Unity in Conflict: Wrestling with God & Making Peace
Pastor Calvary deJong, April 26th, 2026
Introduction: Unity Sounds Good Until Somebody Crosses the Line
How many of you grew up with a sibling, and how many of you could honestly say that relationship was always peaceful?
I was the firstborn in my family, and my sister Hosanna was born only about eighteen months later. But then there was a ten-year gap between me and my younger brother, which meant that for most of our growing-up years, it was just me and my sister. And as you might expect, that resulted in a certain amount of sibling rivalry.
I can still remember Sunday morning drives to church in our old Chevy Malibu. It was about a half-hour and that back bench seat place became ground zero for some surprisingly intense territorial disputes. Inevitably one of us would whine: “Mom, Dad, they are on my side of the back seat.” And what began as tattletaling would often escalate into poking back and forth, and I distinctly remember one of these exchanges escalating until my sister finally declared, “You cannot hit me, I am a girl,” to which I responded with complete confidence, “You’re not a girl, you’re my sister!”
It is amusing to look back on those moments, but it reveals something: when it comes to relationships, we often reserve some of our worst behaviour for the people we are closest to. This is often true within families, and if we are honest, sometimes it can even be true within the family of God!
This brings us to an important question. If as a learned earlier in our series, conflict is a natural and unavoidable part of our relationships, how do we move toward the kind of unity that Jesus prayed for? Jesus prays that His followers would be one, not because he expected that all conflict will disappear, but because unity is meant to endure even in the presence of conflict. This is where the biblical story of Jacob is relevant for us today, because it models for us how conflict isn’t just a reality, but can actually become the place where we wrestle with God and learn how to make peace.
Wrestling With God & Making Peace
1) Genesis 32:24 tells us that “Jacob was left alone, and a man wrestled with him till daybreak.” This moment is significant because Jacob has spent his entire life trying to control outcomes and secure blessing through his own efforts. You might recall, how he manipulated Esau out of his birthright in Genesis 25, deceived his father Isaac in Genesis 27 to get the spiritual blessing, and then spent years toiling for Laban in Genesis 29 to 31 to win his daughters’ hand, becoming the trickster who was himself tricked.
Yet now, on the eve of facing Esau, the brother he wronged decades earlier, Jacob finds himself in a situation where no strategy can save him. He is stripped of his usual tools, left vulnerable and exposed. What will Esau do to him? His desperation reads like the setup for a divine encounter, a moment where God breaks into human experience. From an Anabaptist lens, it marks the beginning of true discipleship, where his self-reliance collapses and dependence on God begins. It is often only when we run out of strategies that we become open to encountering God in a transformative way.
2) The text initially describes Jacob’s opponent simply as a man, yet by the end of the passage Jacob declares, “I saw God face to face, and yet my life was spared” (Genesis 32:30). This has long been understood as a theophany, a visible manifestation of God, and many interpreters have even seen here a pre-incarnate appearance of Christ. What is striking, however, is not only who this figure is, but how He engages Jacob. God does not merely deliver a message like other divine messengers in the Old Testament; instead, He wrestles him. This is not a passive encounter, but a deeply relational struggle in which God meets Jacob in the very arena of his striving. The encounter leaves a permanent mark, as the text notes that Jacob’s hip is wrenched so that “he was limping because of his hip” (Genesis 32:31). This wound both ends Jacob’s illusion of control and marks him for the rest of his life. Encounters with God are not simply emotional experiences; they are transformative and often costly, reshaping how a person walks forward.
3) In the midst of the struggle, God asks Jacob a question that on the surface, seems a little odd: “What is your name?” (Genesis 32:27). This is not a request for information. Rather, Jacob must speak the truth about himself, acknowledging his identity as one whose name means deceiver, supplanter, and manipulator. Before transformation can occur, there must be honesty. One cannot receive a new identity while clinging to a false one. It is only after Jacob names himself truthfully that God declares, “Your name will no longer be Jacob, but Israel, because you have struggled with God and with humans and have overcome” (Genesis 32:28). The name Israel means one who wrestles with God, or one through whom God prevails. Jacob is renamed as one whose identity is now rooted in relationship with God rather than defined by his past behavior. This transformation prepares Jacob for what comes next, as he walks out towards Esau, not in his own strength, but in weakness.
4) The text makes clear that Jacob approaches his brother with humility, bowing to the ground seven times as he draws near (Genesis 33:3), still carrying the fear of retaliation that had built up over twenty years of separation. Yet the outcome is entirely different from what Jacob expects. Instead of violence, “Esau ran to meet Jacob and embraced him; he threw his arms around his neck and kissed him. And they wept” (Genesis 33:4). This unexpected peace suggests that something deeper has shifted, not only in Jacob, but in this brother Esau. The encounter with God has altered the trajectory of the conflict. It demonstrates that wrestling with God is not only an end in itself, but leads outwardly toward reconciliation with others. In other words, one cannot truly encounter God and remain unchanged in how they relate to people, because the transformation that begins in the presence of God finds its expression in the pursuit of peace.
