What do you do when the ground beneath you shakes? When everything you've counted on seems to be slipping away? When the future you imagined suddenly looks impossible? Those aren’t idle questions in a world like ours right now.

And that’s exactly where Jesus' disciples found themselves on that Thursday night in an upper room in Jerusalem. Everything was falling apart. Their teacher—the one they'd left everything to follow, the one in whom they'd invested their hopes for Israel's restoration—was telling them he was heading out. Not just leaving the room, but leaving them entirely. Going somewhere they couldn't follow.

Think about the panic. The confusion. These weren't sophisticated theologians who could parse the mysteries of incarnation and atonement. These were fishermen and tax collectors and ordinary people who had found in Jesus something worth betting their lives on. And now he was saying goodbye?

But into this moment of crisis and confusion, Jesus speaks words that have echoed through two thousand years of human history: "Let not your hearts be troubled ... Peace I leave with you; my peace I give to you."

But the peace Jesus offers isn't just a nice spiritual sentiment to help us feel better. It's a revolutionary alternative to the way the world operates. It's a direct challenge to every system that promises security through power, every authority that demands submission through fear, every voice that says peace comes through domination.

When Jesus says, "I do not give to you as the world gives," he's not just talking about giving different gifts. He's announcing an entirely different world, a new world that captures God's desire for all creation. This new world Jesus is announcing has entirely different values and operates by entirely different rules.

Fine, but what does Jesus mean when he says he doesn't give "as the world gives?"

This raises the obvious question: What’s the world's way of giving?

In Jesus' day, the world's way of giving was embodied in something called the *Pax Romana—*the Roman Peace. Caesar Augustus and his successors had created what they claimed was an unprecedented era of peace and prosperity across the known world. No more wars between city-states. No more local conflicts. Peace at last.

But here's the thing about Roman peace: it was peace at the end of a spear, peace maintained through occupying armies and crucifixions, serving the interests of those in power while crushing anyone who dared to resist. The Roman historian Tacitus saw right through it. He wrote: "They make a desert and call it peace."

But that shouldn’t come as any surprise, right? The world's way of giving peace is always conditional. It's peace for some at the expense of others.

And isn't this still the world's way? Doesn't our world still promise peace through superior firepower? Security through surveillance? Prosperity through competition? The strong maintain order, and the weak learn to keep quiet. That's the world's peace.

But notice something else about the world's way of giving: it's always about what you can do for the giver. Rome gave peace to those who served Roman interests. Corporate benefactors give to organizations that enhance their image. Politicians give to constituencies that vote for them. Even in our personal relationships, how often is our giving really about what we get back?

The world's peace comes with strings attached, with obligations.

Now listen to what Jesus offers: "If anyone loves me, they will keep my word, and God will love them, and we will come to them and make our home with them."

Did you catch that?

We will make our home with them.

Not "we will visit occasionally." Not "we will help from a distance." We will move in. We will take up residence.

This is absolutely revolutionary. Think about what this meant in Jesus's world, where gods lived in temples. They had special buildings, special priests, special rituals. You couldn't just walk up to divinity. You needed intermediaries, sacrifices, the right credentials. The holy was separated from the common by thick walls and strict rules.

And here's Jesus saying: "Actually, no. God wants to live with you. In your ordinary, daily life."