I’m diving in because this matter–keeping the peace?–is too serious.

In John 7:30, we read that the Pharisees sought to seize Jesus, but “no man laid hands on him, because his hour had not yet come.” Christ was never caught off guard; He moved according to the perfect timing of the Father. He knew when to stay silent, when to step forward, and when to accept the consequences of truth spoken in love.

Contrast this with Peter’s misguided attempt to dissuade Christ from journeying to Jerusalem. Upon hearing of the suffering that awaited, Peter rebuked Him — and Christ answered sharply: “Get behind me, Satan! You are an obstacle to me; for you are not setting your mind on the things of God, but on the things of man” (Matthew 16:23).

Peter, though filled with affection, was out of step with divine timing. He tried to preserve peace through avoidance, failing to grasp that love sometimes demands confrontation. That it demands the cross. How often have we masked a sin of omission behind the facade of compassion? Wounds fester that way. Disease takes over the body and kills. We know this and yet we often, for love of Christ, feign that silence is always the way. But that’s not true. Not at all.

In these days of rampant disinformation, even among our loved ones, we are often tempted to be like Peter. Have you snoozed family and friends on Facebook because their posts are riddled with half-truths and inflammatory rhetoric? I have. It’s easier to avoid “Jerusalem” than to risk an argument. It’s easier to say, “Not now, Lord,” when the Holy Ghost stirs our hearts to speak up.

But are we truly Christlike when we hide? Or are we more like the Apostles trembling in the Upper Room, waiting for Pentecost? They were faithful, yes — but they were not yet *bold*. It took the descent of the Holy Spirit, the tongues of fire, to turn them into fearless witnesses.

The Spirit calls us, too, but are we answering? Or are we whispering, “Not now… not yet…” because we fear causing waves at the next family gathering?

Salt kept in the cellar is useless. Light hidden under a bushel serves no one. Christ did not call us to comfort but to witness — “in season and out of season” (2 Timothy 4:2). He did not die so we could sit quietly while lies run rampant, tearing apart not just our politics, but the souls of those we love. That is what is happening, what has happened. Lies and falsehoods borne of the Devil, the father of lies, are devouring our own flesh and blood while mocking us in delighted silence as we tremble for fear of what? Being seen for who we are? Followers of the Good Shepherd?

We *are* our brother’s keepers. If we stay silent, if we refuse to correct in love, we are complicit in the decay around us. To stand by quietly while loved ones are seduced by slogans and sentiment without substance is not mercy — it is abandonment. We are, all of us, given the leadership we deserve. Those with itching ears and, equally, those with open ears who bite their tongues while Christ’s flock is transformed into a herd of swine and led off a cliff.

To put it another way, how did we get to this time of “itching ears” (2 Timothy 4:3), where even our own families resist sound doctrine? We got here because, for too long, Christians have been willing to trade hard truth for fragile peace.

Now, we face a pivotal moment. Prayer is essential — but prayer must be accompanied by action. Faith without works is dead. As in there is no true faith without the actions that speak far louder than words. Speaking truth may cost us comfort. It may cost us relationships. Christ knew the cost. He went anyway.

We must, too!