I think that the Washington DC metro area might be the bumper sticker capital of the world. It seemed like every car we were stuck behind in the 24 hour a day, 7 day a week traffic jam had some reading material plastered to its bumper, tailgate, or back window. As I read the lessons for today over and over again, hoping that they would change, that they wouldn’t be so dang difficult to deal with, a bumper sticker that I have seen a couple of time popped back into my head, “If you’re not outraged, you’re not paying attention.” I’m outraged!
Just a few moments ago, in the collect for today, we thanked God for the example of a godly life we have in Jesus Christ. “I came to bring fire to the earth, and how I wish it were already kindled! … Do you think that I have come to bring peace to the earth? No, I tell you, but rather division! … You hypocrites!” These don’t sound like the kind words we expect from our perfect example of a godly life. These words don’t seem steeped in the golden rule, “do unto others only that which you would have done unto you.” They certainly don’t remind us of the great commandments to love God and love our neighbor. If you are sitting here today and are not outraged, not hoping that I’m going to tell you that Jesus didn’t really mean to be this harsh, or that the translation is bad, then you were not paying attention.
Unfortunately, I can not in good conscience explain this section of Luke’s gospel away. It is hard to hear. It makes us angry. It leaves us offended. But it is the Holy Gospel of our Lord Jesus Christ according to Luke, and we dutifully respond, whether we like it or not, “Praise to you, Lord Christ.” Just as we thanked God for His word of lament in the prophet Jeremiah. Just as we thanked God for His word of discipline in the letter to the Hebrews. Sure, we are outraged, but we must rest in the assurance from last week that it is indeed the Father’s good pleasure to give us the kingdom. The kingdom lies within these tough passages; this suitable end to our uncomfortable journey through the 12th chapter of Luke.
Listen to these words again this time from the Message translation: “I've come to start a fire on this earth—how I wish it were blazing right now! I've come to change everything, turn everything rightside up—how I long for it to be finished! Do you think I came to smooth things over and make everything nice? Not so. I've come to disrupt and confront!” Jesus Christ, Emmanuel, God among us, came to earth to shine a light on us. This light, this fire, is one so bright as to show even our most hidden secrets. It is so intense as to make our flaws, our brokenness, and our sinfulness apparent even though, as the prophet Jeremiah says, we have tried to “hide in secret places so that God cannot see us.” The light that came into the world in the person of Jesus Christ burns us like fire and breaks us like a hammer. This is not easy to deal with.
What struck me this week, through all of my outrage and struggle with this text, is how distraught Jesus is. I have normally read this passage imagining an angry Jesus; lashing out against a stiff-necked people who wouldn’t listen to him. But what I see now is Jesus, the God-man, agonizing that he had to come to confront the status quo and turn the upside-down world rightside up. "I came to bring fire to the earth, and how I wish it were already kindled!" What if that means, "I can't believe I had to come to earth to do this. I don't want to have to be the fire that purifies you, I wanted you to do it yourself! Oh that you, your ancestors, and those who will come after you could have maintained our relationship on your own!"?
I realized this week that God maybe didn't want to have to come to earth. Surely God didn't want to have to subject his Son and himself to the agony of the cross; a physical AND spiritual pain beyond our comprehension. We were created out of love so that we might love God and love one another. But we just can't do it. As is clear from Genesis through Jeremiah to the Gospels and even today, we can't kindle that fire of purification on our own. We need God to restore that relationship, because no matter how hard we try, we screw it up, each and every time.
And so God came to earth, and dwelt among us. He came with angels and archangels heralding his presence in the form of a gentle baby, but he didn’t stay that way for long. His ministry was one of disruption; one of confrontation; one where houses were more than divided, they were turn asunder. Listen as Sarah Dylan Breuer retells a familiar part of this divisive story;
{Imagine for a moment the scene when Peter goes back to his mother-in-law and says, "Hey, mom ... I've got some important news. I'm not going fishing tomorrow morning. I don't know if I'll ever step in a boat or lift a net again. I'm glad that you were healed of that fever, and I hope you don't catch one again, because I have to tell you that I probably won't be around to take care of you or to bury you when you die. See, that man who healed you asked me to follow him as he travels around teaching and healing, and I'm going to do it. I really think that God's kingdom is breaking through in this guy's work, and that's just too important for me to stay here, even to take care of you."
How would you feel if it were your son who said that to you? There's no social security to fall back on if you're Peter's mother-in-law; Peter is the closest thing you've got to that, and he's leaving. I have some idea of what I'd probably feel if I were Peter's mother-in-law: Betrayed. Abandoned. Despised. Shamed. Perhaps even hopeless. I have some idea of the kinds of things I'd say if I were in her shoes too, and a lot of the language I'd be using wouldn't appear in any children's bible. When I found out that Peter AND Andrew were both going, my language would reflect even more anger, grief, fear, and straight-up, no-chaser, and very bitter pain. I think the same would be true of my language if Peter and Andrew had other brothers and I were one of them. I'd want to ask Peter and Andrew how they could do this to all of us, how they think we'll survive without their help with the fishing, and whose prophet would ask a man to walk out on his family. I'd ask Peter and Andrew if this is how they were going to follow God's command in holy writ to honor parents and care for widows…}[1]
Breuer, in my estimation, hits at the heart of what this passage is about, God invades our lives and everything must change. The fire that burns within us is the Holy Spirit, removing our impurities, removing our sinful desires, and working to restore us to the full Creation God intended us to be. Sometimes that change means leaving family to fend for themselves. Sometimes that change means disobeying rules that seemed so important at the time. But these changes must happen, though most of us are reluctant at best. In reality, most of us are actively fighting those changes. We like our important, man made, rules. We like our 21st century American middle class sensibilities. We like our life just the way it is, thank you very much.
So, it is to us directly that Jesus speaks as he turns to the crowd and says, “When you see clouds coming in from the west, you say, 'Storm's coming'—and you're right. And when the wind comes out of the south, you say, 'This'll be a hot one'—and you're right. Frauds! You know how to tell a change in the weather, so don't tell me you can't tell a change in the season, the God-season we're in right now.” We can predict the weather! But so often we can't figure out this relationship with God thing? What is wrong? Why can’t we see the inevitable end result of our actions, our stubbornness? Why are we so reluctant to give up that which kills us to make room for the Holy Spirit that gives us life? Why did it have to come to this?
Jesus is distraught, and rightfully so. He is on edge, coming to the realization that God’s foray into humanity will not end well. The stubbornness of generations upon generations has led him to this place. He will soon be in the Garden, still wondering if maybe it doesn't have to be this way, maybe the cup can pass from his lips, maybe this particular baptism doesn't have to happen. But it does. Humanity needs help, and God knows that help can only come through him, through whom all things were made; through whom all things will be again made perfect.
It is ok to be outraged for a while. It is necessary that this portion of Luke’s gospel make us squirm to kindle that fire. If we aren’t outraged we aren’t paying attention. It is such a radical thing to follow as a disciple of God that God himself had to come to earth to show us how it is to be done. He knows that we will try to hold tightly onto those things we think we need. He has and will continue to call us over, and over again, to let go, to stop pretending that we can hide, to come into the light, to stop lying to ourselves, to be refined like gold in his fire, and to be washed clean in his baptism. As followers of Jesus Christ we have entered a new season, one of repentance and growth. As we realize our outrage, we must realize also the inherent call to turn from the old way of life, pick up our cross, sell our possession, and follow the one who came only out of love for us. Amen!
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