The Price of Peace
We live in a culture that adores the concept of peace but recoils at what it actually costs. We're drawn to what might be called "cheap peace". The kind we see in feel-good movies where conflicts resolve themselves with a simple conversation and a heartfelt hug. We want a God who merely waves His hand and declares, "It's okay. Let's all just get along."
But when we honestly examine the biblical text, particularly Romans 5:1-11, we discover something radically different. Peace with God isn't cheap at all. In fact, it's the most expensive thing in the entire universe.
We Were at War
The passage begins with a startling declaration: "Therefore, since we have been justified by faith, we have peace with God through our Lord Jesus Christ." The very mention of peace necessarily implies a previous state of war. You don't sign a peace treaty unless hostilities existed first.
Paul uses remarkably strong language to describe our pre-peace condition. He calls us weak, ungodly, sinners, and most shockingly, enemies. That word stops us cold. Enemy? That seems excessive for decent, law-abiding citizens who recycle and volunteer at the local school.
But the Bible operates with a surgical definition of sin that goes far deeper than a list of bad behaviors. Sin is fundamentally about displacement, putting something in the place that belongs only to God.
Think of it like a solar system. When the sun occupies the center and planets orbit in their proper courses, you have harmony and stability. But imagine if one planet decided it wanted to be the sun. The result would be catastrophic chaos.
God is the Sun of reality. He created us, sustains every breath we take, and gave us every talent we possess. Our lives should naturally revolve around Him. But the fundamental human condition is that we've moved God out of the center and installed ourselves there instead.
We may do this in respectable, even admirable ways. We build our identities on career success, family relationships, or personal achievements. But when these things become our ultimate source of meaning rather than God, we're essentially declaring independence from our Creator. We're cosmic thieves, stealing the authorship of our own story and writing ourselves in as the hero when God should be.
This is why life feels so exhausting. When you operate against the design of the Designer, you create friction. You experience the relentless static of anxiety, the constant pressure of holding together a universe you were never meant to hold.
Forgiveness Always Costs Someone
This brings us to the heart of the matter. If the war is real and serious, what could possibly be enough to end it?
Romans 5:6 tells us: "For while we were still weak, at the right time Christ died for the ungodly." And verse 9 adds: "Since, therefore, we have now been justified by his blood..."
Many modern people stumble over this language of blood and sacrifice. If God is truly loving, why can't He just forgive us? When we break something at a friend's house and apologize, they forgive us without demanding a sacrifice.
But here's the crucial truth we often miss: Forgiveness is always costly. There is no such thing as cheap forgiveness.
Imagine someone borrows your car and wrecks it. Repairs will cost five thousand dollars. You have two options. You can make them pay, transferring the cost to them. Or you can forgive them and absorb the cost yourself. Either way, someone pays the five thousand dollars. The debt doesn't simply vanish.
If someone damages your reputation and you forgive them, you're absorbing the social cost rather than retaliating. If someone betrays your trust and you forgive them, you're bearing the emotional cost of rebuilding rather than making them bear the cost of permanent rejection.
Forgiveness, by its very nature, always involves the innocent party bearing the cost that the guilty party deserves to bear.
Now scale this principle up cosmically. We haven't just scratched someone's car, we've wrecked God's entire world. We've committed treason against the rightful King. The cost of that rebellion is infinite.
Perfect justice demands the debt be paid in full. But if God makes us pay, we're destroyed forever. If He simply ignores the debt, He's no longer just, He's declaring that evil doesn't really matter.
So what does He do?
The Judge Takes Our Place
God enters the world Himself. The Prince of Peace descends from heaven and says, "I will pay the debt Myself. I will absorb the full cost."
On the Cross, God Himself, in the person of Jesus Christ, absorbs the full cost of our rebellion. He takes the ruined world into His own body. He bears the weight of the justice we deserve.
Picture yourself in a courtroom. The evidence is overwhelming: every selfish thought, every hurtful word, every moment you lived as if you were the center of the universe. The verdict is undeniable: Guilty.
But then something unprecedented happens. The Judge removes His robes, steps down from the bench, and gently moves you aside. He sits down in your place and says to the court, "I will serve the sentence. I will bear the punishment."
That is the gospel in its essence. The Judge was judged in your place.
Paul emphasizes just how extraordinary this love is: "One will scarcely die for a righteous person—though perhaps for a good person one would dare even to die—but God shows his love for us in that while we were still sinners, Christ died for us" (Romans 5:7-8).
He didn't die for the noble and good. He died for His enemies. He died for people actively betraying Him. He died for those who would spend their lives basically ignoring Him except when they needed something.
He died for the ungodly, for the weak, for sinners, for enemies.
Living in the Peace You Already Have
So if we have peace with God, why don't we feel it? Why do we still live with constant anxiety, the relentless need to perform and prove ourselves?
The answer lies in understanding the difference between subjective feelings and objective standing. Paul is talking about a legal status, a position before God that is fixed and secure.
Imagine you're a citizen of a country at war with a superpower. You live in constant fear. But then the war ends. A treaty is signed. You're granted full citizenship in the very nation that was hunting you. The next day, you might still jump at loud noises. Your feelings haven't caught up with the new facts. But the treaty is signed. The war is officially over. You are legally safe, even if you don't yet feel safe.
If you are in Christ, God has nothing against you. Nothing. Jesus paid for your sins—past, present, and future. The debt is paid in full.
This truth transforms everything. You can handle failure without it destroying you. You can handle success without it inflating your ego. You can handle suffering knowing it's not punishment but the loving hand of a Father shaping you.
The Treaty Written in Blood
The war is over. The treaty is signed, not in ink, but in blood. His blood. And it can never be revoked.
