We learned last week here in church that, in this Gospel of Luke, Jesus has been strolling through the Galilean countryside toward his final destination, Jerusalem – the Holy City - for about ten chapters. All the while, he has been engaged in an itinerant ministry spreading the news of God’s impending kingdom.
People along the way have recognized that he is a pretty cool guy, and a bunch of them have been tagging along. Needless-to-say, he is trending on social media. He has lots of facebook friends and a solid Twitter following.
Folks like him because he is rather warm and cozy. He heals the sick and casts out demons. He buys local, eats organic, and preaches about lilies in the field and birds in the air. His message has always been: Don’t worry, and, above all, do not be afraid. You are precious in God’s sight.
You can almost imagine this popular young Nazarene upstart rabbi wearing bell bottom pants and a blue denim shirt with a peace symbol wreathed in multi-colored flowers embroidered on the back. After all, he is the Prince of Peace, right? He is the Jesus of the gentle hipster ways and kind words.
Or so we thought! Until we fast forward to these verses we read this morning, and, wow, what went wrong? It is like Jesus had a no good, horrible, terrible, very bad hair day! Maybe he needs another cup of coffee – or two!
“I have come to bring fire to the earth, and oh how I wish it were blazing already! Do you think I have come to bring peace to the earth? No! I’ve come for division!”
What gives? What happened to the lilies and the birds? Where is the Jesus we knew and loved and came to church to hear about and be comforted by? We thought he was the Prince of Peace! And how about the mild-mannered man with the halo and the little children flocking to him, crawling up onto his lap? Or the Jesus of the Good Shepherd and the Lost Sheep – and, let’s not forget, the One who made a point of blessing the peacemakers? What’s up with the Gospel writer to include a passage like this one in his sacred narrative?
As Methodist pastor Jo Ann Taylor wrote, “The Jesus we see in this passage seems out of character with the Jesus who loves and heals and cares for the poor. This is not the sweet baby Jesus for whom the angels sang, “Peace on earth, good will to all” back in Luke 2. No, this Jesus announces division instead of peace. His rant sounds more like John the Baptist than the Beatitudes.”
Just when we think it is safe and comfortable to come to church on a summer morning, just when we think we kind of know what to do and maybe even how to do it, Jesus lashes out at us with all sorts of nasty names (“You hypocrites!”) and menacing threats pitting us against our own family members (“father against son and son against father, mother against daughter and daughter against mother, mother-in-law against her daughter-in-law and daughter-in-law against mother-in-law”).
Who is this Jesus that brings not peace, but discord? And how do we reconcile this man who, according to the Gospel writer, said that he came “to bring (hot) fire to the earth”, how do we reconcile him with the cool dude of the flowers and the birds?
Methodist chaplain Meghan Feldmeyer said it well, “We don’t really like talking about this Jesus, do we? This Jesus feels wrathful and angry and intimidating. This Jesus somehow seems at home with people who picket funerals...and televangelists...and let’s be honest, Christians don’t need any more of that kind of PR! The wrath of God is a hard sell.
Not many kids are memorizing this verse about fire and division at church camp, nor do people embroider it on pillows or hang it in the entryways of their homes.”
In short, this Jesus just does not seem safe. He is not the Jesus who will bring people flocking into declining churches. Or is he? After all, Jesus is a pretty complex guy, and we would be shortchanging him and his mission if we assumed that his angry outbursts have no place in our modern churches. Jesus does not seem safe, that is true. However, I do not think it is a question of him being safe.
Do you remember the book by C.S. Lewis, The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe? It is the first tale in the series, The Chronicles of Narnia, and is about four British siblings who were relocated during the WWII London Blitz to a home in the country. One afternoon, they enter a wardrobe closet and discover a whole other world named Narnia. This magical place is filled with talking animals and is ruled by a lion named Aslan.
The youngest child Lucy strikes up a conversation with Mr. Beaver and asks about Aslan. “Is he quite safe?” she queries to which Mr. Beaver replies, “"Safe?...Who said anything about safe? 'Course he isn't safe. But he's good.”
And so it is with Jesus. He is not safe and never has been, but he is good – even when his angry outbursts would get him labeled as mentally unstable or weird or just plain crazy – in our day as well as his.
There is a tension in Jesus’ ministry, a tension between peace and discord, between comforting words and angry outbursts, just as there is a tension between God’s dream for the world and our reality. And so perhaps, rather than keeping that tension hidden like some sort of dirty little church secret (Jesus gets mad too and is more than the gentle hippy with long brown hair and the soft Caucasian features that amateur artists insist on giving him), maybe we as 21stcentury Christians struggling to make Jesus relevant in a secular world, maybe we should be telling people – and showing people by what we as a church do in his name in our community - that Jesus is so much more than a two-dimensional cardboard relic from 1stcentury Palestine.
