“Do you think I came to bring peace on earth? No, I tell you, but division.” We don’t expect such crazy-sounding talk from Jesus, the Prince of Peace, do we? We expect Jesus to bring the family together—but He, instead, says something else. He sets father against son, mother against daughter, and in-law against in-law.
Is this the same Jesus of whom the angels sang, “Peace on earth, goodwill toward men”? Is this the same Jesus who told His disciples, “Peace I leave with you; my peace I give to you” (John 14:27)? This same Jesus even asserts, “Do you think I came to bring peace on earth?”
To be honest, yes! We stammer: “Jesus, didn’t You come to bring peace on the earth?” We expect that from Him and want that from Him. The world is messed up enough with sin, without Jesus saying He came to bring division. What gives?
Our Gospel reading this morning is a reality check from Jesus. We live our earthly lives under the cross of Christ. Jesus is bringing a fire on the earth. A baptism awaits Him, and He is passionate for it to happen.
Jesus will bring a fire. So, will these flames help or hurt, heal or destroy? Jesus then gets figurative, speaking of baptism: His death and how focused He is to endure to the end. To baptize is to wash with water. But here, Jesus speaks of what He will face, death. His death will even give power to the water-and-Spirit baptism He will institute.
Fire can burn and destroy, but also renew and refine. When you refine metal, fire burns up the dross, the leftover scum floating on the molten metal. A fire also refines and purifies. Which is it, the flames of the Law or the fire of the Gospel?
The Law is the fire and brimstone of Sodom and Gomorrah and the threat of the everlasting fires of Hell. The Gospel is the burning bush, which caught Moses’ eye, the pillar of fire during Israel’s exodus, and the flaming tongues of Pentecost, God giving His Holy Spirit to His people.
The burning flames Jesus will bring is that of His baptism, His death, but also what will follow. John the Baptizer spoke of this: “He will baptize you with the Holy Spirit and fire” (Matthew 3:11). John pointed forward to the fiery tongues of Pentecost. Like the burning bush, these flames will burn but not burn up, blaze but not be consumed.
For our Lord’s fire to light, a sacrifice must take place, a whole-burnt offering. This sacrifice will be THE Old-Covenant sacrifice, which will also bring in the New. So, our Lord’s fire of death will not only fulfill but also complete. Only He can kindle this fire. Only He can die for you—the burnt offering of the Law. Only He can give you life—the righteous flames of the Gospel.
Jesus told us He was “distressed” until His baptism of death took place. “Focused” or “driven” strikes closer to the heart of Jesus’ words: An intense, burning passion blazes within Him. He is passionate to save you—and He will do so!
“For the joy set before him, [Jesus] endured the cross, despising its shame” (Hebrews 12:2). One purpose drove Him: to light a fire in the all-enveloping darkness, bringing light and life by His dying and rising. Nothing will deter Jesus from His death to save.
In the deep, dark death of Jesus is a Pentecost fire, a Gospel fire—God’s burning passion for saving a sinful humanity and a fallen creation. Only in His death do you find real peace, shalom, wholeness and healing, which the world cannot give, does not have, and cannot offer. This shalom becomes real because of sins washed clean by the blood of the Lamb—of God in Christ restoring the world to Himself, brought to completion on the Last Day.
This peace doesn’t count our sins against us, for it roots itself in God’s Word declaring us righteous because of Jesus. So, the sin-slaying Word of God quiets our conscience, for no eternal condemnation can exist for those who are in Christ.
But, if we’re honest, we want something else. Oh, we want peace—but on our terms. We want a can’t-we-all-just-get-along peace. People wanted that in Jeremiah’s day. The people didn’t want to listen to Prophet’s words. Who wants death, impending destruction, and 70 years of exile? I don’t. I prefer the lies I want to believe.
We want something other than a cross, something “relevant,” something uplifting, even if it is a lie. Besides, I know the old, old story of Jesus—tell me something else! I’m bored with it. Ah, so now the book of Hebrews needs to enter our ears.
Faith is narrow and focused like an endurance runner focused on the finish line. He strains forward, not looking somewhere else. You realize what happens when your focus is not on the finish line, right? You trip and fall.
