The Lord said: "I came to cast fire upon the earth, and would that it were already kindled! I have a baptism to be baptized with; and how I am constrained until it is accomplished! Do you think that I have come to give peace on earth? No, I tell you, but rather division; for henceforth in one house there will be five divided, three against two and two against three; they will be divided, father against son and son against father, mother against daughter and daughter against her mother, mother-in-law against her daughter-in-law and daughter-in-law against her mother-in-law." (Luke 12:49-53)

Now Jesus sounds like a real revolutionary, doesn’t he? Perhaps his enemies were right about him after all. How could he say, "I came to cast fire on earth, and would that it were already kindled?" How could he declare, "I have a baptism to be baptized with," and then go on to say, "Do you think I have come to give peace on earth?" - and then announce, "No, I tell you, rather division"? How does all of this fit into the plan for his life that was sung by angels, "Glory to God in the highest, and peace on earth to men of good will?" Something strange is going on here, isn’t it, as Jesus engages in his teaching-healing journey that is to take him - ultimately - to Jerusalem and his death.

The part of this with which we are most familiar is the division in the family. Jesus could have been talking about our day, couldn’t he? The family, as the basic unit of society, seems to be disintegrating, doesn’t it? Familial breakup is a sign of the times; it happens in every neighborhood, in all strata of society, among rich and poor alike, and in Christian and non-Christian marriages. A decade ago I published a story about a family I knew in which reconciliation and reunion, after division and separation, had taken place. It was a lovely-looking family - handsome father, attractive mother, and three fine-looking children; the father was a professional man on his way up in his career, the mother had given up her career temporarily, planning to resume it when the children finished school, and the children were bright as well as nice-appearing. They seemed to have a fine future - until the father took to gambling and drinking and finally left home. After three months he called and asked if he could come home; his wife said that he could - and he did. The day after he returned, his daughter took him outside the front door of their home, where all the neighbors could see what was happening, and took his picture. She seemed to be announcing to the world, "Dad is back. We’re a family again. Everything is going to be all right now." And it was - for awhile.

What happened to that family we’ve seen too often. The father and mother continued to have problems, and they separated for good - with a divorce - this time. The lives of all five have been anything but happy since then; I don’t think that any of them has really been happy for over a decade now. They have drifted away from the church as well as from each other. They seem to have lost their sense of values, and they have taken up life-styles that they wouldn’t even have considered years ago. It is a sad tale that is being told over and over again. It is too familiar, isn’t it? And it is sad.

But that wasn’t exactly what Jesus was talking about. He was describing his mission and spelling out his message to the people about the cost of accepting the message and participating in the mission. He wasn’t seeking sympathy when he said, "I have a baptism to be baptized with" - his disciples knew he was to be baptized with blood - on a cross, although they could not comprehend the meaning of it until after the resurrection. Despite prophesies in Scripture, which Jesus quoted to them on at least three occasions, Jesus’ death made little or no sense to them, did it? Death never makes complete sense, but some deaths will always seem more senseless than others, won’t they?

On March 26, 1982, Gary Fink took a whole page advertisement in the Minneapolis Tribune. In bold letters, the ad announced: "A Love Letter to the Children of Minnesota." There was a picture of an attractive young girl and a five paragraph letter, which began:

I’m writing this letter in memory of my very special daughter Tracy who was killed last March 27th in an automobile accident.

Mr. Fink told how they loved her and about her "zest and excitement (that) energized everyone." How "She loved dramatics, music, her guitar, warm weather, the ocean, family vacations, pasta, late nights and sleeping in." He added:

If she’d worn her seat belt, she’d be here with us now. We miss her and love her so. Just like your family and friends love you.

So on this first anniversary of her death I wanted to take this opportunity to remind you to please wear your seat belts when you drive or ride in any car, with anyone. No matter how good the driver is.

I don’t want to have happen to you what happened to Tracy. She wouldn’t either. Because people who love you will miss you more than words like these can ever say.

With love,
Gary Fink
Her Dad

In an interview, Fink said that he still counts her death "meaningless and stupid." He ran the ad so that he could make something positive out of it: "I’m trying to make Tracy’s death count for something by keeping somebody else alive."

Jesus’ death does seem so senseless, doesn’t it, at times? Centuries later, we are still asking, "Why did he have to die? Surely, there must have been an alternative to the cross. What did his death accomplish?" And then the Word and the Spirit come to us spelling out the necessity of that death to atone for our sins and affect reconciliation with God - and we begin to comprehend what the cross was all about. James S. Stewart once said, "No theory of the atonement can exhaust the meaning of the cross," and we know that we shall never fully understand what went on there that Good Friday, but we also know that it was for us that "he hung and suffered there." The cross of Christ is more than a symbol of his death; it is a symbol that Christ’s death has meaning - more meaning than we shall be able to perceive and fathom. And we thank God - and our Lord who was able to pray to the Father about his baptism, "If it be possible, take this cup from me. But not my will, but thine, be done." Jesus’ death on the cross does make sense, you see. It is not like all those other senseless deaths; it means deliverance and forgiveness and life for you and me.

Why, then, do you suppose that Jesus talked about fire on earth and division in families? That’s a strange kind of mission, isn’t it? Most of us like to think of him as the Prince of Peace - as well as those other titles ascribed to him by Isaiah: "Wonderful, Counselor, the mighty God, the everlasting Father ... Of the increase of his government and of peace there shall be no end ..."