Maybe people need to know that, though Jesus may be the Prince of Peace, he did not ground his ministry in peaceful acceptance of the status quo. And so for us, for example, just because some people here in Raymond live in substandard housing and social isolation does not mean that we in our church look the other way and do not attempt to change that situation by becoming involved in the Fuller Center for Housing or by ensuring that our church building is accessible and welcoming to all people and by offering community-building activities and events as an integral part of our mission here in Raymond.
Maybe people need to know that Jesus did not found his mission by either rubberstamping or validating the human values and institutions he saw all around him – and would continue to see should he show up in our world today. And so for us, for instance, just because our President and his administration seem intent on forging an immigration policy that excludes people of color more than includes them does not make doing so morally right – and does not mean that we as a faith community should stand by and accept it without question.
Three men died and were waiting at the Pearly Gates to enter heaven. The first man said to St. Peter, "I was a preacher of the gospel, serving faithfully for over 40 years". Peter told him to step aside for further consideration.
The second man said, "I was also a preacher of the gospel; I served my church faithfully for 50 years". Peter told him to step aside for further consideration as well.
The third man stepped up and said, "I was not a preacher. I was just a government worker with the IRS for six months". Peter told him to step right up and come on in.
Both pastors now on the sidelines loudly objected, "Why does he get to go in before two ministers?"
Peter replied, "The truth is, in six months as an IRS agent, he scared the devil out of more people than either of you did in a long lifetime!"
Maybe people need to know that Jesus too can be pretty scary at times - like he is in these verses we read this morning. Those harsh words and even harsher indictments remind us that Jesus does not embody our social realities which favor those with power, often economic or racial power, over those who are powerless.
Maybe people need to know that Jesus is not safe, but he is good because he shatters the status quo, our world as we know it, shatters it with compassion and justice and mercy. And the Gospel writer is correct. If we choose to stand with Jesus, we may be divided from those we once believed thought the same way we think about non-violence and what it means to be a good global neighbor. Staking our claim with Jesus may mean becoming divided from those who fear giving up some of their power and prestige and hard-earned money in order to bring peace and justice to the powerless around us. That is part of the reason, by the way, that a committed church community is so precious – and so fragile. It is a place to celebrate that Jesus is not safe, but that he is good – and worth anchoring our lives to.
And that weather report at the end of today’s reading? That is worthy of a mention! Jesus chastises his listeners for being able to easily read the signs in the sky for tomorrow’s weather (“Red sky in the morning, sailor’s take warning.”), but not be similarly able to see the poverty and isolation – the signs that change must occur - all around them.
Perhaps it is easier just to ignore it all. As Jo Ann Taylor continued in her blog, “Maybe we think the problem is too big, like making sure there is enough affordable housing available. Maybe we think the problem has been around so long, there’s nothing anyone can do about it.”
In this passage, however, Jesus tells it like it is. He names the brokenness all around us – and brings it out of the darkness and into the light. He points to the division that has occurred and will continue to occur, so long as injustice and self-seeking is the norm. He points to the abyss which too often looms so close, the abyss that spirals us into meaningless lives and a jaded, cynical world.
This is a difficult passage to stomach, that is for sure. Where, O where, is the Gospel message – the Good News - in all this?
Well, I am here to tell you to listen – because the Gospel message is embedded even here in these verses. Listen!: Into all this – the brokenness, the struggle – into all this Jesus speaks and continues to speak, telling us over and over again that the Kingdom of God is so close if we will only let our hearts be ruptured and let compassion gush forth. Come and follow me, he invites. I am not safe, but I am good.
That is the Gospel message: I am not safe, but I am good. So that too is one of the signs (“Red sky at night, sailor’s delight.”), and surely it is a sign worth holding on to as we reconcile this angry Jesus we met today with the Prince of Peace we cling to. I am not safe, but I am good.
Maybe I should end this sermon right here – on this note of comfort. However, instead, I am going to end it with a warning of my own – not because I am angry but because I see this passage as a possible way out of church decline. I read these words in Uniting Church of Australia, Alister Pate’s, blog. Listen! “If we aren’t experiencing at least a little division, a little tension even within ourselves over Jesus’ claims on our lives, then perhaps we haven’t really grasped quite how radical the Gospel is.”
Not safe but good: Maybe that is what people need to know about Jesus today. Maybe that is the beginning of an answer to the most pressing question the church faces in this secular age: How do we help those who no longer need a God (no longer need Jesus) encounter the living God (the Living Christ) in their lives? (Alexander Root) Maybe the answer is really quite simple – an acknowledgment that this Living Christ is not safe, but he is good.
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