“Baptism by Fire”
Sermon delivered on 15 August
2010
Scriptural Basis: Hebrews 11:29-12:2, Luke 12:49-56
What comes to mind when you hear
the phrase "baptism by fire?" For me, the first thing that pops into my head is a war movie, where the
grizzled veteran leads his new recruits into battle for the first time for
their "baptism by fire." In
the corporate world, new executives are said to have received their
"baptism by fire" when they've survived their first major
crisis. In the automotive industry, the
first time you go through the launch of a new vehicle and come out the other
side with most of your backside intact, you've had your "baptism by
fire." I think I could make a
pretty good argument that my first six months here at Belleville Presbyterian
have been a ministerial baptism by fire. Since I joined you, I've gone through Lent and Easter, done a funeral,
officiated at a wedding, conducted five baptisms (with water), led a new
members' class, dealt with two basement floods and the Strawberry Festival,
been part of the inaugural Blessing of the Fleet on Belleville Lake, been
assigned to a Presbytery committee, pulled a stump, and trimmed the lawn a few
times. In fact, I think the only minister
job I haven't done since I got here has been to lead a capital campaign to
raise funds for an expanded worship space, but I suspect that's not too far off
in the future. And I must tell you that
I've loved every second of it, but I wouldn't have minded if it had taken a
little more than six months to experience such a wide range of pastoral
events. Drinking from a fire hose comes
to mind...
The “baptism by fire” that Jesus
speaks of in today’s gospel reading sounds pretty unpleasant, and as with a few
other passages we’ve read in recent weeks doesn’t really fit with our image of
Jesus as a peaceful, loving soul who wouldn’t harm a fly. Here he speaks of bringing fire to the earth,
of bringing division to families instead of peace. He criticizes the crowd for being able to
predict the next days’ weather based on clouds and wind yet they cannot
interpret the importance of Jesus’ presence amongst them. Once again we’re left wondering what happened
to our meek and mild Christ?
It seems as if Jesus is getting
more and more impatient as we work our way through Luke’s gospel. We’re about at the halfway point of Luke, and
Jesus has gone from being announced as one who will “guide our feet into the
way of peace” in chapter one to calling people fools and talking about servants
being cut in pieces for misconduct. A
few chapters further on in Luke we encounter the parable of the prodigal son,
but here we read of families being divided three against two and two against
three. A couple of weeks ago we had
James and John wanting to bring the fires of heaven down upon a Samaritan town that
didn’t extend them hospitality, and here Jesus wishes the fire he came to bring
to the earth were already kindled. I
wonder if James and John ever complained about that, you know, how come you get
to call down the fires of heaven and we don’t? What makes you so special? Jesus tells us that he’s under tremendous
stress, but does that really answer the question of what happened to the Prince
of Peace? What is the “baptism by fire”
that Jesus infers is coming?
Before we go any further, I think
it’s important to point out that there’s a big difference between fire that is
used to destroy and fire that is used to cleanse and refine and form. James and John wanted to use the fires of
heaven to destroy the Samaritan town. Jesus wants to use the fires of heaven to cleanse the children of Israel
of their sin, to refine their understanding of the Law and the Prophets to more
closely align them with the will of God, to form them into a more perfect
nation. And yes, there may be some
destruction along the way. It’s not
unlike a forest fire, which brings tremendous devastation to the forest but
also clears the way for new growth and indeed the ash from the burned trees
fertilizes the tender shoots. Fire
provides light that allows us to see in the darkness, provides heat that allows
us to form even the hardest steel into useful tools. This is the fire which Jesus is bringing to
the earth, the fire that allows us to see the kingdom of God, the fire that
will change us into useful tools to be of service to all of God’s
children. His impatience in wanting the
fire to be already kindled is, I think the result of seeing the suffering of
his people and wanting to bring it to an end. The baptism of which Jesus speaks is his coming crucifixion and
resurrection, and the stress he’s under is perfectly understandable – he knows
what awaits him in Jerusalem and wishes it to be over and done.