“Let us run with endurance the race set before us, looking to Jesus, who begins and completes our faith” (Hebrews 12:2). Fix your eyes on Jesus, who died and rose from death. Look to Jesus, who endured the cross, taking in your sin to save you. Focus on Him, the way a runner fixates on the finish line.
Keep everything else on the fringes of your visual field. The center belongs to Jesus. Without Him in the center, nothing else will be in proper focus.
The real Christian faith is not flabby, soft, and lazy. True faith doesn’t weasel: “Jesus did it all for me. So, I can sit on my haunches do nothing.” You’re in a race, not a sleepover. The heart of faith is pumping, with the breath of the Spirit filling your lungs. Strain toward the finish line, for no one else can run for you. Your time in the bleachers will come. Today, however, is not that day. Today, you run the race of faith.
In the grandstands around you are all those who died in faith and now live in eternity. They endured in the faith, trusting God’s promise in Christ to their dying breath. They hung on to what God said, even when He looked like He failed them. They didn’t even receive the promise in this life but hung on to our Lord’s Word. Here’s why: God is faithful to His Word.
Moses’ parents trusted God and disobeyed the king’s order to kill their baby boy. Moses, adopted by the Pharaoh’s daughter, chose to identify himself with his enslaved people rather than live in the luxury of royalty. In faith, Moses faced down the Pharaoh of Egypt, leading God’s people through the Red Sea and wilderness, keeping the Passover with the sprinkled blood, protecting the firstborn from death.
In the vast cloud of witnesses is Rahab. She was the prostitute at Jericho, who trusted our Lord’s promise of protection as the walls of her city came crashing down. These saints are watching us, which is what the word “witness” means. They are witnessing something—us. They are cheering us on to the finish line of eternity.
We find Daniel, who went into the lion’s pit. We also discover the seven brothers in the Apocrypha book of 2 Maccabees. They refused to recant their faith in the promised Messiah because of the resurrection to come. Hebrews describes it this way: “Some, refusing release, died under torture to gain a better resurrection” (Hebrews 11:35).
Yes, the body rising from death is that important! And why not? For Jesus will return to restore and recreate what our fall into sin brought into ruin. Running the race of faith calls for enduring what may be unendurable for the promise awaiting us. No wonder the saints in eternity are encouraging us. Like us, they also anticipate Christ fulfilling their faith, as well. They are just further along than we are.
You understand how runners are. They drop every ounce of excess weight. “Throw off everything that hinders,” the book of Hebrews commands. Whatever stands in the way of trusting in Jesus, toss it aside—even the sin entangling us. Why? The suffocating weight of sin is always sticking to us. That is the reality of the race we run.
But you need not run, slogged down by sin. Don’t carry your load of guilt. The burden will only wear you out and slow you down. Jesus didn’t die His death for you to bear sin’s heavy load. Throw it away. Confess it and receive our Lord’s forgiveness. Sin is a crushing weight, sapping your strength. Let Jesus take your burden away.
Then run the race of faith with hope, exhilaration, and joy! Focus on Jesus. His joy is to save you, which turns your joy into receiving the salvation He gives to you in Word and Sacrament. For He waits to welcome you at the end of your race with arms open wide. He will place the victor’s crown on your head.
When you’re bone tired, and discouragement becomes your closest friend, fix your eyes of faith on Jesus. Let everything else recede into the fringes. Jesus will uphold you. He will strengthen you. He will see you through from death into life.
St. Paul wrote these words from a dank, Roman dungeon, awaiting his execution:
I fought the fight well, finished the race, and kept the faith. The victor’s crown of righteousness is now waiting for me, which the Lord, the righteous Judge, will award to me on the Day he comes. And the prize is not only for me but for all who long for his return. [2 Timothy 4:7-8]
The race of faith looks like what Paul described. This world has but little peace to offer; yet in eternity, you will live in the peace beyond all understanding. Death will still come to claim us, but in eternity, we will experience life unending in all its fullness.
In this world, joy may be a fleeting commodity; in the world to come, it will be eternal joy beyond our imagination. So, run the race of faith, for, in Christ, the victory is yours. Amen.
