Fire to the Earth

Fire to the Earth

Luke 12:49-53

May 17, 2020 • Mount Pleasant UMC

Our first parsonage had a fireplace. A real, honest-to-goodness fireplace. In the four years we lived there, I bet I can count on one hand the number of times we actually built a fire in that fireplace. It was right in our family room, which could have made things nice and cozy, and Cathy and I both love fires, but, you know, building a fire means I had to get wood and stack it and then find some kindling, then light it, and then deal with the smell of real smoke throughout the house. Honestly, it just wasn’t worth it. When we lived in the parsonage in Portage, Rachel decided she wanted a fireplace. She even went directly to the head of the Trustees and asked him to put in a fireplace. He kept telling her it was backordered, but she didn’t let up for a long time. She even had a place selected where it could go, right where the piano was—which, come to think of it, might have been her way of getting out of piano lessons. Anyway, we were pretty excited when the house we bought here had—has—a fireplace. Only it’s not a real fireplace. I don’t know, it might have been at one time. But it’s a gas fireplace now. And as much as I like a real fire, I like even more being able to flip a switch and have instant flame. I don’t have to go cut anything or build anything, and there’s no smoke smell that permeates the house. We can turn it on when it’s a cool evening, have a little bit of heat, and then turn it off when we’re done. The flame is real, but the fire is fake.

Still, when I see it, or when I turn it on, I can’t help but think of the many times in Scripture when fire is used as an image to describe God. From the Exodus to the end of time, fire is a symbol that shows up over and over again, including in the ministry of Jesus in this strange passage we heard read this morning. This morning, we’re wrapping up this series of forgotten images of God, pictures from the Scriptures that we may not use regularly or may not even feel comfortable with. We’ve not exhausted the list, but we have covered some significant ground. So, say them with me, the images we’ve explored during these weeks: friend, clothing, food, mother. That was to see if you’ve been paying attention during these weeks to the intro video! So, we’re going to close out this series by looking at fire, centering around Jesus’ strange statement to his disciples: “I have come to bring fire on the earth, and how I wish it were already kindled!” (12:49).

The commentaries and the scholars don’t have a good consensus on what Jesus meant by this statement. It’s right in the middle of a discussion on his return. Jesus has been trying to get his disciples not to worry about what is to come, while at the same time telling them to always be ready. And then he comes to this discussion about fire and division and families being split. It’s very uncomfortable, and not at all in line with the way we like to think of Jesus and “family values.” So some say the “fire” is his crucifixion, and that Jesus is wishing his suffering was already over. Certainly, he prays along these lines in Gethsemane, when he asks God to “let this cup pass from me,” referring (most believe) to his death the next day (cf. Luke 22:42). In his humanness, he doesn’t want to go the cross; no one would. “How I wish this were already over,” maybe Jesus is saying. Others hear in Jesus’ words a prayer for people’s spiritual passion to be ignited, sort of like the flame that is lit in the hearts of the disciples who are walking to Emmaus when they find their hearts “burning” within them (cf. Luke 24:32). Both of those ideas have historical precedent; trying to understand and misunderstanding Jesus is not a new exercise.

But, I think, to begin to understand what he’s getting at here, we have first to think about what fire is, what fire does. Take a moment and, among your family or the people you’re worshipping with, share everything that comes to mind when you think of fire. I’ll wait right here while you do that.

SHARING

Here’s a pretty good description of fire from Dr. Lauren Winner: “Fire warms us, and gives us light, and makes it possible for us to cook and to read late into the night and and to keep warm in winter. But fire can also destroy: fire can engulf bodies, devour towns, annihilate whole cities. Fire is essential for life and civilization, and fire is a threat to both. Fire warms but can blister; fire heats but can consume” (Wearing God, pg. 206). And I think all of that, somehow, is wrapped up in what Jesus says. All of that is part of who God is. “Jesus brings the fire, and the fire He brings is Himself” (Winner 206). And when he comes, he both destroys and regenerates.

