First Know Peace, Then Make It

Peacemakers in a Confused and Fractured World

President Russell M. Nelson, a prophetic voice for our time and a man who knows exactly what it means to cut to the heart of the matter, didn’t mince words when he gave this challenge:

“True disciples of Jesus Christ are peacemakers. One of the best ways we can honor the Savior is to become a peacemaker. Peacemaking is a choice. You have your agency to choose contention or reconciliation. I urge you to choose to be a peacemaker, now and always.”

There’s nothing soft about that. No fluff, no filler, no half-hearted spiritual advice meant to blend into Sunday decorum. This is a charge, a declaration of discipleship as action.

And yet, let’s be honest, many have taken this kind of prophetic clarity and flattened it. Some have twisted his plea for peacemaking into a demand for silence. They hear “choose peace” and conclude: Ah, that must mean we avoid confrontation, dilute our message, and keep our doctrine zipped up tight so no one’s feelings get bruised. It’s as if peacemaking has been redefined to mean appeasement at all costs.

But is that what Christ did?

Is that what President Nelson has done?

These words are not a call to spiritual sedation. They are not a Latter-day Saint version of “go along to get along.” Is President Nelson whispering sweet encouragements from a mountaintop? I don’t think so. He’s inviting us to be what true disciples have always been: anchored, engaged, and full of grace and truth.

And that raises a critical, indispensable question:

How can we be peacemakers if we do not know what peace is?

We live in a world that has no idea what peace actually means. The more it talks about peace, the less it seems to grasp it, and the more its iterations water down its piercing truth. We’ve turned “peace” into a feeling. A vibe. Something you breathe in during yoga class and exhale when your inbox hits zero.

In today’s culture, peace is defined by the absence of discomfort—no disagreement, no pushback, no challenge to the status quo. The moment you say something absolute, definitive, or doctrinal, someone somewhere will accuse you of “disrupting the peace.” But peace isn’t the absence of disagreement. It’s the presence of divine alignment.

True peace, the kind that Christ both lived and offers, is not fragile. It doesn’t flinch in the face of truth. It doesn’t panic when challenged. It is rooted in reality, grounded in righteousness, and forged in the fires of covenant.

So that’s where we begin.

This isn’t a sentimental journey through spiritual platitudes. It’s a theological expedition, a reality check on what peace actually is, and what peacemaking actually requires.

Because spoiler alert: the path to peace often leads through conflict. Not because we chase chaos, but because the world resists order. And when divine order enters the scene, when Christ speaks into the storm, the storm reacts. It always does.

So today, let’s go there. Let’s examine peace not as the world packages it, but as heaven defines it. Let’s look at peace not as a feeling to chase, but as a truth to embody.

And in doing so, we might just recover what “peace” means.

What Is Peace? The Shalom/Ma’at Connection

When Jesus stood up on that boat in the middle of a Galilean tempest and said, “Peace, be still,” (Mark 4:39), He wasn’t checking the weather. He wasn’t testing His sea legs. And He certainly wasn’t using poetic language to calm some inner turmoil.

He was issuing a sovereign command to creation itself. He was speaking as the Logos—the Word (read “Order”) by which the heavens and earth were formed, reasserting dominion over the elements. And notice: the storm didn’t argue. The sea didn’t hesitate. Nature didn’t vote. It obeyed. Instantly.

But don’t miss what else He was modeling in that moment. Because before He calmed the sea outside the boat, He revealed the peace already within Himself. While the disciples were bailing water and forecasting doom, Jesus was asleep, perfectly still, utterly composed. Not ignorant. Not indifferent. But grounded. Anchored. Possessing an internal order so secure that external chaos had no power to rattle Him.

That’s not emotional detachment. That’s divine peace.

To grasp what Christ was demonstrating and offering, we must detox from the modern caricatures of peace. Today, peace is treated like a mood. It’s marketed as a product. It’s something you schedule in 15-minute increments, purchase through apps, or pursue through a dozen therapeutic techniques. Peace has become synonymous with ambiance—quiet lighting, mellow tones, and inoffensive feelings.

But God’s peace is not the dimming of reality; it’s the illumination of it.

Peace in scriptural terms is not the silencing of sound, but the proper aligning of substance.

It is not found in the denial of opposition, but in the defeat of disorder.

Let’s go to the source: the Hebrew word shalom.