A Gospel Invitation & A Vision for Unity
This is a moment in Jacob’s story that we cannot skip past, because it brings us right to the heart of the gospel. Jacob does not simply survive the encounter with God; he is changed by it, and that change reshapes how he steps back into his relationships. This is where the invitation comes to us, because the same God who wrestled with Jacob is the God who meets us in Christ.
If we are honest, many of us have learned how to manage conflict in ways that avoid real transformation. I remember being somewhere around ten or eleven years old at summer camp, and there was a bit of conflict between myself and another camper. Our counselor knew both of us from boys’ club at our church, and so after talking it through, he told us we needed to apologize and “hug it out.” That felt incredibly awkward for two young boys, so we walked toward each other, bumped shoulders, and considered the job done. Our camp counselor said, “Good enough,” and we went back to chapel.
That kind of surface-level reconciliation may be enough to get through the day, but it is not the kind of heart transformation God is calling us into. It is possible to perform the right words without any real change of heart. It is possible to maintain the appearance of peace while avoiding the deeper work of humility and restoration. What Jacob experiences, and what the gospel calls us toward, is something far more profound.
The good news is that we do not have to manufacture this kind of change on our own. In Jesus Christ, we see the ultimate expression of what it means to make peace. Jesus does not simply tell us to reconcile; He embodies reconciliation. While we were still estranged, while we were still resistant and even hostile, Christ gave Himself for us. He died not only for friends who loved Him, but for enemies who mocked Him. This is the pattern of a Jesus-centered life, and it means that we are called to do relationships differently.
The Big Idea is this: God will sometimes wrestle with you to break what is false, to rename what is true, and to send you back into the world as a person of peace. A true encounter with God results in a new identity, a humbled posture, and reconciled relationships. It changes not only how we see God, but how we see one another.
So, the invitation is simple, but it is not easy. Where is God inviting you to start surrendering? Where is He calling you to be honest about what needs to change in you before you try to fix what is “wrong” in someone else? And where is He sending you back into a relationship, not in pride but in humility, seeking peace in the name of Jesus?
Because the mark of having met God is not that you stand taller, but that you walk with a limb.
Dwelling in Dissonance: Are You the Gardener?
Easter Sunday - John 20:1-18
Introduction: Resuscitation or Resurrection?
Have you ever witnessed a moment when everything suddenly shifts? When a situation moves from calm to crisis in an instant? Perhaps you have seen it in an emergency setting, where a steady rhythm suddenly flatlines and the entire room springs into action. Voices rise, equipment is rushed in, and every effort is focused on one goal: to bring that person back, to restore life as it was before. That is what we call resuscitation. That instinct runs deep within us, not only in medicine, but in life. When something important is lost, we want it back. When something is broken, we want it fixed. When a relationship ends or a dream collapses, we long for things to return to the way they were. But as Ronald Rolheiser writes:
“Resuscitated life is when one is restored to one’s former life and health, as is the case with someone who has been clinically dead and is brought back to life. Resurrected life is not this. It is not a restoration of one’s old life but the reception of a radically new life.”
In other words, resurrection is not returning to what was, but a transformation. That distinction matters when we come to John 20. The question is not simply whether life has returned, but what kind of life we are witnessing. Is this a restoration of the old, or the beginning of something entirely new? And if it is new, then perhaps the deeper question is not just what happened in the tomb, but what God is growing in the garden.
Running, Seeing, and Not Yet Understanding
The resurrection account in John 20 is filled with movement. Mary Magdalene comes to the tomb early, while it is still dark, and sees that the stone has been moved. Her immediate conclusion is not resurrection, but loss. “They have taken the Lord out of the tomb, and we don’t know where they have put him.” She runs to tell Peter and the other disciple, and they run to the tomb. Everything is urgent, driven by confusion and the need to understand what has happened. But when they arrive, what they find only deepens the mystery. The linen wrappings are still there, and yet the body is gone. John tells us something striking. They saw and believed, but they still did not understand. There is a gap between seeing and perceiving. Their experience has outpaced their understanding. And then the focus shifts. Mary remains. While the others leave, she lingers, standing outside the tomb, weeping. She looks in and sees angels. She turns and sees Jesus standing there, but does not recognize him. Instead, she asks a question that seems mistaken but is closer to the truth than she realizes: “Are you the gardener?”
The Garden: The Story of Scripture
That question invites us to step back and see the larger story unfolding across Scripture. This is not the first garden in the biblical story. The story of the bible begins in a garden.
In Genesis, God plants a garden in Eden and places humanity within it. It is a place of life, abundance, and communion with God. Humanity is given both identity and vocation, to live with God and tend what he has made as his good creation.