This is one of several times Jesus uses the phrase “I have come” in order to define his mission. It’s a mission statement of sorts. For instance, Jesus says he did not come to abolish the Old Testament Law; he says, “I have come…to fulfill them” (Matthew 5:17). He says, “For I have not come to call the righteous, but sinners” (Matthew 9:13). When people want him to stay in one area, Jesus tells the disciples, “Let us go somewhere else—to the nearby villages—so I can preach there also. That is why I have come” (Mark 1:38). And he says, “For I have come down from heaven not to do my will but to do the will of him who sent me” (John 6:38). I could give other examples, but suffice it to say that when we hear him use that same phrase (“I have come”) here in Luke, we’re meant to tune in to the fact that what he’s about to tell us has something to do with his mission, with the reason he came to earth (Bock, Luke [IVPNTC], pg 235). “I have come,” Jesus says, “to bring fire on the earth” (12:49). I have come to bring judgment and destruction. And I have come to bring purification and regeneration (Liefeld, "Luke," Expositor’s Bible Commentary, Vol. 8, pg. 968). So let’s look at both of those “functions” of fire and see how they relate to Jesus, and maybe we’ll see a bit more of how he wants to work in our own lives.

So we know how fire destroys. In fact, to produce heat, fire has to destroy something. We watch every year as wildfires rage in some part of the world, and unfortunately we watch in those situations as people lose homes, property and some even lose their lives. Fire is dangerous, and out of control, it can cause tremendous damage. Fire can kill. Jesus is pretty clear in this passage that the fire he brings will bring damage, maybe even destruction. He talks about it terms of family division. Modern Christianity, especially of the American variety, likes to focus on the benefits of faith for families, and there certainly is truth that faith, when shared, can bring a family together. All my life, it seems, I’ve heard that tired slogan, “The family that prays together stays together.” But, as with all cliches, it’s repeated so often because it's true. Shared faith can bind a family together, but Jesus is not talking about shared faith. He’s talking about the way he and his mission will bring, can bring division to families. “Do you think I came to bring peace on earth?” Jesus asks. “No, I tell you, but division. From now on there will be five in one family divided against each other, three against two and two against three” (12:52-53). The word Jesus uses for “division” there is found only here in the whole Bible. It means “diametric opposition.” In other words, “people won’t simply be divided up because of Jesus, they will fight against one another on account of him” (Card, Luke: The Gospel of Amazement, pg. 164). Jesus will come between people. He will be a wedge that keeps them apart.

Why? Why would he be like that? I mean, we prefer “gentle Jesus, meek and mild.” We like to believe that Jesus always unites people because he loves all people. And all of that is true, but it’s not the whole truth. Jesus also calls for exclusive commitment. And that’s not something that sits well with some people. I know of a woman who, when she was younger, decided to follow Jesus and when she told her family, she was given an ultimatum: choose Jesus or choose family. She chose Jesus and found herself homeless for a time. Now, that story has a “happy ending,” in that in time, she was invited back home and her family turned to faith, but that’s not always the case. There are a lot of stories that come out of particularly the Muslim world where families are torn apart when one member turns to Jesus. Jesus calls us to exclusive commitment; the fire he brings divides people, divides even families (cf. Bock 236).

What divides people about Jesus is the cross. Most people, if you were to ask them, like Jesus as a person. If we leave him as the traveling teacher and preacher who says nice things and encourages people to just be nice to each other, he’s all right. Remember the Doobie Brothers? “Jesus is just all right with me!” While it’s a catchy song, there’s not a lot to the lyrics. The closest to a substantial verse we get is this one:

Jesus, he's my friend

I said Jesus, he's my friend

He took me by the hand

He let me far from this land

Jesus, he's my friend!

And, you see, as long as we leave Jesus there, walking with us, holding our hand, he’s all right…with me and everyone else for the most part. But when you get to the cross, you begin to upset people. We believe Jesus died on the cross to save us from our sins, and though there are a lot of different ways to explain exactly how that happens (which means that no one really knows, it just does), the problem comes when you start talking about “sin.” That little three-letter word makes a lot of people upset. What do you mean I’m a sinner? I don’t do terrible things! Sure, I may lie now and then, and maybe I cheated a little bit on my taxes or maybe I’m a little selfish…but I’m not a sinner. The sinners are the ones who do the big, bad things, like murder and rape and theft. I may not share what I have with those in need, but I’m not that bad. Surely there’s a sliding scale! The problem is that the cross says we’re all in need of saving. We are all sinners, and the cross confronts each person with that truth. More than that, Luke himself pictures Jesus as “cursed” when he hangs on the cross; every good Jew in that day knew what Moses had said: “Anyone who is hung on a pole is under God’s curse” (Deuteronomy 21:23; cf. Bock 236). So how could someone under God’s curse bring us any hope? Of course, the church’s answer has been what Paul said (cf. Galatians 3:13-14), that Jesus took on himself our curse so that we wouldn’t have to. He saves us by giving himself, by allowing himself to pass into the fire. He is destroyed so that we won’t have to be. And for those who want to do it themselves, for those who believe they don’t need anyone to save them from anything, Jesus is a dividing line. He is, again quoting Paul, “a stumbling block to Jews and foolishness to Gentiles” (1 Corinthians 1:23). When it comes to the cross, Jesus is not just all right. He’s a fire, a destructive fire. He divides people.

