Verse explainer
Jesus isn't wishing his disciples luck — he's bequeathing them a specific, durable peace that the world cannot manufacture or take away.
Peace I leave with you, my peace I give unto you: not as the world giveth, give I unto you. Let not your heart be troubled, neither let it be afraid.
BSBPeace I leave with you; My peace I give to you. I do not give to you as the world gives. Do not let your hearts be troubled; do not be afraid.
The plain meaning
This is part of the Upper Room Discourse, spoken the night before the crucifixion. Jesus knows his disciples are about to watch him arrested and killed, so the charge "let not your heart be troubled" (v. 27) deliberately echoes v. 1, forming a bracket around the whole section. The peace he offers is explicitly distinguished from the world's kind: the world's peace is situational, conditional, often just polite noise — empty benedictions that evaporate when circumstances turn hard. His peace is a legacy ("I leave") and a present gift ("I give") — both at once. Jamieson, Fausset, and Brown notice the legal precision of that pairing: many a bequest is never delivered to the heir, but Christ is executor of his own testament. The peace is not the absence of trouble — verse 33 of the next chapter promises "in the world ye shall have tribulation" — but a settled, interior calm that coexists with outward pressure. Adam Clarke captures the ethical weight: this is Christ's "last, best, dying legacy," not a courteous farewell formula.
The common misreading
What the commentators say
Clarke draws a sharp contrast between the empty customary peace-wishes of the world — given "without desire or design" as social ceremony — and the peace Christ bequeaths, which he actually means and actually gives. Clarke calls it Christ's "last, best, dying legacy," a tranquillity of soul and uninterrupted friendship with God. He also notes that the command "neither let it be afraid" addresses shrinking back from anticipated evil — the disciples are about to be powerfully assaulted, but the evil, Clarke says, will fall on Christ alone and result in their salvation.
Gill reads the verse through the lens of Jewish farewell customs, acknowledging that "giving peace" was standard salutation language, but insisting Christ's gift is categorically different: true, solid, and internal where the world's is false and external; lasting where the world's is transient; actually sustaining under trial where worldly peace collapses. He also traces the content of the gift — peace with God procured by Christ's blood, peace of conscience arising from justification — and notes the manner differs too: the world gives in words only, Christ in deed, and heartily rather than for his own advantage.
JFB focuses on the legal structure of the promise: the peace is both "left" (as a testament) and "given" (as a present delivery), closing the gap that strands so many bequests undelivered. Christ as executor of his own will guarantees the transfer. They also note his identity as the Prince of Peace (Isaiah 9:6): he carried this peace in his own person through the incarnation, and died to make it available. The contrast with worldly peace is threefold — his is sincere, substantial, and eternal.
The word behind it
The Greek word for "peace," standing behind the Hebrew shalom. It covers far more than the absence of conflict: Thayer's lexicon notes it includes wholeness, prosperity, harmony with God, and the tranquillity that arises from reconciliation. That breadth is exactly why the contrast with worldly peace lands so hard — the world's eirēnē is a thin slice (no fighting right now); Christ's is the full word: integrity of soul, standing before God, freedom from existential dread.
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