But what are we to make of the
division of which Jesus speaks? That
sounds almost worse than the fire! To
those of us who recognize the family as the basic building block of society,
those of us who grew up with images of Ozzie and Harriet and Father Knows Best
defining family life, those of us who have been told by preachers that the
family that prays together stays together, this talk of Jesus bringing division
to households sends shivers down our spines. Once again, this isn’t the Christmas-card Jesus we’re dealing with
here. But it is the Jesus who
came to completely reshape society into a true community of faith, and that
will require some significant reworking of the social structures that existed
in the first century and also that exist in the twenty first. In the first century, much of one’s social
status was determined by family ties. If
your family was well-to-do, then you were held in high regard and considered to
have been blessed by God. You most
likely would have been afforded prominent seats in the synagogue (if you were
male) and been consulted on weighty matters, both religious and political. If you weren’t so well-off, but had formed
some kind of ties to a prominent family, then much of the prestige of that
family would have flowed to you. If you
were a working stiff, you pretty much operated on the margins of polite society
in a firmly established and deeply entrenched hierarchy that was darned near
impossible to break out of. No matter
how hard working and successful you might have been, the odds of your moving up
the social ladder were mighty slim. In
the eyes of first century society, God had passed you by and all the prayers
and compliance with the Law and the Prophets wasn’t going to improve your lot
in life one little bit. God couldn’t be
bothered talking to you, he had a seat at the head table with the “beautiful
people” of the day. Doesn’t sound so
very different than what we see and experience today, does it? Jesus’ advent was intended to wipe all of
this away, to burn it down if you will and replace it with heaven on
earth. Gone is the idea that the largest
share of the family fortune goes to the eldest son, the younger sons getting to
divide only a fraction of the total and the daughters be damned. All will share equally in the gifts of God to
the people of God in the new order brought about by Jesus’ baptism by fire. Some will understand and embrace this new
view of life, others will resist and hence will come divisions in families;
father against son and son against father, mother against daughter and daughter
against mother, mother-in-law against daughter-in-law and daughter-in-law
against mother-in-law. Jesus indeed did
come to bring peace to the earth, but not peace as defined by we the
people. Jesus’ peace is one of mercy,
compassion and justice between God and humanity, all of humanity, not just the
“beautiful people” or the eldest sons, and this peace is going to cause some
tension that could well rise to the level of conflict and division, even within
the nuclear family. Think about it; do
you know of families in which some are committed followers of Jesus Christ and
others are out hitting the strip clubs and they argue constantly about who’s
doing life the right way? We know who’s
doing it right, but that doesn’t settle the conflict, does it?
And why do you think Jesus calls
the people who can tell what the weather will be based on observing the clouds
and winds but can’t interpret the present time “hypocrites?” Aren’t hypocrites folks who say one thing but
do another, who say they believe when they really don’t? Wouldn’t it be more accurate to say that
these people are blind or ignorant or stubborn? Maybe not. Moral theology makes a
distinction between willful ignorance and ignorance beyond our control. If we don’t fully understand what’s expected
of us and we in turn don’t do things exactly right, we won’t (or shouldn’t) be
punished for being a little off-target. This is ignorance that’s beyond our control. On the other hand, if we do fully
understand and still do the wrong thing, we’re rightfully in for more severe
consequences. This is willful ignorance,
and it’s what the crowd is guilty of. They have the rich resources of the Law and the Prophets, the Torah, at
their disposal that pretty clearly tells them how to conduct themselves and
also clearly prophesies the coming of Jesus and what it means, yet they persist
in ignoring the poor and needy amongst them, fail to offer hospitality to
strangers and don’t acknowledge the lordship of Jesus. They know what they’re supposed to do and
they aren’t doing it, therefore the title of hypocrite does indeed apply.
We know what we’re supposed to
do, how we’re supposed to live our lives as Christians, and it ain’t always
easy. The society around us seems to be
increasingly hostile to what we say and do. When we were in the Smoky Mountains National Park last week, Karen,
Missy and I were touched by the openness of so many people in the region with
regard to their faith. At Dollywood,
there was a store selling shirts and hats with religious and patriotic themes,
and there wasn’t a hint of shame or reticence about it. They even asked me to sign my name in a book
of military people who had visited the shop when the shopkeeper noticed my
“Coast Guard Retired” cap and I was thanked for my service. We heard “God bless you” and “have a blessed
day.” We experienced the best of
Southern, or more precisely, Christian hospitality without a glimmer of
political correctness. I know all about
the restrictions in workplaces about proselytizing and how uncomfortable many
of us are about sharing our faith but we have to find a way to get beyond that
and let the world know who we are and what we believe and why we believe.
Don’t be a hypocrite, doing one
thing but saying another just to get along or to fit in. Don’t be destroyed by the fire that Jesus
brought to the earth. Be consumed by it,
allow yourself to be on fire for Christ. Let the fire refine you, let it reform you. Accept that not everybody is going to
understand you, not even members of your family but don’t stop trying to get
them to “get it,” and certainly don’t stop praying for them. Accept the fact that you’re different because
you’re a Christian, and be bold in your difference. Presbyterians are, by temperament and
training, more reserved in our demeanor. We’re not given to standing on street corners and shouting at people to
believe. But that doesn’t mean that we
can’t be a bold witness to the power of God to change lives. Just by living as Christ Jesus taught us, and
doing so unashamedly, will send a powerful message to everyone with eyes to see
and ears to hear.
In the name of the Father, and of
the Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.