But fire, we know, is also purifying. Fire is sometimes necessary. Without fire, a blacksmith or a metal worker can’t do their job; metal only will become soft enough to be shaped when it’s been through the fire. Likewise, fire is used to clean out impurities from metal and other substances. When metal, for instance, is heated up, the impurities rise to the top and are skimmed off. The Bible even talks about this; Proverbs (25:4) says, “Remove the dross from the silver, and a silversmith can produce a vessel.” John the Baptist said that the one who was coming after him, the Messiah, the Savior, would “baptize with the Holy Spirit and with fire” (Luke 3:16). He said this in the context of calling all sorts of people to repent of their sin, to turn away from the things they were doing that kept them from God, and begin a new life. Later, Luke links the coming of fire with the arrival of Holy Spirit; in Acts 2, a passage we talked about briefly last week in terms of breathing, the Holy Spirit’s presence among the disciples is indicated by tongues of fire resting above each person’s head (cf. Acts 2:3). I believe there’s a connection in all of that. Part of the “fire” Jesus speaks of in Luke 12 is meant to purify the believer, to make us holy, and that happens when the power of the Holy Spirit works in our lives. I have a sense that’s the “kindling” Jesus speaks of in this passage: “How I wish it were already kindled!” How he wished that the Spirit was already at work, purifying his people. He knows, of course, that he must first go to the cross, and as I’ve said many times before, I think what held Jesus to the cross was not the nails. He was the Son of God; he didn’t have to go through that. He could have come down from the cross if he wanted to. No, what kept him there was his love. It was the fact that once he went through that suffering, the Spirit could come and begin a mighty work.

The Holy Spirit comes to purify us, to make us more like Jesus. You know, as I’ve said, sometimes fires are necessary. Every time we’ve moved, and I have to pack up all that we own, I usually at some point say we don’t have anything a good fire couldn’t take care of! But, seriously, in nature sometimes fire is necessary. In a forest, fires will clear weaker trees so that the stronger, healthier trees can grow. Farmers sometimes have “controlled burns” so that certain vegetation will be killed and other, more desirable plants can grow. It’s also true that soil that is nourished by burned vegetation becomes even more nutritious, if that’s the right word, for the remaining plants. There are even some plants that require fire to survive. Certain firs don’t open their pinecones until the fire comes through; if the fire didn’t burn, the seeds would stay inside and the trees would not reproduce. In fact those seeds prefer the ash that is left after a fire to grow in (cf. Winner 210-211). I mean, isn’t God’s creation amazing, the way it all works together? The destruction a fire brings can bring life.

And that’s what the Holy Spirit does in our lives. Paul gets at this in his letter to the Romans, where he tells us we have “died to the law through the body of Christ, that you might belong to another, to him who was raised from the dead, in order that we might bear fruit for God” (Romans 7:4). We’re called to die to the old way of life, to let the fire of the Holy Spirit burn up all that rotten stuff inside of us. In Colossians, Paul defines that “stuff” this way: “sexual immorality, impurity, lust, evil desires and greed, which is idolatry. Because of these,” he says, “the wrath of God is coming” (Colossians 3:5-6). Now, that’s not meant to be a comprehensive list, but it’s a pretty good start. The fire of the Holy Spirit wants to get rid of all that stuff from our lives and replace it with “love, joy, peace, forbearance, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness and self-control” (Galatians 5:22-23). Against those things, Paul says, there is no law. There’s nothing to stop you from doing as much of those things and living as much in that way as you want to, or even better, as much as the Holy Spirit wants you to! The fire of the Spirit wants to burn up the nasty stuff inside you and allow these other things to grow. I think they’re called fruit for a reason: fruit is pleasant, tasty, and beautiful, and when the fire is past, when the purification is over, the Holy Spirit wants to grow beautiful things in your life and in mine.

