Sermon: No Fire

June 29, 2025

Galatians 5:1, 13-25
Luke 9:51-62

Jesus’ disciples had been… uneven… through chapter nine. They’d begun well, returning from their own expeditions of healing with stories of great success. Then they’d sort of fumbled when Jesus asked them feed five thousand people with five loaves and two fish, which I grant you I’d have fumbled as well. When Jesus asked them who he was, only Simon Peter dared to say that he was the Messiah – then Peter earned a rebuke from Jesus when he protested the idea of a suffering, crucified Messiah.

From there Jesus took Peter, James, and John up a mountain where they witnessed him transfigured into a glowing figure and speaking with Moses and Elijah, two of the faith’s great heroes. Simon Peter earned another rebuke – this time from God’s own voice – on that occasion. And at the bottom of the mountain, the rest of the disciples couldn’t heal a child, and Jesus had to do it.

If all that weren’t enough, they’d argued about who was the greatest and Jesus caught them at it. They’d tried to stop someone from casting out demons in Jesus’ name, and Jesus told them, “Whoever is not against you is for you.”

Jesus’ disciples had done some pretty impressive things, but in some other ways they’d really messed up.

Enter James and John at this moment, with Jesus resolved to go to Jerusalem. A Samaritan village wouldn’t receive him. “Shall we command fire to come down from heaven and consume them?” they wanted to know.

If this seems drastic, there was Biblical precedent, and it came from that same Elijah James and John had seen talking with Jesus on the mountain of the transfiguration. In the first chapter of Second Kings, Elijah encountered a series of captains and their soldiers sent by King Ahaziah to arrest him. The first two ordered him to come with them, and Elijah said, “If I am a man of God, let fire come down from heaven and consume you and your fifty.” And, well, it did.

I have to give James and John credit for their Bible knowledge. They were probably in the neighborhood of ancient Samaria, the capital of Ahaziah’s kingdom of Israel. The Samaritans were the descendants of the people who lived there. If the Samaritans were going to treat Jesus the way their ancestors had treated Elijah, then shouldn’t they suffer the same punishment? Fire from heaven! Let’s go!

Jesus said no. No fire.

Amy G. Oden writes at Working Preacher, “We’ve all felt it. The rise in our gut when someone rejects our most cherished beliefs.

“We recognize the need to justify our views, prove we are right, defend our faith. But we don’t stop there. We also have the impulse to attack — to show how that person is wrong, misguided, even unfaithful. If we have structural or institutional power, we may move to shut them down and ‘command fire to come down from heaven and consumer them’ figuratively if not literally. If we have military or political power, we may use it to harm and punish.”

We may? Oh, I suppose we may.

I suppose we do.

Like a lot of adolescents, I broke my parents’ hearts – at least a little, for a little while. This may come as a surprise to those who are participating in our Confirmation Class, but I didn’t take part in the Confirmation Class of my home church. I was wrestling with questions of faith, and to be honest, I was also wrestling with how far I could push my independence. So yes. On the nights our Confirmation Class met, I stayed home in a somewhat chilly atmosphere.

I probably would have been better off going.

For those of you wondering how I ever got ordained without becoming a church member, I did become a church member three years later. Just not through a Confirmation Class.

More to the point, my relationship with my parents survived my refusal to join the Confirmation Class. Those relationships don’t always survive adolescents’ rebellious exercises. My parents stayed in it despite their hurt and anger. I stayed in it, too, and if I pushed in other ways at other times, I won some and they won some. There were tears, but there was no fire.

No fire.

It turns out that some ancient manuscripts add some text at verse 56. Dan Clendenin writes at JourneyWithJesus.net, “I think of this extra verse as the most important verse not in the Bible. At Luke 9:56 some manuscripts add a conclusion to the story: ‘And Jesus said to them, “You do not know what kind of spirit you are of, for the Son of Man did not come to destroy men’s lives, but to save them.”’ Clearly, for a later copyist, the simple rebuke of Jesus was not enough; he wanted to categorically repudiate the hatred of James and John.”

Why did that copyist find it necessary? Because, let’s face it, we are awfully good at going from being right to being self-righteous to being other-condemning. I’m there with you. I like to be right (insert joke about how unusual that is here). I like the sensation of knowing that I know, and that I do, the will of God. It’s a Good Feeling.

The next stage could be to say, “Here’s how you can share that Good Feeling.” But is that what I do? Um. Sometimes? Maybe? More often, though, I move to something more like, “Hey! I’m right! You’re wrong! Straighten up and fly right!”

Hello, Self-Righteous Station. All aboard for Triumphalism Terminal!

Amy G. Oden writes, “Triumphalism is a powerful and dangerous drug, closely tied to self-righteousness. It feels so good to be right! To win! To know that God is on our side! Yay us! Boo everyone else! Endorphins pump through our bodies, creating a high we want to sustain.

“Our Christian history demonstrates that triumphalism is our besetting sin. It is a subtle and short step from rejoicing in the good news of Jesus Christ to attacking those who will not share in it. Our history shows that when we have the power to harm others we consider outside our circle of triumph, we are likely to use it. And Jesus will have none of it.”

Jesus will have none of it. No fire.

Barbara Messner writes at BarbPoetPriest.blog:

“Jesus’ way is respect and compassion.
It’s ironic and tragic at present
that some leaders who claim to be Christian
think that missiles will force a surrender.
They are bullies demanding submission:
those who crucified Christ made such choices.”

For those of you wondering about the recent aerial bombings of other countries, I think Rev. Messner points us to the heart of Jesus: No fire.

Those who crucified Christ made such choices. Choices to bring fire. Death. Destruction.

