.  But there is a reason they happen.  Why do we become involved in wars?  There is something to protect. We are called to defend our homeland, our way of life, and our values.

War comes at an astronomical cost. There is the loss of those who are killed. There is the sacrifice of the families at home.. There is the damage to the lives of those who serve who come home with PTSD and other conditions – physical, mental, and spiritual.   In 2022, there were 6,407 suicides among veterans in the United States, which translates to an average of 17.6 veteran suicides per day. This is beyond heart-breaking.

Into this space of grief and remembrance, if we listen we can hear Jesus speak:

“Peace I leave with you; my peace I give to you. I do not give to you as the world gives. Do not let your hearts be troubled, and do not let them be afraid.”

This is part of Jesus’ farewell to His disciples. The room is full of uncertainty. The cross lies just ahead.  Jesus has made clear that he is about to leave them. They are struggling with the heartbreaking idea of this news.  How can they deal with this?  What will they do?  Jesus has just said that he will not leave them alone. He will continue to love them. He will continue to reveal himself to them but not to the world. Judas (not Iscariot) then asks how that can be?. Perhaps Judas was thinking about an earth-shattering event – like lightening flashing through the entire sky,  Jesus coming down in glory.

Sorry, Judas, nothing that dramatic but still life changing.  And Jesus, knowing all that is coming, chooses not to give them orders or strategy—He gives them peace. His peace.  Christ’s peace is rooted in the wholeness of God’s justice, compassion, and love, what the Jews call shalom.  It is a peace that heals rather than wounds, that lifts up rather than conquers. Jesus specifically puts the focus on the loving relationship between his disciples, himself, and God, his father

“Those who love me will keep my word, and my Abba God will love them, and we will come to them and make our home with them.”

What does it mean to “keep His word” on a day like today? Perhaps it means we live in such a way that the memory of those we’ve lost shapes how we seek peace now—not peace through domination, but peace rooted in dignity, mutual care, and the hard, sacred work of justice. Peace that turns away from the painful cost of war, and instead works to build communities.

In the UCC, we affirm that God is still speaking—still speaking through the prophets, through the cries of the grieving, through the longings of veterans and their families, through the quiet courage of those who stand against violence. The Holy Spirit, Jesus says, is our Advocate—still teaching, still reminding us of all He has said.

So on this Memorial Day, we do not only remember; we also recommit.

We recommit to being people who live into Christ’s peace.

We recommit to being homes for God’s Word—not in abstraction, but in action.

We recommit to lifting up the voices of the hurting, healing the wounds of war—both visible and unseen—and striving for a future where no parent has to send a child into battle.

“Do not let your hearts be troubled,” Jesus says. And that is not denial. It is a promise. He knows our grief. He knows our longing. And still, He offers peace.

Let us then live as resurrection people. Not people of naïveté, but of deep hope. Let us be builders of the world Christ dreams of. And let us honor the fallen not only with wreaths and words, but by walking the long road toward a peace that reflects heaven itself.  Thanks be to God.