The imagery of fire shows us that “God destroys not me but my sin, my hardness of heart, my fear, precisely so that I might be renewed” (Winner 211). Without the heat of God’s fire, we would remain closed like those pinecones, holding onto our favorite sins and issues of brokenness rather than being opened up so that we can experience new life and new growth. What if the only way God can make us into the people we’re meant to be is through fire, the fire of the Holy Spirit? What if there are some things God can only do in us through fire—through things that might hurt? Fire both destroys and remakes. So what is there in your life that needs to be destroyed or consumed by the fire of the Holy Spirit? What is there that only Jesus can burn away? We all have that one sin, that one weakness that we hold onto. It’s the thing we can’t imagine life without: that addiction, that lust, that idol (and I’m not talking about little statues here). We don’t know what we would do if we let go of our greed, our envy, our jealousy. Or maybe life for us is so centered on being right, on fighting off anyone who disagrees with us, on stirring up dissension, that it just wouldn’t seem right for those things to be gone. But all of those things (and more) are identified in the Bible as being “acts of the sinful nature” (cf. Galatians 5:19). Those things are the reason Jesus came to bring fire to the earth—to burn them away, to destroy the works of the devil (cf. 1 John 3:8) and bring renewal, new hope, new life, new growth. So what is it you need to allow the fire of the Spirit burn away? Jesus came to bring this fire to the earth.

And that leads me then to another question: what new thing does God want to grow in that space? I’ve told you before about my experiences with a grapevine, but before that, we inherited a plant at the parsonage in Muncie, a plant that I didn’t really want growing on that end of the garden. I had a guy in the church who did want it, though, so I told him to come dig it out and take it if he wanted it, which he did. And what do you know? That plant came right back, even after he said he got all of it. For all I know, it’s probably still growing there. It truly was the evidence of what I later heard an old farmer say, that a weed is simply a plant that’s growing in the wrong place. Anyway, my point is this: that plant came back because its roots were deep and I didn’t plant anything to take its place. Once the Spirit begins to burn away that deep-rooted sin in your life, what will you plant to grow in its place? How about some of that fruit that Paul described, the fruit that the Holy Spirit wants to grow in each follower of Jesus? “Love, joy, peace, forbearance, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness and self-control” (Galatians 5:22-23). Yes, indeed, against such things there is no law. Something I want you to notice, though. Paul describes these as the “fruit” of the spirit, not the “fruits” of the Spirit. It’s one fruit. All of these aspects are what is meant to grow in the place of the other stuff, the stuff that is burned away. All of it. Now, there may be (probably will be) times in your life when you need to allow the Spirit to grow love more than joy, self-control more than kindness and so on. But this whole thing, this fruit is what should be growing.

And one more thing: you and I can’t make the fruit grow. Plants grow as they will. Certainly, today we can put on fertilizer, and while that may help the fruit grow, nothing we can do will actually make the fruit grow. Only the Master Gardener can do that. Only the owner can do that. Only God, the fire, the Spirit, can make these things grow in us. What is there for us to do? Open our lives, allow the Spirit to burn away those other things and ask him to grow this fruit within us. Again, that is why Jesus came, to bring this kind of fire to the earth, to both destroy and purify, to judge and regenerate.

I’m going to close this morning with the words of a song written by Charles Wesley, the brother of John and co-founder of the Methodist movement. John was the preacher, but Charles was the poet. He took what John preached and turned it into songs that the early Methodists could remember. No one remembers sermons, but we remember songs! This song is not very well known today; I came across it for the first time this week, working on this message, but it’s a prayer of invitation for the fire of the Spirit to come and do his work. So let’s be in an attitude and spirit of prayer as we pray exactly that: Come, Holy Spirit, and work among us. Let’s pray.

Come, Holy Ghost, all-quickening fire,

Come, and in me delight to rest;

Drawn by the lure of strong desire,

O come and consecrate my breast;

The temple of my soul prepare,

And fix thy sacred presence there.

If now thy influence I feel,

If now in thee begin to live,

Still to my heart thyself reveal,

Give me thyself, for ever give;

A point my good, a drop my store,

Eager I ask, I pant for more.

My peace, my life, my comfort thou,

My treasure and my all thou art;

True witness of my sonship, now

Engraving pardon on my heart,

Seal of my sin in Christ forgiven,

Earnest of love, and pledge of Heaven.

Come, then, my God, mark out thine heir;

Of Heaven a larger earnest give;

With clearer light thy witness bear,

More sensibly within me live;

Let all my powers thine entrance feel,

And deeper stamp thyself the seal.