Jesus begins with fire. Anyone reading today’s gospel passage might wonder, what kind of God talks about bringing fire? Isn’t God meant to bring peace, comfort, and calm? But when I think of the fire Jesus is talking about, I am reminded of a story. For years, a little village lived under a permanent fog. It was not ordinary mist. It was thick, heavy, and strangely comforting. People learned to move slowly and feel their way around. They built their homes close together so no one had to walk far. They told themselves, “This is the safest way to live.” One night, a traveller arrived carrying a torch. The fire was small, but in the fog, it looked like a miracle. He held it high, and for the first time in living memory, people could see beyond a few feet. They could see their neighbours’ faces, the cracks in the walls, and the piles of rubbish in the corners. Some gasped in awe. “This is freedom! We can finally see where we are going.”
But others pulled back. “Put it out! We don’t want to see all that mess. The fog keeps us peaceful.” The traveller did not argue. He simply said, “I didn’t come to make you comfortable. I came so you can choose. Now you know what is here and what could be beyond the fog.” That night, the village split. Some followed the traveller into the open, toward the mountains they had only heard about in stories. Others stayed behind, holding tightly to the soft safety of the fog. The fire did not destroy the village. It revealed it.
This is the kind of fire Jesus is talking about. It is not to burn the world down but to show the difference between truth and illusion, between life and what is already dying. It reveals the truth about ourselves, the truth about others, and the truth about the world. It brings to light what we would rather hide: the rubble of Gaza’s homes, the children thin from hunger, the silent systems that allow this while other live in abundance, the refugee camps in Sudan where families wait in uncertainty, and the countless victims of human trafficking whose cries go unheard. The division Jesus speaks of is this very thing: the difference between those who can accept the truth, even when it is frightening and uncomfortable, and those who turn away to stay in the safety of complacency.
The fog can feel safe—in denial, in distraction, in compromise—but it is only an illusion. Once the fire of Christ has burned through it, there is no going back. We stand at a crossroads. We can step into the open and follow the light, even when it means change, or we can return to the comfort of the fog and pretend it is enough. If we choose the fire, we do not walk alone. For the same light that reveals our brokenness also shows the path to hope, to healing, and to a world remade in love.
- Lilly Pushpam PBVM
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