Homily for Proper 15 Year C
Homily for Proper 15 Year C
Luke 12:49-56
If, in the first century, you walked down a dusty road in Galilee you would know who is in charge
—not because someone told you,
but because you could feel it.[1]
The soldiers at the crossroads.
The eagle of Rome stamped into every coin.[2]
The shadow of the Antonia Fortress [3]
leaning over the Temple.
Even the taxes—layer upon layer
—remind you who holds the power
…Caesar, far away, yet so very near.
And in that same air—
Pharisees debating purity codes in the marketplace.[4]
Sadducees in their fine robes,
managing the temple and political alliances.
Essenes disappearing into the wilderness,
withdrawing from it all.
Zealots whispering about revolt.
Everywhere talk of revolt.
And, people, without a label,
just keeping Sabbath,
raising children,
and praying for deliverance.[5]
A people of faith, rich in hope, but also fractious,
noisy with competing visions of what God would do next,
what would happen now.
Competing visions of what we should be doing now.
The stories of the Maccabees are still told
—how God raised up a deliverer once before.
Some imagine a warrior-king,
David’s heir,
leading a victory march through Jerusalem.
Others dream of a priest who will cleanse the Temple or a prophet who will speak the final word of God’s justice.
Voices like John the Baptist
have been crying out in the wilderness:
God’s reign is near—get ready.
The people are leaning forward,
watching, waiting
for God to act.
But waiting is hard
when your stomach is empty.
You work the fields for a wage that barely feeds your children.
Greek theaters and Roman baths glitter with wealth;
but widows must choose between oil and bread.
Orphans go hungry.
In the center of it all—Jerusalem, and at its center—the Temple.
In a few days, pilgrims will flood the city for Passover, remembering freedom from Egypt
under the watchful eyes of Roman guards.
The high priests,
appointed with Roman approval,
preside over sacrifice and commerce.
To some, the Temple is the meeting place of heaven and earth.
To others, it has become a marketplace and a den of collusion.[6]
It is both sacred ground and a flashpoint for unrest.
A disciple looks up at the sky and says, “looks like rain.”
Jesus turns and asks:
“Why do you not know how to interpret the present time?”
It seems obvious to Jesus,
what is going on,
what is about to happen.
He is dismayed that they don’t see it.
Maybe you’ve felt that way sometimes.
You look around,
and what is happening in the world
seems obvious to you,
and you are shocked
others don’t see it.
We know when the rain is coming.
Jesus says to the crowd: “You know how to interpret the appearance of earth and sky. Why do you not know how to interpret the present time?”
There is more than clock time and calendar time. There is kairos—a pregnant now, thick, heavy with decision.[7]
A figuring out what God’s asking of us right now
A “now” that can be,
but must not be,
missed.
Stand with Jesus on a Jerusalem street.
A Roman soldier jingles coins stamped with Caesar’s face.
Up on the platform above the Temple courts,
the fortress glares
—a reminder that peace is enforced.[8]
The high-priestly families broker calm with the governor,
afraid of revolt
and afraid of Rome.
In the markets and villages people whisper
—about deliverers, about taxes, about hunger.
Prophets and would-be messiahs stir hope and fear;
apocalyptic teachers do the same.[9]
The air hums with danger and possibility. A nation on edge.
It is into that “now”
that Jesus says,
“Read this time.”[10]
Not to frighten, but to wake.
Jesus anticipates his dying.[11]
The “fire” he longs to kindle
was the fire of which John the Baptist preached,
a refiner’s fire[12]:
a turning up the heat
to see
what precious metal
remains at the end.
Jesus longs for the Kingdom of God to come.
He has been saying it is near.
Luke records the angels singing “Peace on Earth,”
but the prince of peace
brings not the peace of appeasement
—but the steadiness of truth told in love,
mercy held with justice,
fidelity that outlasts fear.
That kind of peace unsettles and disturbs.
That kind of peace can divide people, even families.
“Division?” you ask. “Must it divide?”[13]
Hear the mercy beneath the hard word.
This is a fire that does not destroy;
it purifies.
The division Jesus names is what happens
when false peace is exposed
and true peace takes root.
Appeasement ends.
Love, rightly ordered, begins.
God first
—so we can love everyone else
more fully.[14]
Yes, the choice can cut.
The gospel will not fit inside the boxes we build:
nation, party, family, persona.
Jesus will not be one loyalty among many.
Jesus is Lord, not mascot.
And that claim will singe our other allegiances.
So, how do we learn to read this time?
Maybe in public.
