That Time I was a Hypocrite
There was a time when I was a hypocrite.
I represented the Peace Corps. Notice the word ‘peace’ was built into my title. And yet I embarrassed myself and my country by being anything but a peacemaker.
Many years ago, I was teaching math and education at a teacher’s college in Ghana. Each year the local schools held a basketball tournament. It wasn’t like tournaments in the United States. The courts were outdoor concrete slabs in rough condition. There were no bleachers. The lines were painted, but I doubt the dimensions were exact.
But the courts weren’t the biggest difference. These young men and women were skilled soccer players. They grew up using their feet, not their hands. At soccer they were skilled masters. At basketball, they were fumbling apprentices.
As one of the only Westerners working with the local schools, I was assigned to coach our men’s and women’s teams. I took the job seriously. I was going to teach fundamentals, respect for rules, and teamwork. I’m no star, but to them I might as well have been Michael Jordan. We trained for weeks. They improved. We were ready.
All coaches also served as referees in games their teams weren’t playing. That’s when I began to sense trouble. No other team played by the rules I had taught. There was constant fouls like traveling, double dribbling, and heavy contact that went uncalled. When I refereed, I was the only one consistently blowing the whistle. Players, coaches, and spectators grew impatient with me. And I became resentful.
Despite that, our schools’s teams did well. The women won the tournament. The men advanced to the final game. I was proud. And felt vindicated. But as the tournament progressed, I grew frustrated with the officiating when my own team played. In one game, two players knocked one of my best athletes to the ground, injuring him. I ran onto the court shouting at the referees. I screamed at them that this injury was their fault because they failed to enforce the rules. They stared back at me, unsure and silent. My resentment and anger increased.
Then came the men’s championship game. We were up by one point with only seconds left. I had called a play. I trusted our execution. As we moved down the court, an opposing player tackled our ball handler. No whistle. Another opponent player grabbed the ball, ran the other way, and scored. The game ended. We lost by one.
I exploded.
No one shouted back at me. But later I was called into the vice principal’s office. He told me I had been out of line. I needed to respect how the game was played there, even if I disagreed. My anger had cooled by then, but the damage was done. I never coached basketball there again.
Here’s the part that took me so long to understand. To the players, winning wasn’t the point. Participation was. They were proud of how much they had improved. They were happy. They would remember that tournament with joy while I saw it as a disaster.
In trying to enforce order, I destroyed peace. I hurt my reputation and the reputation of Peace Corps volunteers. I believed I was defending what was right. But I did it without restraint, humility, and without love.
If I had protested calmly and respectfully, I would not have seen immediate change. But I would have remained at the table. Over time, I might have influenced the process. Instead, I won the argument and lost the opportunity.
I carried the word peace in my title. But that day, I didn’t carry it in my heart.
This prayer moved me so much it brings tears to my eyes each time I read it. It is simple but so deep. I researched it and found it to be famous. It is attributed to St. Francis of Assisi from from around the 12th century but there is a general disagreement on that point. Instead it seems to have a 20th century origin. Either way, it is worthy of tribute. Over the month of March, each devotional will be concerned with an aspect of this prayer. Please read them, and if you like them, encourage your friends and family to subscribe so they can benefit from them. I think you will find the series helpful in deepening your prayer life as it has mine.
What It Means to Be a Peacemaker
The prayer often attributed to Francis of Assisi begins, “Lord, make me an instrument of Your peace.” That prayer doesn’t ask for the removal of conflict. It asks to be used inside it. “Where there is hatred, let me sow love.” It’s active. It assumes brokenness and calls for intentional healing.
Jesus said in Matthew 5:9, “Blessed are the peacemakers, for they shall be called sons of God.” The word translated “peacemakers” comes from the Greek eirēnopoioi. It is not passive. It means peace-doers or peace-makers, people who construct peace. It implies initiative, restraint, courage, and wisdom.
Peacemaking is not the same as being peaceful. I was peaceful until my expectations were destroyed. I was calm until my sense of fairness was challenged. But biblical peacemaking requires more than personal composure. It requires entering chaos and conflict with a different spirit.
In Hebrew, shalom is not simply the absence of chaos. It means wholeness, well-being across every part of life—relationships, community, justice, and order. It includes emotional stance, social harmony, and moral integrity. It’s the flourishing of all parties, not just the dominance of one.
In Ghana, I was defending rules and my ideal of sport. But I wasn’t building shalom nor strengthening relationships, preserving dignity, or facilitating unity. I was escalating conflict in the name of correctness.
Christian peacemaking doesn’t ignore wrongdoing and doesn’t pretend chaos is acceptable. But it addresses it in a way that reflects Christ. It seeks restoration over domination and values people over winning. It thinks long-term.
To be a peacemaker is to work for right order without destroying relationship; to correct without humiliating; to stand firm without losing love.
Those days on the basketball court, I confused control with peace. Scripture calls us to something higher. Not just to react to chaos, but to enter it as agents of reconciliation, carrying the character of Christ into contested spaces.
Peace isn’t automatic. It’s built over time. And it’s built by those willing to bear the cost of doing it the right way.
Reflection Questions
When have I defended what was “right” but lost peace in the process?
Do I confuse being correct with being Christlike?
In conflict, what rises first in me—resentment, control, or patience?
Where in my life am I demanding my version of order instead of working toward shalom—wholeness for everyone involved?
The prayer of St. Francis asks to sow love where there is hatred. What would it look like for me to actively sow peace in a current strained relationship?
Am I trying to win arguments, or am I trying to build something that lasts?
What is one situation right now where I need to stay at the table instead of walking away in frustration?
If I addressed conflict with humility and restraint, even without immediate results, what long-term influence might that create?
Prayer
Lord,
You have called us not just to believe in peace, but to make it.
Forgive us for the times we defended what was right in the wrong way. Forgive us for confusing control with peace, and winning with faithfulness. Forgive us for the moments when our pride spoke louder than Your Spirit.
Form in us the kind of strength that doesn’t explode under pressure but stands steady with humility. Teach us to build shalom—wholeness in our homes, our churches, our work, and our communities.
Help us stay at the table when it would be easier to storm away. Help us value people more than outcomes. Help us reflect our Father, who reconciled us to Himself through Christ.
Make us peacemakers in truth, not just in title.
In Jesus’ name, Amen