Peace and harmony can only come to earth when people are reconciled to God and each other in love, isn’t that so? Division that breaks up families can only lead to the break-up of larger units of society and, finally, chaos in the world.

Some people, accordingly, are saying today, "The family must be preserved at all costs," quoting, "What God has joined together, let no man put asunder." And Jesus wouldn’t quarrel with many of the arguments given about the sanctity of the family and the home and the need to preserve this fundamentally important institution in society. He wasn’t speaking about the destruction of the family when he spoke about division; rather his concern was that people would discover in him a higher loyalty than they might have for an institution; he wanted people to understand that we are to love one another as members of God’s family - through him. All human loyalties must first be exercised in relationship to the Father, and then there will be hope for our homes and families to survive the problems that beset them.

But isn’t Jesus expanding the horizon of our familial relationships when he calls for loyalties that supercede our narrow familial boundaries? He calls for us to leave behind our family loyalities - if necessary - and follow him. He is the one to whom the highest forms of commitment are to be made - regardless of the cost. And he expects us to make that commitment - and pay that personal cost at all times - if we dare to call ourselves disciples. An incident in the life of Pablo Casals illuminates the nature of the total commitment that Christ demands of his followers. U. Thant once held a reception for the famous musician when he was ninety-four years of age. Robert Muller, in his Most of All, They Taught Me Happiness (New York: Dutton, 1981, p. 164), describes how he was talking with Casals in a room on the thirty-eighth floor of the United Nations Secretariat building when a waitress came by with filled glasses. In the bright light, Casals asked, "What is it?" She answered with a smile, "Lemonade." Before he could taste it, his wife intercepted the glass and tasted it: "This is champagne! You cannot drink it."

Thereupon Casals told Muller the following story: "When I was young, I once went to see my doctor and told him I was feeling a kind of laziness in my fingers. After a thorough examination, he asked me: ‘Do you drink?’ I answered negatively, but added that like all Spaniards I had a glass of wine at luncheon and dinner. He then said: ‘Well, if you want to become a great, renowned artist and avoid that laziness in your fingers, you must never touch a drop of wine or alcohol.’ I obeyed him faithfully all my life."

Jesus, you see, never calls us to ministry and mission under false pretenses. When the disciples wanted places of honor next to him, he asked, "Are you able to drink the cup that I drink?" and "Are you able to be baptized with the baptism with which I am baptized?" Mark reports that he said, "You will be baptized ..." - die for the faith - and with the exception of John, they were all martyred for the gospel’s sake. To follow Christ is a costly venture. It may mean expulsion from the family circle, ostracism by friends, or death - even in this age.

August 24th is the day when we remember a death - not of a contemporary friend or relative but of a brother in Christ, St. Bartholomew. The reading of this gospel is usually close to St. Bartholomew’s day, if not actually on it; it is a demonstration of the cost of discipleship, because he died for Christ and his mission in the world. His was not a pleasant death; it was horribly cruel and shocking. How could people be so inhuman in their dealing with others? For all the good things that the Romans did when they ruled the Mediterranean world, they also perpetrated some horrible deaths, particularly upon Christians and the growing Christian community. Studdert-Kennedy wrote, in a poem,

For those were crude and cruel days,
And human flesh was cheap.

The Romans had perfected torture and death, and Bartholomew is an example of that combination; tradition has it that he was skinned while still alive, thus one symbol for Bartholomew is a skinning knife. Another legend has it that he was flayed alive with a whip that would strip the skin from one’s flesh, but knife or whip, his death must have been excruciatingly painful and horrible - almost too much of a price to pay for committing one’s life to Christ, don’t you think? But people still die painful and horrible deaths as actual martyrs who have laid down their lives for the Lord and the world.

A thousand years ago, a church was built on a little island in the Tiber River where it flows past the city of Rome. Fittingly, it replaced - and was built on the ruins of - an ancient temple dedicated to the art and science of medicine, the Temple of Aesculapius, which stood there at least three centuries before Christ was born. People visited that temple, a sort of spa, to seek cures for various illnesses as well as relief from pain; the temple was elaborate. The church that replaced the temple was named San Bartolomeo all’ Isola - St. Batholomew of the Island. After it was built, a hospital was added; church and hospital still exist in the close proximity of that small island. Today there is also a home for elderly Jews close to the church; it is close to a monastery, too. And there seems to be a message in that complex of buildings that declares that St. Bartholomew’s death - as the death of Christ - has some meaning in terms of commitment and love that prompts us to follow Christ, tell his story and preach the gospel to all people, and show compassion and kindness and care to the sick, the suffering, and the elderly. There can be no better way to follow and serve Christ, or to celebrate the commitment and death of St. Bartholomew and all those others who have paid the ultimate cost of commitment to Christ by laying down their lives to witness to Christ.

Jesus really was a revolutionary kind of leader - but not in the manner of political revolutionaries who torture and murder those who get in their way. His revolution had to do with a necessary kind of judgment, that of what might be called a "division of the house" so that a larger family - reconciled to God through his suffering and death - might be formed. Commitment to Christ is our supreme loyalty as children of God, and it means that we may have to lay down our lives - one way or another - if we follow him - for others, instead of taking their lives in the manner of most revolutionaries. That’s what he did for us. Amen.