And yet, it is in that garden that everything begins to unravel. Humanity reaches for what is not theirs to take, and the consequences ripple outward. The ground is cursed, thorns emerge, and death enters the world. The garden that began as the place of life becomes the place of the fall. But the story does not end there.
In John’s Gospel, Jesus enters another garden, Gethsemane. Here, he faces what lies ahead. Where Adam disobeyed, Jesus obeys. This garden becomes the place where redemption is embraced.
Then there is another garden, the garden tomb. John tells us that at the place where Jesus was crucified, there was a garden, and in that garden a new tomb. It is here that Jesus is buried, and it is here that he is raised. This is the garden of resurrection, where death is undone not by returning to what was, but by bringing forth something new. What is planted in death emerges in life. This is not resuscitation. It is new creation. But the story continues. In Revelation, we are given a vision of a renewed world where the tree of life appears again and the curse is no more. The garden returns, now as a garden-city, where God dwells fully with his people and everything is made new. From beginning to end, the story of Scripture is the story of the gardener at work.
The Gardener and the Seed
When Mary mistakes Jesus for the gardener, she is wrong in one sense, but profoundly right in another. Jesus is both the gardener and the seed. He is the one who enters into death, and the one who brings forth life from it. Earlier in John’s Gospel, Jesus said that unless a grain of wheat falls into the ground and dies, it remains alone. But if it dies, it produces many seeds (cf. John 12:24) That is what we see in the resurrection. Jesus is not brought back to the same life. He is raised into a new kind of life, one that multiplies and transforms. And as the gardener, he continues to bring life out of what appears to be barren ground. The new life we long for cannot be recovered from what we have lost. It can only be received from the one who has gone into death and come out the other side. We may not be looking for the gardener, but the gardener is looking for us.
Practicing Resurrection
The question for us is not only what happened then, but how we respond now? If we are honest, many of us are still living as though we are waiting for resuscitation. We are asking God to give us our old life back, to restore what we have lost. And when that does not happen, we struggle to recognize what he is doing instead. We continue to interpret our lives through the lens of loss, searching for what has been taken, rather than asking what God might be growing. But resurrection invites a different posture. It calls us to trust that God is at work in ways we do not yet understand. It invites us to believe that what feels like an ending may be the beginning of something new. It asks us to loosen our grip on what was so that we can receive what is being given. As Wendell Berry writes: “Practice resurrection.”
Individually, this may mean listening for the voice of Jesus in confusion. It may mean releasing control, extending forgiveness, or remaining faithful in a place that feels fruitless. It may mean naming where we have been asking for resuscitation instead of resurrection. Corporately, it means becoming a community shaped by this new life. It means embodying hope in a world marked by loss. It means practicing forgiveness when it is difficult, and courage when it would be easier to withdraw. It means becoming a people who do not simply talk about resurrection, but live in light of it.
Conclusion: What Is God Growing?
The resurrection is not a return to what was. It is the beginning of something new. The question is not simply whether the tomb is empty. The question is what God is doing now, what he is growing in the places that feel empty or beyond hope. Because the gardener is still at work. And to follow him is to trust that what he is growing is more real than what we have lost, and to live each day as though new life is not only possible, but already breaking through.
The King We Want vs. The King We Got
John 12:12–27; John 19:16b–22 (NIV)
Introduction: Naming Without Knowing
Have you ever been invited to something without fully understanding what it was? Years ago, a friend invited me to join a new platform I had never heard of called Facebook. Not quite sure what it was, I signed up under the alias Mike McMeans instead of my real name. For a while, I didn’t think anything of it. Until one day someone approached me with a level of familiarity that caught me off guard. When I told him we had never met, he confidently replied, “Yes, we have. You’re Mike McMeans.” What struck me in that moment was the irony. The more certain he was that he thought he knew me, the clearer it became that he did not know me at all. Something similar is happening in our Gospel readings. In both passages, Jesus is given a title that is entirely true, and yet profoundly misunderstood by those who speak it.
On Palm Sunday, the crowd shouts, “Blessed is the king of Israel!” filled with hope and expectation. A week later, Pilate places a sign above the cross that reads, “Jesus of Nazareth, the King of the Jews,” a statement meant as mockery. In both cases, the title is accurate, but they do not truly understand Jesus.