You note a policy protects you
but crushes your neighbor.
You stand with the small,
but without hating the powerful;
you tell the truth and keep mercy.
That is reading the present time.
Maybe in creation. The earth grows hotter;
fires and floods increase.
You change habits, advocate for creation care,
You plant, and you repair.
Small? Yes.
Faithful? Yes.
That is reading the present time.
Pray the headlines.
Ask, “Where does the refiner’s fire touch my world?”
Practice obedience:
a debt you can forgive,
a generosity you can make,
a silence you should break,
a grudge you can release.
Act—gently, clearly, without swagger, without fear.
And--keep watch together.
No one reads kairos alone.
We need to be a people who will test leadings,
share courage,
and bind up wounds when the “peace” kept by fear
gives way to the peace Jesus gives in truth.
We know how to read the weather. We know when to grab an umbrella. Today, Jesus asks for more. “Why do you not know how to interpret the present time?”
Some days it is easier to argue about tomorrow
than to obey today.
Easier to forecast than to follow.
Easier to keep quiet than to let love reorder things.
The match has been struck on the wood of the cross.
This is a pregnant “now.”
A now that can be missed
—Or, a now that can be lived.
[1] For socio-political frame of Roman rule in Judaea see Fergus Millar, The Roman Near East, 31 B.C.–A.D. 337 (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1993), 35–74.
[2] For coins/imperial presence (“the eagle of Rome stamped into every coin”) see David Hendin, Guide to Biblical Coins, 6th ed. (New York: Amphora, 2010), 287–303 (Tiberian denarii; imperial titulature and imagery).
[3] For Josephus on the Antonia Fortress overlooking the Temple and festival security see Josephus, The Jewish War, 5.238–247; 2.223–227, trans. and ed. H. St. J. Thackeray et al., Loeb Classical Library (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1927–1985).
[4] For Pharisees, Sadducees, Essenes; “Zealots”/Fourth Philosophy see Josephus, The Jewish War, 2.119–166; Antiquities 18.11–25 (on the parties and Judas the Galilean). Shaye J. D. Cohen, From the Maccabees to the Mishnah, 2nd ed. (Louisville: Westminster John Knox, 2006), 97–132.
[5] For Judaism as lived practice (purity, Sabbath, Temple economy) see E. P. Sanders, Judaism: Practice and Belief, 63 BCE–66 CE (London: SCM Press, 1992), 179–228; 241–78.
[6] For temple leadership, collaboration, and festival risk (Passover under watch) see Raymond E. Brown, The Death of the Messiah, vol. 1 (New York: Doubleday, 1994), 365–78.
[7] On καιρός as the “pregnant now” (semantic field and NT usage) see Walter Bauer et al., A Greek-English Lexicon of the New Testament and Other Early Christian Literature, 3rd ed., rev. and ed. Frederick W. Danker (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 2000), s.v. “καιρός.” And, Ceslas Spicq, Theological Lexicon of the New Testament, trans. and ed. James D. Ernest (Peabody, MA: Hendrickson, 1994), 2:255–58.
[8] For Jesus, empire, and contested “peace” see Warren Carter, The Roman Empire and the New Testament: An Essential Guide (Nashville: Abingdon, 2006), 63–84.
[9] On popular movements and unrest (prophets, would-be messiahs, banditry) see Richard A. Horsley and John S. Hanson, Bandits, Prophets, and Messiahs: Popular Movements in the Time of Jesus (Harrisburg, PA: Trinity Press International, 1985), 57–112.
[10] For technical exegesis (Greek, literary context, Luke 9:51–19:27) see John Nolland, Luke 9:21–18:34, Word Biblical Commentary 35B (Dallas: Word, 1993), 706–17.
[11] For historical-critical depth and theology of this section see François Bovon, Luke 2: A Commentary on the Gospel of Luke 9:51–19:27, Hermeneia (Minneapolis: Fortress Press, 2013), 224–33.
[12] On refiner’s fire (Mal 3:2–3) and Lukan fire (Luke 3:16–17; 12:49) see Andrew E. Hill, Malachi: A New Translation with Introduction and Commentary, Anchor Yale Bible 25D (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1998), 261–74; cf. Green, Luke, 172–76 (Luke 3:16–17).
[13] See Joel B. Green, The Gospel of Luke, New International Commentary on the New Testament (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1997), 495–503 (on 12:49–56).
[14] For pastoral-theological synthesis of the pericope see John T. Carroll, Luke: A Commentary, New Testament Library (Louisville: Westminster John Knox, 2012), 264–69.
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