Shalom doesn’t mean “calm,” “chill,” or “unbothered.” It means whole. It means complete. It means nothing missing and nothing broken. Shalom is rooted in shalem, a word that paints a picture of structural integrity. Like a wall without cracks. Like a temple without defilement. Like a covenant without betrayal.

But shalom is not just a feeling, it’s a condition. It is the spiritual architecture of your life, aligned with eternal law. A spirit whose design matches its Designer. A life that is built to code, God’s code.

That’s why shalom reaches into every dimension of existence:

• Physically: Peace is health, provision, and safety—not just the absence of harm, but the presence of strength.

• Socially: Peace is truth-tethered relationships, not polite avoidance. It’s love with a backbone.

• Spiritually: Peace is not feeling good about yourself. It’s being reconciled with God. It’s walking in His statutes with no hidden rebellion.

• Cosmically: Peace is when creation functions in balance, when the heavens declare the glory of God, and when the earth responds in obedience.

In ancient Israel, when someone asked, “How is your shalom?” they weren’t checking your vibes. They were asking if your household was in order, if your conscience was clear, if your worship was pure, and if your ox hadn’t gored the neighbor’s son.

In short, they were asking: Is your life aligned with God’s will? Is all well and in order – God’s order.

Now let’s pivot to Egypt.

I spend about two to three months a year in Egypt. Its ancient teachings and culture are important because, despite the superficial, mainstream narrative, Egyptian culture informs Israelite culture. And the Israelites weren’t the only ancient people to understand peace as order. The Egyptians had their own word, Ma’at. And they didn’t treat Ma’at as a suggestion or slogan. Ma’at was a cosmic principle, a divine reality. Pharaohs were not just political rulers, they were stewards of cosmic stability. Their reign was judged not by popularity but by how well they upheld Ma’at.

Ma’at represented truth, justice, balance, and harmony. The very fabric of reality was held together by it. Without Ma’at, the Nile would flood wrong, the crops would fail, the sun might not rise. This wasn’t mythology, it was ontology. The structure of the universe depended on divine order being upheld by the righteous.

At death, when you are escorted to the underworld, you would be judged with the feather of Ma’at on one side of a balance, and your heart on the other (“when I am called at the trump & weighed in the balance you will know me then.” - Joseph Smith, Thomas Bullock Report of the King Follett Discourse). In other words, your heart, or character, needed to match the order of God. More succinctly, your character needed to match the character of God.

And here’s some comparative theology with teeth!

Israelite wisdom literature, especially Proverbs, shares this concept deeply. The wise man isn’t just someone with good advice but someone who lives in harmony with creation as God intended it. He is upholding covenant, and in doing so, he is participating in the sustaining of the world.

Modern scholarship, from the likes of H. Gese and E. Würthwein, has confirmed that this world-order theology in Israel mirrors the Egyptian concept of Ma’at. And if that makes some Bible readers squirm, so be it. Truth is truth. And the truth is that both the Hebrews and Egyptians believed peace was not passive, but architectural. It had load-bearing walls and a moral blueprint.

Shalom and Ma’at both teach us that peace is not what happens when nobody’s arguing. Peace is what happens when everything is in its proper place, when justice is done, truth is spoken, and righteousness rules.

Now look around.

What the modern world calls “peace” is often just the temporary suppression of truth. We redefine, reframe, and rearrange moral categories to avoid discomfort. We think peace means “nobody’s upset.” But scriptural, ancient Near-East peace has a different definition:

It’s when the guilty are convicted. The innocent are protected. The righteous are vindicated. Divine will is done. And grace is exercised.

Even when the world rejects it, the order remains intact in those who are in covenant with God.

Peace is not circumstantial—it’s structural.

It doesn’t come from the environment—it flows from the throne of God.

It’s not the fruit of popularity—it’s the fruit of obedience.

True peace is the consequence of covenant, the derivative of discipleship, and the signature of the Spirit—the evidence of God’s governance in a person’s soul.

So let’s etch this into stone: Peace is not the absence of disruption. It is the presence of divine order.

What Peace Is Not

President Nelson, in his trademark clarity, laid down a boundary:

“Now, I am not talking about 'peace at any price.'”

Let’s not glide past that too quickly. That one line strikes at the heart of one of the most damaging deceptions of our time: the idea that peace must be purchased at the cost of principle. That unity means uniformity. That charity means silence. That love means affirmation. That conviction must be sacrificed on the altar of emotional safety.

That is not the gospel.

That is the dull teeth of cowardice dressed in Christian wool.

