Peace Be With You

One of the most beautiful memories that I ever had is Bali 1997. I was three years old on a family trip--not a grueling 24-hour flight like it would be from here, but just an hour, hop from my home in Jakarta. My father, my mom, my elder sister, and I spent three days and two nights in southern Bali, and the main event was spending an entire day on Kuta Beach.

The beach was so beautiful. Everyone there was having a wonderful time; kids of my age were playing near the shore, flying kites, and building sandcastles. My father, however, was standing alone in the shallows, facing the ocean. He let the waves splash against his knees, but his face looked heavy—full of a pastor’s problems, debts, and worries that were just dancing around, waiting for him the second the vacation ended.

I thought, Well, that’s interesting! I wanna try that. So, I ran over to my father and stood right beside him. I let the waves splash over my tiny body, scrunched my face into a grumpy pout, and started thinking about all my problems: how to transform like a Power Ranger, how to collect all the toys from McDonald’s... you know, pre-school kid’s problems.

My father looked at me and asked, “What are you doing with your face?”

I said, “You know. Problems.” Trust me, I was an old soul.

Then, my father invited me to wade out a little further. I was terrified. What if the waves pulled me under? He just smiled and said, “Don’t worry, just grab my hand as hard as you can.” The more the waves crashed, the more excited I got. The higher the tide swelled, the more fun we had. We only called it a day after I had swallowed a little too much seawater.

I keep remembering those memories when I’m facing hard times. You know, the pastor’s problems, debts, and worries. For the record, when I said, “I wanna try that,” I mean splashed by ocean waves, not becoming a pastor.

When we try to calm down after a bad day or a difficult situation, we often try to figure it out, what’s the problem, how to solve it, or find the good things in it, not because we are better, but to soothe us and help us cope. But if the situation is simply too tough and we can’t find any goodness in it, we retreat to a happy place. For some people, this means revisiting their beautiful memories or turning to prayer. For others, it means escaping to an actual, physical place where they can have some time alone. Whatever the method, the ultimate goal is the same: to bring back a sense of calm, serenity, and peace.

On the evening of the resurrection, the disciples huddled together behind locked doors, paralyzed by the fear that those who crucified Jesus would soon come for them next. Into the very center of their terror, Jesus suddenly appeared, breaking through their physical and emotional barriers with a calming declaration: "Peace be with you." To prove his identity, he showed them the scars on his hands and side. As the disciples recognized their risen Lord, their suffocating dread was instantly replaced by an overwhelming joy, and Jesus imparted his peace to them a second time, breathing the Holy Spirit upon them and equipping them to bring his message of forgiveness to a broken world.

Thomas, absent from this initial encounter, illustrates how fear can easily morph into doubt and self-protective skepticism, leading to a search for what’s wrong with him and what’s wrong with the disciples. He demanded empirical proof—the physical touch of Christ’s wounds—before he would dare to believe, and figured nothing was wrong with him.

Thomas isolation highlights a universal human struggle, our struggle: the deep-seated fear of vulnerability. For a full week, Thomas remained locked in his own time, seeking his own peace. Again, finding the answer to what’s wrong with him or going somewhere that can make his mind clear, or maybe conjuring beautiful memories when he had a good time with Jesus. Whatever it is, the goal is the same: to bring back a sense of calm, serenity, and peace. When I look at Thomas, I see my father in Bali 1997, and I see myself too.

Eight days later, the disciples were gathered behind locked doors once more, but this time, Thomas was with them. Just as before, Jesus appeared among them again with the exact same greeting, "Peace be with you." But this time, Jesus explicitly meets Thomas in the depths of his fearful doubt. By gently inviting Thomas to touch his scars, Jesus demonstrates that true peace does not erase the reality of past wounds, but redeems them. Nothing’s wrong with you, Thomas.

Thomas’s immediate surrender, "My Lord and my God," marks the ultimate shattering of his fear, serving as a timeless testament that Christ's peace is both a refuge for the anxious and an answer to the question that he kept asking: "What’s wrong with all of this?"

In Hebrew, the word for peace is shalom—as in shalom aleichem, peace be with you—means far more than just the absence of chaos, but a holistic state of completeness, flourishing, and universal harmony where everything is exactly as it ought to be. The Jewish concept of true shalom ultimately carries a deeply eschatological meaning, pointing toward a definitive future hope at the end of history.

Isiah gives us a glimpse of it:

The cow will feed with the bear, their young will lie down together, and the lion will eat straw like the ox. The infant will play near the cobra’s den, and the young child will put their hand into the viper’s nest (Isa 11:7-8 [NIV]).

In this prophetic vision, the perfect shalom is not something humanity can fully achieve on its own, but rather a divine promise that is only fully realized when God permanently restores a broken creation, establishing an eternal kingdom where humanity, the natural world, and the Divine are perfectly and forever reconciled.

In Arabic, this is called salam, as in assalamualaikum. peace be with you. It is also related to Bahasa Indonesia, which anchors its everyday greetings in the word selamat, a direct linguistic relative of the Arabic salam and Hebrew shalom. Because this root inherently signifies peace, safety, and wholeness, Indonesians do more than just wish you a "good" day or a "happy" event; we actively wish you a peaceful moment. When someone tells you selamat hari minggu (happy Sunday) or selamat makan (enjoy your meal), they are literally invoking a safe, peaceful Sunday and a secure, blessed dining experience. By embedding this ancient concept of total well-being into routine interactions, Bahasa Indonesia transforms everyday pleasantries into a direct, continuous exchange of peace and safety.

Consider the striking juxtaposition in Christ’s post-resurrection greeting: the collision of eschatological triumph with a remarkably ordinary pleasantry. By offering His peace, Jesus fulfills the promise of His resurrection, yet He delivers it with casual, relational intimacy. However, a psychological dissonance remains—one that deeply haunts me. Did they actually feel at peace afterward? Would you feel peaceful just because someone said, "Peace be with you"?

Most of the Indonesian Fellowship was born and grew up during the New Order. It is a period in Indonesian modern history when a dictatorial president ruled for over 30 years. The New Order offered peace by projecting an illusion of stability, but it was entirely hollow. He engineered a systemic repression, strict censorship, and the elimination of political opposition. They lived under a constant threat of state violence. Peaceful, but hollow.

After Bali 1997, as the following year unfolded, I had no idea a revolution was sweeping through my country. What could you expect from a four-year-old? When the New Order finally collapsed in 1998, the beginning of the Reformation era erupted in what appeared to be absolute chaos. Decades of suppressed ethnic tensions, political rivalries, and ideological clashes violently surfaced in a wave of protests, economic instability, and social upheaval. To those accustomed to authoritarian quiet, this messy democratic transition felt like Indonesia was being torn apart.

Yet, looking back, this turbulence is preferable to the suffocating peace of the past. The chaos of the Reformation was messy and a high price, but necessary for the greater good, allowing voices to be heard and leaders to be held accountable in the open. True peace cannot exist inside a cage; a loud, imperfect freedom will always be superior to a quiet tyranny.

Constant peace is scary. It is not comforting; often, just an eerie silence. Sometimes, we actually need disruption to break down systems that aren't working, force us to face the ugly truth, and clear the way for real, meaningful change. Jesus’ resurrection gave the disciples not a constant peace, but a peace they would carry with them, at the very moment, to face chaos, discomfort, and fear. Like carrying a lamp into a dark place; like carrying a flower into a wilderness. Peace does not make you a better person, but it gives you a chance to make your day better. Selamat hari minggu. Amen.