Live as men who are free, and not using your liberty for a cloak of maliciousness, but as the servants of God (1 Peter 2:16).
Today’s reading from the First Epistle of St. Peter begins with two words: Dearly beloved. These serve as the hinge for the entire letter. Before writing these beautiful, life-affirming words, also used to begin our daily morning and evening prayer services, Peter encourages the persecuted churches of the mid-1st century by reminding them who they are in the eyes of God. He writes: “But ye are a chosen generation, a royal priesthood, an holy nation, a peculiar people; that ye should shew forth the praises of him who hath called you out of darkness into his marvelous light; Which in time past were not a people, but are now the people of God: which had not obtained mercy, but now have obtained mercy” (1 Peter 2:9–10).
Imagine the joy and tears of those first Christians hearing these words read aloud in a secret room, risking exposure and execution. These men and women—rich and poor, slave and free—had forsaken everything to follow the King of Kings. Peter reminds them that despite what the authorities say, they belong to the only nation built for eternity, forged by a peace between God and Man through wood, nails, suffering, and resurrection. This new humanity begins with the cross and the empty tomb. God’s chosen people are now a priestly nation. What transforms darkness to light? What makes the lost chosen? What makes a person holy? The mercy of God. That mercy is what makes one dearly beloved.
How strange that mercy is how God shows His power. Unlike the rulers of this world who use force, God acts through love. He doesn’t need to prove His power with cruelty. Instead, He shows divine strength in the resurrection and in forming a holy nation through mercy. We are that nation. We are the beloved. This is not a metaphor. This is our identity.
And how does Peter describe this beloved people? In the King James Version, the words are “strangers” and “pilgrims”. The English Standard Version uses “sojourners” and “exiles”. These are not triumphant titles. No business advertises, “Come be an exile with us”. But Peter isn’t selling Christianity. He is assuring believers they belong to an eternal nation more real than any earthly one. This was dangerous talk in the Roman Empire, where religion was tolerated only so long as it didn’t interfere with civic loyalty. Christianity, viewed as new and socially disruptive, never fit. Christians seemed weird, and we should be too.
Peter is telling the Church that being strange is a feature of faith, not a flaw. This fallen world isn’t our home. As Jesus told Pilate: “My kingdom is not of this world. If my kingdom were of this world, my servants would have been fighting, that I might not be delivered over to the Jews. But my kingdom is not from the world” (John 18:36). Jesus stuns Pilate by declaring Himself a king whose victory is won not through domination but through obedience, sacrifice, and mercy. Pilate is the image of worldly power: cruel, pragmatic, and unsure of truth. Christ is the image of the invisible God: gentle, patient, and full of truth. The world, then and now, sees in Christ’s death only failure. But Peter and the other apostles proclaim that Christ was waging war against sin and death with the only weapons that work. His goal was not a temporary political regime but an everlasting kingdom revealed by the resurrection. The true victory came when He stepped out of the grave.
How do we join that battle? How do we declare allegiance to this eternal kingdom? Peter, who once swung a sword in Christ’s defense, now says: “Abstain from the passions of the flesh, which wage war against your soul, and Keep your conduct among the Gentiles honorable, so that when they speak against you as evildoers, they may see your good deeds and glorify God” (1 Peter 2:11–12). This is not how we might choose to fight evil. It feels too passive. Too internal. Why? First, because it forces us to admit the evil in our own hearts. Second, because it centers all glory not on us, but on God.
This is exactly what Jesus meant when He said: “Let your light so shine before men, that they may see your good works, and glorify your Father which is in heaven” (Matthew 5:16). In this world, the temptation to build our own legacy is strong. Many modern voices,even some from within the Church, tell us we are the center of the story. That we can save the world. Even education pushes this narrative: you are special, you can do anything, you can fix it all. But changing the world isn’t inherently good; after all, the spork changed the world. Stalin changed the world. What matters is whether we are participating in God’s redemption.
