Sermon Recap: Healing What Has Been Cut

Becoming a Redemptive Resistance - Week 6

We all know what it feels like to act with good intentions but cause unintended harm. Maybe you rearranged the living room thinking you were being helpful… only to learn you violated an unspoken spatial treaty. Or you confidently assembled something without reading the instructions—only to discover you built it upside down. Or you chose that exact moment to have a “deep conversation” when everyone else just wanted snacks and silence. Good intentions, unexpected consequences. Zeal without wisdom often leaves relational debris behind. And while lighthearted examples make us laugh, the deeper truth is sobering: many of us carry real wounds—some from others’ well-intended “faithfulness,” and many from our own.

“Zeal is a holy thing. Zeal without wisdom is a hazardous thing.”

When zeal outruns wisdom, passion becomes a weapon. We confuse forcefulness with faithfulness. Many have been hurt in the name of doing right; many of us have wounded others, believing we were defending what matters.

Peter is our biblical mirror. A loud, sincere, passionate disciple—who, in a burst of misguided loyalty, slices off a man’s ear in Jesus’ name. His violence triggers a spiral of regret, denial, and shame. All four Gospels record the moment, but Luke adds the detail that becomes the heart of the story:

“No more of this!” … and touching his ear, he healed him. (Luke 22:51)

“The last miracle Jesus performs before the cross is healing a wound caused by His own disciple.”

That is the Gospel of grace! Jesus does not need our violence to accomplish His victory—but we desperately need His healing to undo our violence.

And it’s the pattern of Scripture:
Joseph’s hurtful brothers become agents of salvation.
Jonah’s stubborn heart still becomes a vehicle for revival.
Sons of Thunder want to call down fire, but Jesus turns Samaritans into heroes and recipients of healing.

Jesus heals what we wound—then He uses us to heal wounds.

Peter’s story holds all three truths:
Peter, the wounder.
Peter, the wounded.
Peter, the healer.

After Peter collapses in shame—“he went outside and wept bitterly”—the risen Christ sends for him by name: “Go, tell his disciples and Peter.” (Mark 16:7) Grace singles him out. Jesus recreates the setting of Peter’s failure—a charcoal fire—and restores him with three invitations: “Do you love me? … Feed my sheep.” For every denial, a recommission. For every wound, a healing.

And that same Peter becomes a healer: proclaiming the gospel in Acts 2, lifting up a disabled man in Acts 3, confronting evil with truth in Acts 8, and later writing letters shaped by tenderness, wisdom, and encouragement. The sword-swinger becomes a maker of peace.

So, what does Redemptive Resistance look like for us? It means becoming a restorative people, not a retaliatory one. A people who refuse to mirror the hostility of the world and instead embody the healing heart of Jesus. A people who choose to mend instead of multiply wounds. A people who believe the Kingdom advances not through force, but through faithfulness.

When Israel was dragged into exile—disoriented, angry, surrounded by enemies—God did not tell them to sharpen the swords or hide in fear. He didn’t say, “Win the power struggle,” or “Retreat until it’s safe.” Instead, through Jeremiah, He gave them a startlingly different marching order:

Build houses. Plant gardens. Marry. Raise families. Seek the peace of the city. Pray for it, because your flourishing is tied to its flourishing. (Jer. 29:4–7)

While Babylon flexed its military muscle, God told His people to cultivate life.
While the empire swung its swords, God told His people to grow tomatoes.

Because warriors can win a battle in a moment, but it takes years to grow a garden that feeds a neighborhood. Swords can seize control, but gardens quietly push back against the brokenness by producing goodness.

May the Healer teach us to become a restorative people—planting, blessing, and tending the garden of His Kingdom. May we bring to Jesus both the wounds we carry and the wounds we’ve caused, trusting that He heals what has been cut.