Jesus said: No fire.

No fire.

No fire from heaven to rend the earth.

No fire from self-righteousness to rend the heart.

No fire from God’s own sanctity to burn the spirit.

No fire.

No fire.

Amen.

by Eric Anderson

Watch the Recorded Sermon

Pastor Eric makes changes when he preaches. Sometimes he intends to. Sometimes he just does.

The image is an illustration of the Transfiguration from Read’n Grow Picture Bible Illustrations (Biblical illustrations by Jim Padgett, courtesy of Sweet Publishing, Ft. Worth, TX, and Gospel Light, Ventura, CA. Copyright 1984.). Image provided by Distant Shores Media/Sweet Publishing, CC BY-SA 3.0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=18885603.

What I’m Thinking: The Armor of God

When we remember the “whole armor of God,” what do we remember?

Here’s a transcript:

I’m thinking about the sixth chapter of Ephesians (Ephesians 6:10-20), specifically that portion that is generally remembered as “the whole armor of God.”

I’ll admit this is not my favorite passage of Scripture. I don’t tend to favor those which rely upon military imagery, or symbolism of the instruments of violence. I tend to think that human beings have a remarkable capacity for spiritualizing such things as – oh, I don’t know – “Sell all your possessions and give them to the poor” – while we take the imagery of violence remarkably literally.

Still, here it is and there is something rather fascinating about it. First, the apostles stated quite clearly that these were not weapons to be used against enemies of flesh and blood, that this was equipment for is spiritual struggle. He spiritualized the imagery of violence.

And then it also must be said that all the things that he describes as armor, which includes righteousness and faith and even peace, these are things that do not provide safety (well, I suppose peace provides safety) in the real world. There’s only one weapon in this whole armor of God, the sword of the Word, and not even our words but the Word of God.

Even the one implement of destruction does not truly belong to the wielder. The Word belongs to God.

Early Christians were known for being a pacifist people. One of the problems that the Romans had with them was that they frequently refused to serve in the legions or the auxiliaries. This is a facet of Christianity that was, I’m afraid, all too soon forgotten, all too soon rejected, all too soon contradicted: over and over again.

The armor of God is no armor at all. The armor of God is truth and righteousness. The armor of God is faith and peace. The armor of God is our faithfulness to the One who came and died upon a cross and gave up his life for all people.

That’s what I’m thinking. I’m curious to hear what you’re thinking. Leave me your thoughts in the comment section below. I’d love to hear from you.

Sermon: Repeating Myself

July 14, 2024

Exodus 20:13
Luke 22:47-51

From time to time on social media, I introduce a thought with something like these words: “I shouldn’t have to say this,” or “I shouldn’t have to say this again,” followed by, “but I guess it has to be said: You don’t get to kill people.”

Yesterday’s event in Pennsylvania, when someone with a rifle apparently attempted to assassinate Donald Trump, killed a spectator and wounded three people including the former president, leads me to say it again. You don’t get to kill people.

Honestly, that ought to be all I have to say about it, but sometimes a preacher has to toss out the prepared sermon about rejoicing in God’s grace and glory and take a look at the things we don’t rejoice in so much. Human violence.

I wrote this in 2016: “I guess it needs to be said: You don’t get to kill someone because they’re different. God made LGBTQ folks. Muslim folks. Black folks. Brown folks. You don’t get to kill them because of any of that.

“You don’t get to kill people because you’re angry, or scared, or offended, or embarrassed. You don’t get to kill them out of resentment or a sense of betrayal. You don’t get to kill them out of privilege or pride. You don’t get to kill them.

“When the sword flashed in the Garden of Gethsemane, Jesus said, ‘Enough of this.’

“Two thousand years and millions of dead later, haven’t we had enough?”

It took just three words in Hebrew for God to command us not to murder. Jesus used three words again to still his follower’s violence. I’m a lot wordier.

And it still isn’t enough.

Can we admit that we glorify violence? Can we admit that there is something compelling about the spectacle of it all? We don’t entertain ourselves with actual deaths, the way the Romans did, but we do entertain ourselves with imitated violence (the Romans did that, too). The ancient Hawaiians praised the prowess of their warriors, as did the Japanese, Europeans, and native Americans. That’s accomplishment in violence.

Amidst the acclaim of the warrior, where is the voice of Jesus saying, “Enough of this”?

The United States is awash in guns. We’re also second to Brazil in the number of deaths each year. I’ve said this before, too. The problem with guns is not the increase in violence, it’s the increase in deadly violence. Guns make it easier to kill.

With a lot of guns around, it’s shockingly easy to kill.

Can’t we make it harder?

I don’t know. Americans do like their guns.

To be honest, as long as continue to praise the warrior rather than the peacemaker, then the worship of guns rather than the worship of God will have dominion.

Enough of this.

I don’t really have a practical solution. I have a spiritual solution. It’s a spiritual solution that’s been available to humanity for the two thousand years since Jesus. It’s a spiritual solution that’s been available to humanity for the twelve hundred years or so before Jesus when God gave Moses the Ten Commandments. “Do not murder.” It’s got the virtue of simplicity.

For the most part, it’s worked.

It’s just not working well enough.

Please God, let it work better.

Amen.

by Eric Anderson

Watch the Recorded Sermon

Pastor Eric wrote this new sermon in response to the events of July 13, 2024, on the morning of July 14.

The image is La guérison de Malchus (The Healing of Malchus) by James Tissot (between 1886 and 1894) – Online Collection of Brooklyn Museum; Photo: Brooklyn Museum, 2008, 00.159.239_PS2.jpg, Public Domain, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=10904580.