The audio of this week’s message: Whispers of Grace - Peace (Hebrews)

As we continue our summer series, Whispers of Grace: New Testament Words of Life, today we turn our attention to the word peace. This is especially fitting given our setting—Peace Presbyterian Church. It’s worth pausing to reflect on what this word means, particularly for those of us who call this place home.

Our focus today is the letter to the Hebrews, specifically chapter 10. At first glance, it might seem odd to draw insights about peace from Hebrews, since the word itself only appears a few times in the text. However, the theme is present in powerful, though indirect, ways. Hebrews speaks frequently of rest and of reconciliation, of how humanity’s sin is atoned for. These discussions open a deeper understanding of peace—a peace that is more than the absence of conflict or noise. It is a soul-level peace, hard-won and deeply rooted in Christ.

In our culture, peace is often associated with the end of war or the absence of chaos. Mention peace, and many of us immediately think of Ukraine and Russia, or long-standing tensions in the Middle East. As a child of the 1980s, I remember the constant call for “Peace in the Middle East”—a rallying cry on television and beyond. Alternatively, if you’re a parent or a teacher, peace might conjure images of quiet—of finally getting a moment to yourself without disruption.

But the biblical notion of peace goes far deeper than that. Just as biblical hope is not merely wishful thinking, biblical peace is not merely tranquility or the absence of conflict. It is wholeness. It is reconciliation with God. It is the unshakable security of knowing that nothing stands between us and the Creator.

In Hebrews 10:19–25, we find a window into this richer understanding of peace:

“Therefore, brothers and sisters, since we have confidence to enter the Most Holy Place by the blood of Jesus… let us draw near to God with a sincere heart and with the full assurance that faith brings…”
— Hebrews 10:19, 22

The word confidence here is vital. The “Most Holy Place” refers to the Holy of Holies in the Jewish temple, where the high priest could enter only once a year to offer a sacrifice for the people. Tradition holds that if the priest had unconfessed sin, he risked death in God’s presence. Because of this, they would tie a rope around his ankle, just in case they needed to pull him out.

Imagine the anxiety of that priest the night before the Day of Atonement—lying awake, heart pounding, soul searching. That’s not peace. That’s dread.

But Hebrews says we can enter the Most Holy Place with confidence. That means something has changed. We can approach God without fear, because we are at peace with Him. Why? Because Christ has gone before us. Through His life, death, resurrection, and ascension, He has reconciled us to God. We don’t have to tiptoe into God’s presence. We can walk in boldly—like a child bursting into a room where they are always welcome.

This kind of peace—the peace we have with God—is not self-generated. It’s not based on how good we feel about ourselves. It is founded on Christ’s finished work. And that’s good news, especially for those of us who, like Paul, might call ourselves the “chief of sinners.”

Hebrews continues:

“Let us draw near to God with a sincere heart and with the full assurance that faith brings, having our hearts sprinkled to cleanse us from a guilty conscience…”
— Hebrews 10:22

A guilty conscience is one of the most persistent thieves of peace. When we carry guilt—especially unresolved or internalized guilt—it often evolves into shame. And shame is not just about what we’ve done; it’s about who we believe we are.
Guilt says, “I lied.”
Shame says, “I’m a liar.”
That’s a much heavier burden.

Our culture is confused on this point. It tells us not to feel guilty—yet we practice shame relentlessly, especially in online spaces. But the Scriptures show us a better way. They acknowledge guilt, but point us toward forgiveness. They do not condemn us but call us saints. Paul never addressed his letters “To the sinners at Corinth” or “To the failures at Ephesus.” He addressed them to the saints—because that’s who we are in Christ.

When our guilty consciences are cleansed—when we truly believe we are forgiven—we experience peace. A deep, abiding peace that doesn’t shift with our circumstances.

As a parent, my wife and I tried to instill this understanding in our children. When they acted out, we never said, “You are bad.” We said, “Why are you acting this way?” The distinction was intentional. We wanted them to know: this behavior is not who you are. You’re acting out of step with your true identity. And the gospel says the same to us:

“This is not who you are. You are forgiven. You are loved. You are mine.”

Hebrews goes on:

“Let us hold unswervingly to the hope we profess, for He who promised is faithful.”
— Hebrews 10:23

This hope is not wishful thinking. It is the confident expectation that Christ has done exactly what He said He would do. He lived. He died. He rose again. He ascended. And because of that, we are forgiven. Our consciences are clean. Our peace is real.

I’m reminded of my friend John, who died of cancer a few years ago. He had lost a leg and battled for months, but when he received his terminal diagnosis, he told us with a calm smile, “I’m at peace.” That wasn’t denial. That was faith. Peace radiated from him even on the day he died. Why? Because he knew Christ. And he knew that his hope—and his peace—were secure.

Hebrews ends this passage with a call:

“Let us consider how we may spur one another on toward love and good deeds… encouraging one another—and all the more as you see the Day approaching.”
— Hebrews 10:24–25

We need each other to hold onto this peace. We need to gather, to remind one another of who we are, to speak the truth in love:
You are forgiven. You are free. You are a saint.

We gather not only for our own sake, but to build up the confidence and peace of others. Because those who are confident in their identity in Christ love well. They serve freely. They are not trying to prove themselves. They are simply present—fully available to love others.

And that, perhaps, is the greatest testimony of all.

A Challenge

So here’s the challenge:
Do you have peace?
When you look in the mirror, do you see yourself as one at peace with God? Or is there an undercurrent of unrest, of shame, of anxiety?

If we start here—if we become people marked by this deep peace—then maybe, just maybe, the world around us will begin to reflect that peace too. War might become less common. Stillness more familiar. And the peace of Christ, which transcends all understanding, will guard our hearts and our minds.

May it begin with us.