Time to share the peace…

As soon as the vicar's voice booms, "It’s time to share the peace," the congregation springs into action like a well-oiled machine, except with more confusion and fewer instructions. I quickly scan the room, calculating the size of the congregation with a furrowed brow, my mind racing through the complex algorithms of time mathematics—how fast do I need to shake hands to ensure I can get to everyone before the Eucharist starts? The clock is ticking. Then, disaster strikes: a group of chatty parishioners in the aisle. They're blocking my path, engaged in the kind of post-service gossip that could halt the progress of an Olympic sprinter. With a dramatic leap and roll over the pews, I narrowly dodge a rogue hymnbook and reach the latecomers in the back row, who have set up camp as if they plan to start a new parish there.

But wait, the peace has already begun, and people are no longer following the orderly circuit of handshakes! Chaos has erupted. I start keeping a mental tally of who I've shaken hands with, but it’s harder than keeping track of my grocery list—who have I missed? Who got a second peace? Oh no, if I share the peace twice with someone, will they be spiritually blessed, or does it invalidate the sacred handshake for the next person? Is it an extra blessing, or am I creating a divine imbalance?

Suddenly, the vicar begins talking, and my anxiety spikes—there’s no way I can finish at this rate. Can I high-five someone from across the room to save time? Or, is that a cardinal sin in the eyes of Anglican tradition? Do I carry the peace with me awkwardly as the last one standing, or is it worse to not return to my seat at all, causing a rift in the space-time continuum of church etiquette? As I race back to my pew, I wonder if the peace has truly been shared or if the true peace is simply finding a way to sit down without feeling like I’ve ruined the entire liturgy.

I can't be the only one who’s thought this way—surely there’s a secret group of peace-sharing strategists out there, planning their moves like chess grandmasters in the pews. While it’s easy to get distracted by the logistics of the peace, and sometimes, yes, we may let it slip by in our minds as just another moment of polite church ritual, the reality is that the New Zealand Anglican Prayer Book calls the entire Eucharistic liturgy a Ministry of Sacrament. That means, folks, this isn’t just about the handshake—it’s part of a sacred journey, a divine task of reconciliation that begins with the peace and carries through to the Eucharist. It’s not something we can afford to mess up—not just for our own spiritual well-being, but for the entire flow of the sacred service. It’s important. Really important. Maybe next time, instead of just winging it, we’ll have peace-sharing training in small groups during the week—because, let’s face it, this sacred mission needs preparation!"

The reason I wanted to talk about the Peace today is because of its history and what it is based on. The exchange of peace actually dates all the way back to the early Christian church—think ancient times, when Christians would greet one another with a kiss of peace, as a sign of unity and reconciliation. It was a powerful moment that tied the community together before sharing in the Eucharist, and the idea was to be at peace with one another before entering into the sacred meal. Over the centuries, the practice evolved, and it was formalized in the liturgy, not just as a greeting, but as an essential part of the Christian experience. So, when we share the peace today, we’re not just performing a ritual; we’re participating in something that has deep theological significance — a moment where we, as the body of Christ, are called to extend peace and forgiveness to each other before we move forward into worship and communion. It’s a ministry, a sacrament, and an invitation to reconciliation.

Now, reconciliation. We’re all on board for reconciliation. We all want peace and forgiveness. But sometimes, that means swallowing our pride and choosing to rise above the situation. Reconciliation is easier when we’re showing God’s forgiveness to others who may not have directly wronged us, or whose actions have caused issues for themselves or others around them. However, it becomes much harder when we feel personally caught up in the situation, when we feel victimised or wronged by the very person asking for reconciliation.

Reconciliation and forgiveness are central to our faith, and while we are called to offer both, we must also be mindful that God understands the complexities of our situations. There are times when forgiving and reconciling may look different, especially when our well-being or safety is at stake. In those moments, God’s wisdom and grace will still guide us, remember he knows our hearts and the hearts of others.

It is now time for me to share with you a story. There once was a 6-year-old girl named Diana, full of dreams and eager to fit in with the latest school trend. All of her friends were getting their ears pierced, wearing beautiful earrings that made them look grown-up and fashionable. Diana wanted nothing more than to join them, to have her own shiny earrings and feel like she belonged. After countless discussions and much pleading with her parents, a decision was finally made: on her 8th birthday, she would be old enough to care for her piercings and could get them done.

To a 6-year-old, two years felt like an eternity. Every day seemed to drag on endlessly, but Diana was patient. She flipped through magazines, gazed longingly at earrings, and eagerly counted down the days.

Finally, the big day arrived. Diana’s Aunt, Mum, and little sister took her to the chemist for the long-awaited piercing. (Side note: Please don’t do this—take your child to a professional body piercer for a safer, cleaner experience!) Diana was bubbling with excited, nervous energy, her heart racing as they arrived at the store. But then, a small voice piped up from her 5-year-old sister: "Hey, can I get my ears pierced too?"

