Have you ever noticed how the first words we speak can shape everything that follows? A greeting, a tone, a simple gesture – they open doors or close them. In today’s Gospel, (Luke 10:1–12, 17–20), Jesus sends out seventy-two disciples into towns and villages with a very specific instruction about what their first words must be: “Peace to this house.” That simple word ‘peace’ is disarming in its gentleness, and reflects the missionary heart of Jesus.
Before anything else – before healing, before teaching, before conversion – comes this first and sacred offer: peace – not just as a pleasant word or polite formality, but as the very doorway through which Christ himself can be encountered.
As if to emphasise the focus of their mission, the disciples are instructed to carry nothing with them – no moneybag, no haversack, not even sandals. In other words, the first moment of encounter is meant to be a moment of vulnerability, where the one being sent is meant to meet people where they are, so that they can share the gift that Christ offers – peace.
There is something very counter-cultural about this approach. We live in a world that rewards strength, strategy, and self-protection. We are trained to bring our best argument, our credentials, our power to persuade. But Jesus sends out his disciples with none of these tools. He doesn’t ask them to control the conversation, or to be impressive. He asks them to be bearers of peace – vulnerable, open, and trusting that God is already at work in the places they go. Their mission is not to dominate, but to invite.
So much of our world is restless, uncertain, angry – and if the truth be told – sometimes, so are we. We hold onto bitterness or disappointment. We carry burdens we’ve never fully named. We rush through life distracted and impatient. In all of that inner unrest, we forget that peace begins within.
This reality is reflected in the fractured world that we live in. Not much has changed from Jesus’ time on earth. The divisions might look different, but the pain is familiar. Back then it was occupied towns, Roman soldiers, religious tension. Today it’s refugee camps, neighbourhoods plagued by violence, and families pulled apart by stress or silence.
And yet, the mission remains the same. Jesus sends us out into this hurting world with something radical: not answers, but a presence; not doctrines, but a way of being. Not with power in our hands, but peace in our hearts. That’s why the image of the disciple with empty hands is so moving. It tells us that what makes our witness powerful is not what we bring, but who we are.
We don’t need to fix everything. We are not asked to have every answer. What we are called to do is live in such a way that people catch a glimpse of the Kingdom through us. To be the kind of presence that brings calm to a tense room, hope to a difficult situation, and dignity to those who feel forgotten. That’s the missionary way – not argument, but accompaniment.
We are called to do this in a time when peace feels under siege. Over the last few months, we have seen a painful shift in the way we are in the world: support for the poor and vulnerable has been reduced – non-profit charities are closing their doors left, right and centre – while military spending is being increased around the world. More money for war. Less for food, health, and education. The message sent is clear! By the world’s standards strength is measured by weapons, walls and might – not by how well we care for the exploited, the poor and the vulnerable.
So what do these readings mean for us today – in our homes, our communities, our world? Could it be that they are meant to call us to a moment of reflection? To asking ourselves if we are people of peace? Do our words heal or divide? Do our choices sow hope or deepen fear? When others speak with anger, do we respond with gentleness or join in the noise?
We must remember that if we are to be agents of peace, we have to find healing for our own turmoil – because we can’t bring peace if we hold on to our prejudices; we can’t share mercy if we live with judgments; We can’t show God’s love if we have made up our minds about the ‘unworthiness’ of the person we are encountering.”
Being people of peace is not passive. It is deeply active. It means speaking up where there is injustice. It means standing with the poor. It means choosing the quieter, more courageous path when the loud, reactive one would be easier. It means remembering that peace isn’t just what we feel in the sanctuary – it’s what we carry into the street, the shop, the school, and the taxi rank.
Today, Jesus sends us in into this city; into our families; into workplaces and public spaces. He still says to us: “Say first: Peace to this house.” Not just with words, but with lives that make peace visible.
So as we leave this place, let us go as missionary disciples of peace. Let us speak peace into homes where wounds linger. Let us bring peace into our conversations – especially those that have turned cold or bitter.
Let us carry peace into the decisions we make, especially where they affect those most vulnerable – and may the words we speak be more than just polite greetings. Let them echo the presence of Christ himself: “Peace to this house. Peace to this heart. Peace to this world.”