Peace is not passive. Peace is not appeasement. Peace is not uncritical acceptance or blind tolerance. And peace is certainly not the theological equivalent of a group hug where no one’s allowed to quote scripture too boldly for fear someone might spill their kombucha.

We have molten in Church culture a false idol called “niceness.” And this idol demands sacrifices. The truth must be softened. Warnings must be hushed. Standards must be diluted. Testimonies must be sanitized. All in the name of keeping the “peace.”

There is the peacemaker and the peacefaker. Peacefaking is not peace. It is sedation. It’s the kind of counterfeit that allows cancer to grow because the body doesn’t want to cause discomfort.

Here’s what peacefaking does:

• It avoids conflict by avoiding truth.

• It promotes harmony by suppressing reality.

• It replaces righteousness with relativity.

• It offers calm in exchange for conscience.

It is a house of cards. It’s flimsy. It’s fragile. And it collapses the moment it’s tested by the winds of real trial or the fire of real conviction.

Fake peace is cheap.

True peace is costly.

Fake peace flatters the world.

True peace testifies of Christ.

The world’s version of peace says: “Don’t rock the boat.” Just stay seated. Keep your doctrine tucked under your arm. Smile. Blend in. Don’t disrupt the narrative. Don’t assert truth. Don't say anything about sin, or covenants, or divine law, or, heaven forbid, the Family Proclamation.

Christ’s version of peace says something entirely different: “Get out of the boat—and stand on the water.”

And that takes faith. It takes courage. It takes a kind of peace that the world can’t comprehend, a peace that surpasses understanding, not because it’s mystical, but because it’s unshakable. A peace built on bedrock, not bubbles.

What we seem to need to relearn, what Christ modeled so well: you can be peaceful and powerful at the same time.

You can be calm without being quiet.

You can be kind without compromising.

You can be charitable without being spineless.

You can radiate grace while standing in granite.

The peace of Christ is not incompatible with boldness; instead, it demands it. Think of how He confronted the Pharisees. How He rebuked demons. How He turned over tables. That wasn’t rage. That wasn’t impulse. That was righteous order asserting itself against disorder.

The peace of Christ comes not from sidestepping truth, but from standing in it so fully that you are at peace regardless of your environment.

So yes, you can be calm and truthful. You can be kind and confident. You can be charitable and loving while being firm and faithful.

That is the posture of the peacemaker, not a doormat, not a diplomat, but a disciple.

Peacemakers Know Conflict Is Inevitable

Let’s touch on a hard doctrine, one we tend to tiptoe around, even though the scriptures shout it from nearly every page: Opposition is not the enemy of peace. It is the environment in which peace is revealed. The stage on which it acts.

Father Lehi didn’t say opposition was a glitch in the plan. He said it was a feature of the plan:

“For it must needs be, that there is an opposition in all things.” (2 Nephi 2:11)

Not might be. Not could be. Must needs be.

Lehi wasn’t just making a philosophical point, he was giving a prophetic warning to his sons, who were about to inherit the exact kind of world we live in: a world where standing for truth means being anchored to gospel principles. A world where to live with conviction is to live in conflict. And yet, this is where God’s peace is revealed.

And then there’s Jesus—the Prince of Peace Himself. You’d expect the most peace-saturated man in history to come and sprinkle fairy dust over every argument and make everyone get along. But what does He say?

“Suppose ye that I am come to give peace on earth? I tell you, Nay; but rather division.” (Luke 12:51)

Now that’s not the verse you’re going to find hanging in Deseret Book. That banner is more likely to be affiliated with tolerance at any cost.

This verse tells us something profound: that Christ does not offer peace on the world’s terms. He offers peace on heaven’s terms. And when those two orders collide, as they inevitably do, conflict erupts.

Following Christ in a fallen world is not a popularity contest. It is a declaration of allegiance. And allegiance to heaven will always provoke resistance from hell. Always.

If we align ourselves with eternal truth, we will find ourselves in tension with contemporary temporal ideologies.

So here is the distinction we must etch into our minds:

• Conflict is inevitable.

• Contention is optional.

Conflict is the natural friction between light and darkness, truth and deception, Zion and Babylon. But contention—contention is different. Contention is what happens when pride gets involved. When we don’t just resist evil, we revile it. When we don’t just bear witness, we seek to win. When we exchange persuasion for provocation, truth becomes a cudgel instead of a compass.

Elder Neal L. Anderson put it perfectly:

“How does a peacemaker calm and cool the fiery darts? Certainly not by shrinking before those who disparage us. Rather, we remain confident in our faith, sharing our beliefs with conviction but always void of anger or malice... Peacemakers are not passive; they are persuasive in the Savior’s way.”