Diana’s Mum and aunt exchanged glances and, as if it was no big deal, casually agreed, “Sure, why not? We’re already here, might as well get both girls’ ears done.”

THE HORROR! THE BETRAYAL! In that moment, Diana was filled with overwhelming feelings of injustice. How could this be happening? She had waited for two long years to be the one to get her ears pierced. And now, her little sister—who was only 5—was getting her turn too. Diana felt like her moment of glory had been stolen from her. It wasn’t fair.

This moment of feeling wronged, overlooked, and hurt is something I can still remember vividly. And here’s where reconciliation comes in. Just as I had to swallow my feelings and accept the situation—no matter how unfair it seemed—that’s exactly what reconciliation asks of us. It doesn’t always make sense to our human hearts, and it often feels like we’ve been wronged. But true reconciliation isn’t about winning or having things go our way. It’s about letting go of that feeling of being victimised and embracing the bigger picture: peace, forgiveness, and love.

In that moment, I couldn’t see it, but my sister’s action wasn’t an attack on me—it wasn’t personal. It just felt that way in the heat of the moment. Looking back, I can see how my parents and aunt chose to handle the situation with love, humour, and generosity. And, in the end, both my sister and I got our ears pierced that day, and the moment passed.

In Luke 15:1-3, 11b-32—the Parable of the Prodigal Son—the older son feels wronged when his reckless brother returns and is celebrated. He wonders why his own hard work hasn't earned him similar recognition. His struggle centers on reconciliation and forgiveness as he feels excluded. The father gently reminds him that everything he has is already his, pointing to the truth that reconciliation often requires letting go of feelings of being wronged and embracing grace, even when it’s hard to understand. Just like the story of the older son, we too are called to release resentment, choose peace, and embrace forgiveness, as God does for us.

At first glance, it might seem that reconciliation takes precedence over justice and fairness—values we often hold as our highest ideals. But the answer is simple: in the end, it all points to Jesus! (Doesn’t it always! I always love that we as a church continue to be surprised by this crucial piece of information). In His Parable of the Prodigal Son, Jesus shows us the power of reconciliation. The father doesn’t hold his son’s mistakes against him or lecture him about fairness. His focus is on restoring the relationship, because that’s what matters most. You might ask, “Isn’t there a time for justice?” Yes, but God’s justice is different—it’s restorative, not retributive. It brings healing, unity, and peace. Jesus’ teaching to forgive “seventy-seven times” (Matthew 18:21-22) reminds us that reconciliation is an ongoing process—an ongoing choice to move past hurt and embrace healing.

At the heart of Christianity is God’s love and grace. His immense, overflowing love for humanity sets the stage for reconciliation. In Romans 5:8, we read, "But God shows his love for us in that while we were still sinners, Christ died for us." Take a moment to absorb that—God’s love is so powerful that He didn’t wait for us to get our act together, for us to get it right, no, he took the first step in reconciling with us through Jesus’ sacrifice on the cross.

God's justice isn’t just about making sure things are balanced or punishing wrongdoers. It’s about something far deeper—restoring relationships. Paul writes in 2 Corinthians 5:18-19 that God reconciled us to Himself through Christ and gave us the ministry of reconciliation—not just the ministry of “making things fair,” but of restoring what’s broken.

And then there’s Jesus, the model of reconciliation. On the cross, He could have called for justice—He was innocent and wronged in the most unimaginable way. But instead, He prays, "Father, forgive them, for they do not know what they are doing" (Luke 23:34). That’s the heart of reconciliation—choosing forgiveness over vengeance, peace over punishment. It’s not about being right; it’s about healing what’s broken.

Jesus also shows us how reconciliation matters in our everyday lives. In Matthew 5:23-24, He says that if we’re offering a gift at the altar and remember that someone has something against us, we should go and be reconciled first. It’s almost like He’s saying, "Forget the rituals—if relationships aren’t right, that’s your priority." Reconciliation is so important in God’s Kingdom that it becomes the sign that we are truly living out His love and forgiveness, bringing peace wherever we go.

Ultimately, God’s plan is to reconcile all things—on earth and in heaven—through Jesus. Colossians 1:19-20 says that through Christ, God seeks to make peace with all things "by making peace through his blood, shed on the cross." This is the grand plan: reconciliation, not just for us as individuals, but for all of creation. It’s healing, restoration, and wholeness on a cosmic scale. And if that’s God’s plan for the universe, it’s certainly a plan worth paying attention to in our day-to-day lives.

So, when we say reconciliation is more important than strict justice, it’s not some abstract idea. It’s at the core of who God is and what He’s doing in the world. It’s what we’re called to live out—not just in theory, but in real, everyday relationships with one another. Sometimes it’s tough, and we might think, “But what about fairness?” But when we choose reconciliation, we choose God’s better way of healing, forgiving, and restoring. And that, my church family, is the peace we share in church—and the peace that can transform our world.