Luke 12:49-53 · Not Peace but Division
The Two Fires
Luke 12:49-53
Sermon
by Wallace H. Kirby
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There is something mysterious and provocative about fire. We don’t need fireplaces when we have central heating, but we have fireplaces anyway. We pay the utility company extra to have them; and we take much time and effort to haul and cut wood for burning. Our fascination with fire can’t be put into words, but watching a fire is as close to meaningful prayer as some of us get.

The discovery of fire changed the life of primitive people. Fire made possible the change from a nomadic to a settled existence. With fire, vegetable cellulose could be broken down and eaten, so that the hunt no longer became the main struggle for nourishment. Fire made us into farmers, and with that gave us the possibility of permanent town and village life. It found us nomads and made us into urbanites!

Fire also provided additional benefits. It could give warmth to the huts and caves where primitive persons lived, allowing settled existence even in areas where there were moderate shifts in climate. And, of course, fire helped banish the fears and limitations of darkness.

Fire is certainly prominent in ancient folklore and ancient religions. Several old mythologies of various peoples say that fire is a special gift of the gods. Remember the tale of Prometheus, the god who felt sorry for humans? He stole fire from the gods’ altar and gave it to man. Such stories suggest man’s reverence toward the mystery of fire. In Roman temples there was the central fire that burned continually, fueled and kept alive by men and women whose special duties were to see that the fire never went out. Fire and spiritual experience are never widely separated.

As we turn to the Biblical record we also notice the prominent place of fire in religious experience. A burning bush caught the attention of Moses until he began to hear the voice of God. At the Jerusalem temple, fire consumed the cereal and animal sacrifices offered by the people and priests, speaking of atonement and forgiveness and reconciliation between God and people. The Lukan Pentecost account tells of "tongues of fire" sent by the Holy Spirit as gifts to enable proclaiming the gospel in word and deed. And in the scriptural images of the end of nature and history in the eternal love of God, fire is central to the pointing toward this consummation. Perhaps the most significant scriptural statement concerning fire is in Hebrews. It says simply, "Our God is a consuming fire."

I

All of this is to run toward Jesus’ words, "I came to cast fire upon the earth." Unless one seizes upon such words with a ruthless and unimaginative literalism, they can speak richly to us. Christ describes himself as fire, and I’m suggesting the fire of which he speaks is of two sorts: the fire of judgment and the fire of the spirit.

Unless we have taken all the vitality out of our Christian faith, we will have to allow that Christ is the fire of judgment upon us. How could it be otherwise? The quality of his life, when set over against ours, ... is to call out judgment, because our lives fall far short of his. We sometimes speak of Christ as the example of how we should live and are accused of making Christianity into a new law, a religion of good works. But if we really thinkof Christ as pattern or example, we are soon driven to realize that we are desperately in need of forgiveness and moral power; compared to him we come off poorly.

Excellence in any area of life has judgmental quality about it. When I went off to the university and entered the school of music, I thought of myself as an accomplished musician. Indeed, I had some medals and ratings to back up this assessment. But once at the university, I began to listen to one of my fellow students play with a gift and facility that I knew I would never equal. His virtuosity became a devastating judgment upon thy vocational ambitions. No doubt this experience of judgment gave me more than a gentle nudge toward theological studies!

The image of Christ in late medieval Christianity had this note of the fiery judgment of Christ more than in our time. Christ was proclaimed as God’s judgment upon sins large and small. It was the spiritual struggle of the young Martin Luther to ease the terrors of this theology.

Partly through Luther’s experience, we have softened this fiery, judgmental understanding of Christ, and we do not want to return to it. But we sometimes wonder if we have not erred in the opposite direction - by taking all the judgmental quality out of our thinking about Christ. Christ today is the figure of acceptance, forgiveness, gentleness and warmth. We have portrayed him in ways that few children or adults feel uncomfortable in his presence. The centuries that have taken the terrors out of Christ are to be appreciated, for certainly there was something spiritually unhealthy about these earlier images. Yet we sometimes catch ourselves wondering if we haven’t overdone it, wondering if we have so eliminated the judgmental impact of Christ that there is no vital spiritual tension and conflict left. Perhaps the key question is: do we yet know the peace of God?