There’s power in that phrase—persuasive in the Savior’s way. Jesus never apologized for the truth, but He also never wielded it with arrogance. He rebuked, but He also restored. He taught with authority, but He also touched with compassion. He told the truth even when it hurt, and He healed even when it cost Him everything.

That is the pattern.

We do not avoid confrontation. We testify plainly. We warn clearly. But we do so without hatred. Without venom. Without self-righteousness.

We do not seek to win arguments; we seek to win souls.

We do not delight in being “right” while others burn; we long to see hearts turn.

The peacemaker does not fear the storm, nor run from it. The peacemaker walks straight into the storm with eyes fixed on Christ, truth anchored in love, heart full with charity, and refuses to become the storm.

Peacemaking Requires Charity and Courage

President Nelson—never one for spiritual generalities—went straight to the core when he taught:

“Charity defines a peacemaker.”

That’s a defining statement. Not “suggests.” Not “guides.” Defines. Charity isn’t the frosting on top of peacemaking; it’s the structure, the very form, the internal character.

But let’s also admit something: that word—“charity”—has suffered a softening. We’ve taken one of the most dangerous, divine, and transformative concepts in scripture and turned it into a word we slap on canned food drives and donation receipts.

But true charity, the pure love of Christ, is not sentimental. It is not indulgent. It is not weak. Charity is fire in the bones. It is the kind of love that walks willingly to a cross for people who hate you. It is the kind of love that forgives the unforgivable, tells the truth to the self-deceived, and lifts the broken even when your hands are bleeding.

That kind of love is not for the faint of heart. It requires courage. Not the courage to fight, but the courage to stand in the storm and not flinch. The courage to bless those who curse you. To tell the truth in a culture allergic to absolutes. To hold a standard while holding out a hand. To confront sin without contempt. To rebuke and restore in the same breath.

Peacemakers are not pushovers.

They are not agreeable for the sake of harmony. They are not spineless in the face of sin. They are not passive-aggressive disciples who use silence to maintain a polished reputation while their convictions rot.

No. Peacemakers are Christ-like.

They are, as John put it, “full of grace and truth” (John 1:14). And that phrase is not poetic fluff. It’s theological architecture. It's a template for how the Son of God moves through the chaos of a fallen world.

And here’s the thing: that phrase—grace and truth—is not unique to John. It appears in every major pillar of Restoration scripture:

• In the Book of Moses, the Lord introduces Himself to Enoch as “full of grace and truth” (Moses 1:6).

• In the Book of Mormon, Nephi speaks of Christ’s grace and truth as the means by which redemption flows (2 Nephi 2:6).

• In the Doctrine and Covenants, Christ repeatedly describes His glory in these dual terms—grace and truth, mercy and justice, light and law.

Why? Because these are not separate traits, they are two sides of the same divine coin.

Jesus doesn’t give us truth without grace, because truth without grace crushes. It becomes a sword with no handle.

And He doesn’t give us grace without truth, because grace without truth corrupts. It turns mercy into indulgence and love into license.

One cannot exist without the other. Not if we are talking about Christ’s peace.

Truth is fixed. Unbending. Immovable. It doesn’t evolve. It doesn’t adapt to political pressure. It stands. And that can make it feel hard, like a wall.

But grace is the doorway in that wall. But only if we are first willing to align with that truth.

Grace makes room for the broken to approach the truth without being destroyed by it. It softens without compromising. It invites without diluting. And it transforms without negotiating.

That’s what it means to be “full of grace and truth.”

Peacemaking is the active embodiment of both.

To stand in truth without love is to become a Pharisee.

To speak of love without truth is to become a hippie and a deceiver. “Peace, man!”

So when President Nelson says that “charity defines a peacemaker,” I don’t think he’s calling for emotional sentiment. He’s calling us to stand above the chaos on a pillar of truth.

Peace Begins Within

Jesus made a promise, and like everything He promises, it’s not a fragile sentiment; it’s a divine fact:

“Peace I leave with you, my peace I give unto you: not as the world giveth, give I unto you.
Let not your heart be troubled, neither let it be afraid.” (John 14:27)

Let’s pay attention to the contrast He draws: “not as the world giveth.” That’s not a throwaway phrase. That’s a doctrinal warning. Do we heed that warning?