Stop fighting to justify yourself through your performance. Stop trying to hide your flaws behind a carefully constructed image. Lay down your weapons. Accept the treaty.
You are justified. You are reconciled. You have peace with God.
And it cost Him everything.
But when we honestly examine the biblical text, particularly Romans 5:1-11, we discover something radically different. Peace with God isn't cheap at all. In fact, it's the most expensive thing in the entire universe.
We Were at War
The passage begins with a startling declaration: "Therefore, since we have been justified by faith, we have peace with God through our Lord Jesus Christ." The very mention of peace necessarily implies a previous state of war. You don't sign a peace treaty unless hostilities existed first.
Paul uses remarkably strong language to describe our pre-peace condition. He calls us weak, ungodly, sinners, and most shockingly, enemies. That word stops us cold. Enemy? That seems excessive for decent, law-abiding citizens who recycle and volunteer at the local school.
But the Bible operates with a surgical definition of sin that goes far deeper than a list of bad behaviors. Sin is fundamentally about displacement, putting something in the place that belongs only to God.
Think of it like a solar system. When the sun occupies the center and planets orbit in their proper courses, you have harmony and stability. But imagine if one planet decided it wanted to be the sun. The result would be catastrophic chaos.
God is the Sun of reality. He created us, sustains every breath we take, and gave us every talent we possess. Our lives should naturally revolve around Him. But the fundamental human condition is that we've moved God out of the center and installed ourselves there instead.
We may do this in respectable, even admirable ways. We build our identities on career success, family relationships, or personal achievements. But when these things become our ultimate source of meaning rather than God, we're essentially declaring independence from our Creator. We're cosmic thieves, stealing the authorship of our own story and writing ourselves in as the hero when God should be.
This is why life feels so exhausting. When you operate against the design of the Designer, you create friction. You experience the relentless static of anxiety, the constant pressure of holding together a universe you were never meant to hold.
Forgiveness Always Costs Someone
This brings us to the heart of the matter. If the war is real and serious, what could possibly be enough to end it?
Romans 5:6 tells us: "For while we were still weak, at the right time Christ died for the ungodly." And verse 9 adds: "Since, therefore, we have now been justified by his blood..."
Many modern people stumble over this language of blood and sacrifice. If God is truly loving, why can't He just forgive us? When we break something at a friend's house and apologize, they forgive us without demanding a sacrifice.
But here's the crucial truth we often miss: Forgiveness is always costly. There is no such thing as cheap forgiveness.
Imagine someone borrows your car and wrecks it. Repairs will cost five thousand dollars. You have two options. You can make them pay, transferring the cost to them. Or you can forgive them and absorb the cost yourself. Either way, someone pays the five thousand dollars. The debt doesn't simply vanish.
If someone damages your reputation and you forgive them, you're absorbing the social cost rather than retaliating. If someone betrays your trust and you forgive them, you're bearing the emotional cost of rebuilding rather than making them bear the cost of permanent rejection.
Forgiveness, by its very nature, always involves the innocent party bearing the cost that the guilty party deserves to bear.
Now scale this principle up cosmically. We haven't just scratched someone's car, we've wrecked God's entire world. We've committed treason against the rightful King. The cost of that rebellion is infinite.
Perfect justice demands the debt be paid in full. But if God makes us pay, we're destroyed forever. If He simply ignores the debt, He's no longer just, He's declaring that evil doesn't really matter.
So what does He do?
The Judge Takes Our Place
God enters the world Himself. The Prince of Peace descends from heaven and says, "I will pay the debt Myself. I will absorb the full cost."
On the Cross, God Himself, in the person of Jesus Christ, absorbs the full cost of our rebellion. He takes the ruined world into His own body. He bears the weight of the justice we deserve.
Picture yourself in a courtroom. The evidence is overwhelming: every selfish thought, every hurtful word, every moment you lived as if you were the center of the universe. The verdict is undeniable: Guilty.
But then something unprecedented happens. The Judge removes His robes, steps down from the bench, and gently moves you aside. He sits down in your place and says to the court, "I will serve the sentence. I will bear the punishment."
That is the gospel in its essence. The Judge was judged in your place.
Paul emphasizes just how extraordinary this love is: "One will scarcely die for a righteous person—though perhaps for a good person one would dare even to die—but God shows his love for us in that while we were still sinners, Christ died for us" (Romans 5:7-8).
He didn't die for the noble and good. He died for His enemies. He died for people actively betraying Him. He died for those who would spend their lives basically ignoring Him except when they needed something.
He died for the ungodly, for the weak, for sinners, for enemies.
Living in the Peace You Already Have
So if we have peace with God, why don't we feel it? Why do we still live with constant anxiety, the relentless need to perform and prove ourselves?
The answer lies in understanding the difference between subjective feelings and objective standing. Paul is talking about a legal status, a position before God that is fixed and secure.
Imagine you're a citizen of a country at war with a superpower. You live in constant fear. But then the war ends. A treaty is signed. You're granted full citizenship in the very nation that was hunting you. The next day, you might still jump at loud noises. Your feelings haven't caught up with the new facts. But the treaty is signed. The war is officially over. You are legally safe, even if you don't yet feel safe.
If you are in Christ, God has nothing against you. Nothing. Jesus paid for your sins—past, present, and future. The debt is paid in full.
This truth transforms everything. You can handle failure without it destroying you. You can handle success without it inflating your ego. You can handle suffering knowing it's not punishment but the loving hand of a Father shaping you.
The Treaty Written in Blood
The war is over. The treaty is signed, not in ink, but in blood. His blood. And it can never be revoked.
Stop fighting to justify yourself through your performance. Stop trying to hide your flaws behind a carefully constructed image. Lay down your weapons. Accept the treaty.
You are justified. You are reconciled. You have peace with God.
And it cost Him everything.
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