Two Parades, One King: The First Parade
When Jesus enters Jerusalem on Palm Sunday, he does so with deliberate symbolism, fulfilling the words of the prophet: “Do not be afraid, Daughter Zion; see, your king is coming, seated on a donkey’s colt” (John 12:14–15, NIV) In the ancient world, kings entered cities on war horses, surrounded by soldiers, displaying strength and victory. These were carefully staged moments meant to project power and command allegiance. Jesus does the opposite. He comes on a donkey, accompanied not by an army but by a small group of followers. His entrance is humble, yet the crowd responds with enthusiasm. They recognize something significant about him, but they misunderstand what it means. Their expectations are shaped by longing for political liberation. They want a king who will overthrow Rome and restore their national identity. They interpret Jesus through the lens of their hopes, rather than allowing Jesus to redefine those hopes altogether. Jesus begins to unsettle those expectations almost immediately, when he says: “Very truly I tell you, unless a kernel of wheat falls to the ground and dies, it remains only a single seed. But if it dies, it produces many seeds” (John 12:24, NIV).The logic of his kingdom is not conquest, but sacrifice. It is not about grasping for power, but surrendering power.
Two Parades, One King: The Second Parade
A week later, there is another procession. This time, it is not marked by celebration, but by suffering. Jesus walks the path that has come to be known as the Via Dolorosa, the way of suffering, carrying his cross toward Golgotha. This too is a public display, but now one of humiliation rather than triumph. Golgotha, the place of the skull, is not hidden away. It is located along a well-traveled road, visible to all who pass by. Crucifixion is meant to be seen. It is a warning, a demonstration of what happens to those who challenge the authority of Rome. Over time, this place came to be known as Calvary, a word that has come to represent not only the location of Jesus’ death, but the saving work accomplished there. And here, at this place, Pilate orders a sign to be placed above Jesus’ head: “Jesus of Nazareth, the King of the Jews.” Written in multiple languages, it is meant for everyone to see. The religious leaders object, not only rejecting Jesus, but attempting to redefine him. But Pilate refuses to change it. The title remains. The same words shouted in celebration on Palm Sunday are now fixed above a crucified man. The crowd was right about who Jesus was, but wrong about how he would reign.
The Scandal of a Crucified King
One of the earliest images of Jesus, found in roman catacombs is known as the Alexamenos graffito, depicts a crucified figure with the head of a donkey, accompanied by the inscription, “Alexamenos worships his god.” It is a mocking image, revealing how absurd the idea of a crucified king seemed within the ancient world. And yet, that tension remains. We are drawn to strength and outcomes that make sense within the frameworks we understand. We are comfortable with a Jesus who inspires or comforts us. But we become uneasy when his kingship begins to to challenge our assumptions, or to call us into places we would rather avoid. We want to crown Jesus as king, but we are often hesitant to follow him to the cross.
Sometimes that resistance is subtle. It shows up in the ways we reinterpret his teachings, in the commands we quietly avoid, or in the version of discipleship we construct that allows us to remain largely unchanged while still considering ourselves faithful.
The Gospel Invitation: From Resistance to Trust
The challenge is not simply that we misunderstand Jesus. It is that even when we begin to see him more clearly, we discover that we lack the capacity to follow him as he calls us to. We may admire his humility, be moved by his sacrifice, or agree with his teaching. But when those teachings press into our lives in concrete ways, calling us to forgive, to surrender control, to love those we would rather avoid, we begin to realize that something deeper is required. This is why the cross is not only an example, but an act of transformation. Jesus does not simply show us what sacrificial love looks like. He accomplishes what we could never accomplish ourselves. He bears sin, carries guilt, and absorbs the weight of human rebellion, doing so willingly, not as a victim, but as a king who gives his life for his people. And so the invitation of the gospel is not first, “Try harder,” but “Trust in what Christ has done.” It is an invitation to shift the weight of your life off your own ability and onto the finished work of Jesus. It is a movement from admiration to trust. For some, that may be the first step to start a journey of faith. For others, it may be a renewed step, recognizing areas of resistance in one’s own life that still remain.
A Cross-Shaped Community
The Jesus-centered life does not remain internal. It begins to take visible shape in how we live together. If Jesus is truly king, then his way becomes our way. Within the Anabaptist tradition, this means that the cross is not only where we are saved, but how we are shaped. It calls us to examine where we resist his kingship in practical terms. Where do we choose control over surrender? Where do we prioritize comfort over obedience? Where do we reshape Jesus to fit our preferences? It also shapes us into a particular kind of community. Not one defined by power as the world understands it, but one marked by humility, reconciliation, and peace. It calls us to forgiveness instead of retaliation, and unity even in the midst of disagreement. And it reminds us that we do not walk this path alone. Following Jesus is not an individual project, but a shared journey. We encourage one another, challenge one another, and support one another as we seek to reflect the character of Christ. Because the cross is not only the place where we receive salvation. It is the pattern by which we are formed into a people who look like Jesus.
Conclusion: The King We Needed All Along
“Jesus of Nazareth, the King of the Jews.” The question is not whether this title is true. The question is whether we will follow this kind of king. Because we may want to crown Jesus as king, but we are often hesitant to follow him to the cross. And yet it is precisely there, along the way of suffering, that we discover that the king we resisted is the very king we have always needed.