Because the world does give a kind of peace, one that’s superficial, external, contingent on circumstances, the world’s peace says: “You’ll be at peace once your surroundings are calm, once people agree with you, once your critics go silent, once the outcomes are favorable.”

In other words, the world’s peace depends on the storm going away.

But Jesus offers a peace that pierces the storm.

And if you don’t understand that, if you don’t internalize that, then you’re just chasing peace the same way the world does by constantly rearranging your circumstances, silencing dissent, or numbing your soul.

You can’t give peace to the world if you haven’t received peace from Christ.

And Christ doesn’t give peace the way a politician gives promises—conditional, symbolic, or transactional. He gives peace from within. And it’s that inner peace, born of the Spirit, that becomes our anchor when the waves roll in.

As the Prophet Joseph Smith put it:

“If you are faithful, you will be blessed with peace in your bosoms.” (History of the Church, 4:228)

Notice the phrase: in your bosoms. Not around you. Not beside you. Not in your bank account or in the headlines or on your latest YouTube sermon. In you. Deep. Settled. Spirit-wrought.

That kind of peace is not available to the casual disciple. It doesn’t come to the consumer Latter-day Saint. It is a gift from covenant-keeping. It is bestowed upon the faithful, those who obey, repent, sacrifice, and walk in the light.

This is the peace that Paul calls “the peace of God, which passeth all understanding” (Philippians 4:7). The peace that doesn’t make sense to the world, because it’s not built on external logic. It’s not earned. It’s not gamified. It’s born of God.

This is why true peace can exist in a prison cell, a cancer ward, a courtroom, or even a collapsing civilization. Because peace doesn’t come from the environment, it comes from being reconciled to God.

And until that happens, until your soul is realigned to the Creator, no amount of comfort will bring you peace.

And once that does happen, once you are reconciled to God, no amount of chaos can take it away.

So, if you’re looking to become a peacemaker, don’t start by trying to fix the world.

Start by getting your soul in order. Clean the “inner vessel.” Social justice advocates argue that the priority is “out there.” The gospel says the problem is within, and repentance is the solution. And that solution has a source, it is Christ and His Atonement.

Conclusion: The Responsibility of Peace

President David O. McKay, in his typical clarity and moral steel, didn’t dress it up with theological niceties. He just said it straight:

“If you want peace, yours is the responsibility to obtain it.”

Not someone else’s job. Not the Church’s job. Not your bishop’s job. Your responsibility.

Peace isn’t handed out like a free sample at Costco. It’s not given as a default to those who keep their heads down. It is sought, forged, cultivated, and kept by covenant.

Peace is a covenant responsibility. A spiritual assignment. A sacred trust.

And that brings us full circle to the words of the Lord Himself in the Sermon on the Mount:

“Blessed are the peacemakers: for they shall be called the children of God.” (Matthew 5:9)

Not the peace-lovers. Not the peace-talkers. The peacemakers. The builders. The laborers. The bold and charitable disciples who stand in the whirlwind and speak order into it and who bring truth and structure where there is spiritual entropy.

Paul takes it further. He writes to the Ephesians not as an abstract philosopher, but as a witness of the risen Christ, and says this of the Savior:

“For He is our peace.” (Ephesians 2:14)

Not has peace. Not offers peace. Is peace.

That is a staggering theological claim. Jesus Christ is not just the bringer of peace; He is the substance of peace. He is the living embodiment of wholeness, righteousness, order, mercy, truth, and justice all in one divine Person. When you make peace, you are being Christ-like.

“Come, follow Me,” He says. Not just do as I say, but do as I do.

Through Him, we become peacemakers, not by mimicking modern tolerance, but by embodying eternal truth. Not by affirming everything, but by exercising Charity, the pure love of Christ. Not by hiding from conflict, but by carrying the grace to walk into it and the truth to bring it to resolution.

So yes, be firm in truth.

Let your convictions have backbone.

Speak clearly, stand boldly, and testify without apology.

But do so overflowing in charity.

Let truth be lit by grace.

Let your peacemaking be more than strategic silence; let it be sacred stewardship.

Because in a world choking on counterfeit peace, sentimental love, and therapeutic religion, we need disciples who carry the real thing.

So, first—know peace.

Then—make it.

About The Author

Greg Matsen is the founder of Cwic Media and the host of the Cwic Show. He is also the editor of this Substack, Alive and Intelligent. He hosts excursions to Israel, Turkey, and Egypt, where he teaches about the parallels of the Egyptian and Latter-day Saint temples and contrasts gospel principles with the philosophies of men.