God is the One saving the world. Christians join in that work by offering our gifts, our intellect, strength, love, and labor, to Him. Our faithfulness becomes a monument to the God who is re-creating the world. This eternal perspective makes us better parents, neighbors, scientists, artists, plumbers, and teachers. Unlike those who work without hope, Christians labor for a world that God is already renewing. Our work matters because it’s part of something eternal. That means the good we do will not be lost. The smallest act of love done in Christ will echo forever.
Eastertide reminds us of the eternal significance of our efforts. The resurrection of Christ means this world, broken though it is, is worth saving. Christ did not rise only to whisk souls off to heaven. He rose to redeem the earth. And because we are part of that body, our lives, lived in faith, hope, and love, are seeds of the kingdom. Our hope is not escapism; it is resurrection.
What, then, of our relationship with the state? St. Peter writes, “Submit yourselves to every ordinance of man for the Lord’s sake: whether it be to the king, as supreme; Or unto governors, as unto them that are sent by him…” (1 Peter 2:13–14). This doesn’t mean blind trust in the state or believing that powerful leaders will save us. In fact, Peter wrote these words during the reign of Emperor Nero: the tyrant who killed Christians for sport and ultimately had Peter crucified. Peter doesn’t believe Nero will save the world. But he trusts the God who raised Jesus from the dead, and that trust lets him endure injustice, knowing God will use it for good.
When Peter tells Christians to submit, he doesn’t mean surrender conscience. He means to live lives of such quiet integrity and goodness that the world cannot help but be confounded. He calls us to obey the state insofar as it does not conflict with God’s law. But if we must disobey the state for Christ’s sake, we must do so with humility and courage, accepting the consequences. We must be willing to suffer rather than sin.
This was not theoretical for Peter. He would eventually be imprisoned and executed by the same regime he calls Christians to respect. But his allegiance was not to Caesar:it was to the risen Christ. No earthly power can undo the resurrection. No empire can cancel Easter. So Christians are not afraid. We know who holds history in His hand.
The early Christians did not march with swords or slogans. They changed the world by out-suffering it. Their allegiance to a different kingdom made them free even in chains. As Peter writes: “Live as men who are free, not using your liberty as a cloak for evil, but as the servants of God” (1 Peter 2:16). Christian freedom is not license to do whatever we want. It is the power to live as we should. The power to serve.
This is the paradox: true freedom is found in obedience to God. Just as Israel was freed from Egypt not to wander but to worship, so we are freed from sin not to indulge ourselves but to live holy lives. Any instinct in us that recoils from using our freedom to serve God is a part of us still in bondage. Many say, “I don’t feel like going to church,” or “I feel like giving in to this temptation.” But that “feeling” is slavery. That’s sin, death, and bondage. The world tells us to live for ourselves. It urges us to become slaves to appetite, to lust, to greed, to the ego. But why trust a world that’s clearly failing?
Ours is a world drowning in misery, confusion, and ignorance. It promises freedom, but delivers chains. It sells us counterfeit versions of joy, love, and peace. It says “follow your truth,” then abandons you when the truth becomes inconvenient. But Peter tells us: “You don’t have to find meaning in this world. You have already been given one. You are a royal priesthood. You are a holy nation. You are the people of God.”
So live like it.
This doesn’t mean retreating from the world. It means moving through the world as pilgrims. It means living visibly different lives. It means being kind when others are cruel, being generous when others hoard, telling the truth when others lie. It means raising children who know they are not their own gods. It means forgiving those who don’t deserve it. And yes, it means enduring hardship with grace; it means enduring hardships with joy.
This kind of life is only possible by the power of the risen Christ. Without Him, we are just exiles. But with Him, we are ambassadors. We are witnesses of the kingdom that is coming and already here in seed form. We are signs pointing to a better country. We are not tourists. We are citizens-in-waiting, awaiting the return of our true King.
So let us then be strangers and exiles in this strange land. Let us not cling too tightly to the powers and pleasures of this passing age. Let us remember that freedom in Christ means freedom to love, to suffer, to obey, and to live for eternity. Let us prepare the way for the kingdom of God, not by seizing power, but by bearing witness. By being faithful. By being free.
And let us always remember: the land of promise, made visible in the risen Lord, is just beyond the horizon. There, we will find the home for which every human heart longs.