Walking With Jesus Towards Peace

When the venerable monks participating in the Walk for Peace passed through my area—Columbia, South Carolina—my family and I chose to join them.

Early that morning, we intentionally intersected their route so we could walk alongside them for a short distance. We wanted to experience, even briefly, the solidarity I had been hearing about—solidarity with those who long for peace in a world that often seems to thrive on division. Later that afternoon, we attended a rally so well attended that it virtually closed downtown Columbia. Thousands gathered as the monks walked to the Capitol, where they challenged us to pursue both personal and communal peace in our lives and in our world.

As the walk has progressed, I have heard troubling stories. Stories of Christians standing in opposition to these monks and to those supporting them. I saw fellow believers—both in person and on social media—question or outright condemn those of us who chose to participate, including my own family.

So let me be clear. One of the most important reasons I chose to walk with the monks was to teach my children what a lived faith in King Jesus looks like in a deeply divided world.

I do not merely want them to learn what to believe about Jesus. I want them to witness what following Jesus looks like when faith intersects with real people, real movements, and real moments in the public square. My faith is not confined to theology alone—important as theology is. It calls me beyond orthodoxy (right belief) into orthopraxy (right practice): a lived, embodied faith that reflects the heart of Christ.

Jesus would have walked with these monks.
Jesus would have eaten with these monks.
Jesus would have listened, learned, and extended peace alongside—and toward—these monks.

How do I know this? Because when Jesus walked the earth, He was consistently found at all the “wrong” dinner parties. He stood up for all the “wrong” people. He ushered in a Kingdom focused on all the “wrong” things—at least according to the religious gatekeepers of His day.

He was criticized not for being insufficiently holy, but for being too present.
Not for withdrawing from the world, but for engaging it.
Not for protecting His reputation, but for loving people in ways that disrupted religious comfort.

The question has never been whether Christians can maintain theological purity while remaining distant from the world’s pain. The question Jesus forces us to ask is whether our theology produces lives that look anything like His.

If my children learn anything from watching me, I want it to be this: following Jesus means showing up. It means walking alongside people we may not believe exactly as we do. It means practicing peace before arguing doctrine. It means trusting that the Spirit of Christ is not threatened by proximity, compassion, or solidarity.

Orthopraxy is not the abandonment of faith—it is faith made visible. And if my faith in Jesus does not lead me toward peace, presence, and love of neighbor, then I must be honest enough to ask whether it is truly the faith of Jesus at all.

A careful reading of Scripture does more than permit this posture—it invites us into it. These passages root our actions firmly in the life and teaching of Jesus and remind us that embodied faith is not an optional expression of Christianity. It is essential to it.

Luke 5:29–32 tells the story of Jesus sharing a meal with tax collectors and sinners—people many believed should be avoided if one wanted to remain faithful. When questioned, Jesus responds with compassion and clarity: “It is not the healthy who need a doctor, but the sick.” Jesus does not hover at a safe distance. He sits down. He eats. He listens. He chooses presence. Following Jesus often looks like moving toward people, not waiting for them to become acceptable before we draw near.

Matthew 9:13 captures Jesus’ heart when He says, “I desire mercy, not sacrifice.” These words are spoken to religious leaders who were diligent in their practices but distant in their compassion. Jesus gently, yet firmly, redirects them. Devotion to God is hollow if it does not produce mercy toward others. True worship is not measured by how much we give up, but by how deeply we love.

In Luke 10:33–37, we find the parable of the Good Samaritan. The hero is not the most religious person in the story, but the one who stops, notices, and acts. The Samaritan crosses social and religious boundaries to care for someone in pain. Jesus ends the parable with a command, not a theory: “Go and do likewise.” Faith is revealed not by what we claim, but by how we respond when love requires action.

Matthew 5:9 offers a blessing that is both beautiful and demanding: “Blessed are the peacemakers.” Jesus does not call us to admire peace from a distance or discuss it abstractly. He calls us to make it. Peacemaking involves stepping into tension, listening before judging, and choosing reconciliation over comfort. It is active, intentional, and often costly.

In Matthew 25:35–40, Jesus makes a startling claim: when we care for the hungry, the stranger, the sick, and the imprisoned, we are caring for Him. Acts of love are not merely moral duties; they are sacred encounters. Orthopraxy—faith lived out—becomes the place where we meet Christ Himself.

James 1:22 brings this point home with gentle honesty: “Do not merely listen to the word… Do what it says.” Faith is not meant to remain theoretical. When belief is disconnected from action, it loses integrity. But when faith shapes how we live, it becomes whole and alive.

Finally, John 13:34–35 gives us Jesus’ own definition of discipleship: “By this everyone will know that you are my disciples, if you love one another.” We are not known by our certainty, our arguments, or our boundaries—but by visible, practiced, communal love.

These are not fringe passages. They are not secondary themes. They are central to the Gospel.

Together, these passages paint a picture of Jesus as one who walks toward people, practices peace, and lives His faith out loud through love. They call us to a discipleship that shows up, draws near, and chooses compassion even when it is misunderstood.

Yes, this path can be uncomfortable. It can invite criticism. It can blur the lines others are eager to keep sharp. But it is the path Jesus Himself walked. On dusty roads. At crowded tables. Among those longing for peace. 

On that day in Columbia, my orthopraxy was made visible—not in words, but in footsteps—as we chose to walk with Buddhist monks committed to peace.

If we want to follow Jesus, we should not be surprised when He leads us there too.