We really don’t need a great deal of help in avoiding painful but helpful judgment. We wring out the moral tension from our lives or out of the larger life around us. We flit around, telling ourselves, "I’m okay and you’re okay" as if being alive is the only qualification for such sanctity. Moreover, we give non-judgmental approval to the social status quo or government policy, hardly ever setting them over against the image of Christ, perhaps fearing that his judgment on these might become more than we want to handle. It was a psychiatrist not from the religious profession, who asked the question: Whatever Became of Sin? To lift up the Biblical prayer, "God be merciful to me, a sinner," may be a sign of spiritual health, not some residual leftover from an unbalanced theology of Christ’s judgment. It could be that religious renewal might do well to begin with this fire. Otherwise, we content ourselves with only a small portion of what God wants to do for and through us.

II

The second fire of Christ is the fire of the Spirit. This fire is not implied in the Luke passage, but it is true that there is a close connection between the Holy Spirit and Christ. In some ways, there is hardly any distinction between the Holy Spirit and the Spirit of Christ. They are simply the same experience, and only later theological refinements saw fit to distinguish between them. Both are affirmation that God can create a new warmth and glow within us through the fire of Christ’s spirit.

C. S. Lewis once said that the gospel was concerned to create "new people" not just "nice people." The human need is an inner transformation that makes us into new creatures. It is the warmth of the spirit of Christ that accomplishes this. This is not something we can do for ourselves; it is the New Testament insistence upon grace and gift, not work and merit. We cannot make ourselves into the sort of persons who are recognizable as sons and daughters of God; the heart of the Christian testimony makes this clear. Not even a courageous and serious understanding of the first fire, Christ’s judgment, can remedy our impoverishment before God. It takes the second fire of Christ’s spirit to inspire and sustain the growth of love and grace within us.

Of course, there is something we can and must do. The second fire does not force itself into our lives. TV signals are all around us and literally pushing at us all the time. But nothing happens until we turn the TV on, select a channel and tune the picture. Christ’s spirit is always surrounding us, wanting to be part of our lives. But until we open ourselves to this second fire, its transforming work will not have a chance at us. It is grace that there is this redeeming force of Christ. It is our God-given capacity to determine that we shall give ourselves over to its glorious power.

Often an experience like this is undramatic and occurs without notice. Only afterwards do we see what Christ’s spirit has been doing to our lives. This seems to have been the experience of the disciples after Jesus’ crucifixion. The gospels say that they fled to Galilee and presumably began to take up their former lives. They were deeply shattered by Jesus’ death and began to think that it had all been for nothing. So they resumed their fishing, their tax collecting, their trades and whatever ways of life had been theirs before going off with Jesus.

Then they began to discover something strange about themselves. It became apparent that they were not the same persons they had seen before Jesus. Somehow they couldn’t settle down again to their former way of life. Something seemed to be different. Indeed, they were different persons, the sort that C. S. Lewis was talking about. In personal meditation, or in coversation with the other followers of Jesus, they found themselves professing that they really did trust God, that they did forgive others, that they had an intense desire to please God. Most of all, they felt compelled to take up the message and work of Christ again. Without fanfare, the second fire of Christ’s spirit had done its work of change. If we have any gospel good news at all, it will not neglect to speak about this.

So Christ is "fire" in a double sense. He is the fire of God’s judgment. He tells us that we are living dangerously, that without God we are part of no lasting future, and that we have no real present joys and satisfactions. Christ is also the warming fire of the transforming power of the spirit, forming us into happy sons and daughters of God, with lives and deeds to match. Both these fires of Christ are essential to our spiritual pilgrimage and neither can say it all alone. "I came to cast fire upon the earth ..." So did this Promethean Christ.

CSS Publishing Company, If Only..., by Wallace H. Kirby