Calling Down Fire

Calling Down Fire - Luke 9:51–62

This past week has seen more Airstrikes and  Bombings in Gaza as well as in Lebanon, more destruction in Ukraine, as well as bomb attacks in Israel and Iran.  And so it is one of those interesting co-incidences or perhaps tragic ironies that in the Revised Common Lectionary, in the Gospel reading set for this Sunday we read of James and John asking Jesus: 

“Lord, do you want us to call down fire from heaven to consume them?”

Recalling the stories on Elijah in the Old Testament where the prophet calls down fire from heaven on his enemies, James and John ask this not in a war room, but on the dusty road with Jesus, after a Samaritan village has refused them welcome. They want payback, Divine retribution, a holy incineration. And Jesus rebukes them.

Luke 9:51 marks a decisive moment, a turning point in Luke’s Gospel:  “When the days drew near for him to be taken up, he set his face to go to Jerusalem.”

At this point in Luke’s Gospel, Jesus sets his face towards Jerusalem. He knows the road ahead leads to confrontation, betrayal, suffering, and death. And so he begins his journey to the Cross.  His purpose however is not to destroy, but to heal; not to dominate, but to embody and to reveal within his own life the divine way of peace.

The refusal of the Samaritan village to welcome Jesus is not surprising. Samaritans and Jews had long-standing hostilities. Mostly they lived in a state of estrangement and tension, avoiding one-another’s areas, but at times the tensions broke out into acts of violence and murder. James and John’s response reveals how easily religious identity can fuse with violence. They had grown up in a culture which looked down upon Samaritans who they had been taught to view as heretics, ethnically impure, and theologically corrupt. In turn, the Samaritans saw the Jerusalem-based Judaism of the south as a later corrupt innovation from returned exiles from Babylon.  James and John assume they are acting righteously in defending Jesus' honour in wanting to call fire down from heaven to destroy the Samaritan village. But Jesus will have none of it.

He is not a Messiah of fire and fury. He is not here to crush enemies, but to love them. And that is a distinctly Lukan theme.

From the very beginning of Luke’s Gospel, Jesus is framed as a bringer of peace:

The angels at his birth sing, “Glory to God in the highest, and on earth peace.” (Luke 2:14)

Zechariah speaks of “the tender mercy of our God… to guide our feet into the way of peace.” (Luke 1:78–79)

Jesus weeps over Jerusalem later in the Gospel saying, “If you had only known on this day what would bring you peace…” (Luke 19:42)

In Luke, Jesus does not only teach peace; he embodies it. He enacts a non-violent revolution calling his followers to a life of radical simplicity, equality, generosity and unwavering love.

That’s why this rebuke of James and John is so important. It is a teaching moment. Jesus is forming his followers not just in doctrine, but in holy Christ-like living. Discipleship in Luke’s Gospel is not so much about being right but in living in harmony with the way of God shown by Jesus. It’s about becoming whole and compassionate as God himself is compassionate as Jesus says earlier in Luke’s Gospel. It’s about resisting the urge to retaliate, to harden, to fire back in vengeance.

This is the way of the Kingdom of God in Luke’s gospel. 

Lately, I’ve been reflecting on a phrase I came across in the writing of Levi Dowling. In his portrayal of Jesus he has Jesus speak not so much of the Kingdom of God, but rather of the Kingdom of the Soul.  Suggesting that the Kingdom of God is an internal, inner reality of the soul, the heart, of the mind and of the spirit.  It struck me deeply.

And so when Jesus speaks of the Kingdom, he is not merely referring to some geopolitical rearrangement or a future afterlife. He is pointing to a presence and a reality at the deepest level of our being—an inner realm where God reigns, not by force, but by love, an inner reality that when discovered radiates outwards to touch and transform the external world

In this story, James and John have not yet entered this Kingdom of the Soul, The Kingdom of God that Jesus says is within them. They are still clinging to the outer world of tribal pride, reactive violence, and religious ego.

The Kingdom of the Soul from which Jesus lives says: Let go of vengeance.  Let go of needing to be right. Let go of the illusion that God is on your side more than anyone else’s.

Our passage suggests that this kingdom grows where healing and forgiveness is chosen over vengeance. It is made visible when we refuse to call down fire, even when it may feel justified.

The passage continues with three interesting and perhaps confusing encounters with would-be disciples who are drawn to Jesus but hesitate when the cost becomes clear.

One wants to follow, but Jesus warns he has no place to lay his head.  Another asks to bury his father first—a reasonable request—but Jesus calls him forward without delay. A third wants to say goodbye to family, but Jesus says, “No one who puts a hand to the plow and looks back is fit for the kingdom.”

These are hard words. But perhaps they are best understood not as commands, but rather as  invitations to inner freedom. They are intended by Luke as stark and arresting comments to get us the reader to consider where our true commitments lie and the potential cost of what following Jesus might actually mean.  

Following Jesus into the Kingdom of the Soul means loosening our grip on all that keeps us bound—whether comfort, security, grief, guilt, obligation, or fear.

The way of peace that Jesus models in Luke’s Gospel is not comfortable. It requires letting go of identities and attachments that once felt sacred. It means trusting in something deeper, even as we walk a difficult road.

In closing, today, Jesus invites us to become people who refuse to call down fire—even when the world around us seems to demand it.

What does that look like?

Perhaps it may mean speaking the truth in love while also trying to find common ground in a family torn by tension.

It may mean resisting the urge to dehumanise the other side in political debates, or in fact anyone who one may disagree with.

It may mean advocating for justice not with rage, but with reverence and a deep sense of care.

It may mean praying not for our enemies to be defeated, but for their eyes—and ours—to be opened to see a deeper truth and a bigger reality.

The world will always tempt us to burn bridges, to scorch the earth, to believe that some lives are worth more than others.

But Jesus shows us another way. He walks to Jerusalem not to bring destruction, but to bear it in his own body on the cross—absorbing the worst of human violence and answering it in return with an unwavering love. And how can he do this? Because he has awakened to a deeper Kingdom, a Kingdom of the Soul where we discover that life is eternal and death does not truly exist. What we call death is but a moment of transition and transformation into a new and greater existence. And living in the freedom of this space, Jesus is able to give his life away in Love.  And his invitation is that we too might discover this Kingdom of the Soul for ourselves and to begin to live in the freedom and love that is brings.

I can’t say that I live fully in that space myself.  But I think I see glimpses of it and it urges me to a place of deeper trust, deeper wisdom, and deeper love. Amen.