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            As you might imagine, I experienced a whole lot of “firsts” this summer—first time to use a mosquito net, first time (and last) to ride on the outside of a jam packed microbus, first time to try and get up on a surfboard, first time to have a monkey crawl on my back.  If I wanted to, I could keep right on going. 

But I have to say that one of the most significant “firsts” for me was living in fairly close proximity to a volcano, the Volkan Masaya to be exact.  Now, the Masaya Volcano, spelled m-a-s-a-y-a, is quite a sight to behold.  On one of my earliest days in Nicaragua, I noticed what appeared to be a bank of clouds on an otherwise clear morning.  It seemed strange to me until someone explained that what I was seeing wasn’t clouds, but volcanic steam and gas.  According to my travel guide, the indigenous people of the region once “fear it and explained eruptions as displays of anger to be appeased with sacrifices, often human.”[1]  Yikes! 

Up close you can actually peer down into one of the steaming, smoking craters and if conditions are right you can actually see the glowing lava.  Signs all over the place warn visitors not to get too close, not to spend more than an hour at the viewing center, to park your car down hill so that if a sudden eruption occurs you can make a faster get away.  (Yeah, right!)  In the unlikely event that you are unable to get away though, you should crawl under your car for protection.  But that is little comfort considering that back in 2000 the crater burped up a single boulder or bomblet that crushed an Italian tourist’s automobile.  Locals seem to take some comfort in the fact that the last recorded major eruption was in 1772, and yet, I’m not so sure.  Is that fact that it hasn’t blown its top in such a long time cause for relief or fear?  Living in the shadow of an active volcano was an adventure unlike I’d ever had before, one that I couldn’t have prepared myself for, and for which I clearly had no frame of reference.

And what with all the rain we’ve had this summer, with where we happen to live, the possibility, the mere notion of being caught up in some sort of fiery conflagration seems pretty far fetched to say the very least.  And the thought of a fire and brimstone kind of God behind it all runs counter to what we want to believe, which makes Jesus’ words to the disciples all the more difficult to understand.  “I came to bring fire to the earth and how I wish that it were already kindled!  Do you think that I have come to bring peace to the earth?  No, I tell you, but rather division!”

To be perfectly honest we don’t like the kind of Jesus who we bump up against this morning.  We much rather deal with a kinder and gentler Jesus, a nice guy that we can really relate to, a Jesus who accepts us “just as we are” who instead of peace brings division.  And why not, isn’t he supposed to be the very “prince of peace” the prophet Isaiah had foretold?  The kind of God we’re looking for is empathetic, understanding, who doles out affirmation and acceptance.  As far as images go, Jesus the Good Shepherd wins out in a landslide over a fire stoking Jesus, so we might as well just purge that one from the books!  What’s more a confrontational Jesus isn’t good for marketing, especially these days when the church is doing all it can to attract new members.

And yet, wherever Jesus went, he stirred up trouble, not with the “godless heathen” but with the political and religious elite, those whose job it was to keep things running smoothly, to make sure that people followed the rules and didn’t get out of hand.  If ours was a world of sheer goodness and absolute beauty, a place where everyone had food to eat, a decent place to live, where children could go to school and people didn’t have to live in fear then Jesus would be a misguided fool to say the very least. 

But the truth is the world is a far different place than any of us, myself included, would like to acknowledge.  We live in a world where human exploitation and environmental degradation are accepted because in the end it’s good for the global economy.  I experienced a lot of wonderful things in Nicaragua to be sure, but there were also things that I found very troubling, not the least of which was the impact of the global economy on real people that I came to know.  As the second poorest country in the Western hemisphere and tenth poorest in the world, I think.  It’s not that people are unwilling to work, but that wages are so low.

 One of the more recent “economic initiatives” is the advent of what’s known as “Zona Francas”, foreign owned factories where clothing is manufactured, clothing that in many cases ends up in our closets.  The people who work in these factories put in ten, twelve hours for maybe a few dollars a day.  I heard stories about what work there is like—being forced to stand six to eight hours at a time with no break, not being able to talk to anyone, being physically abused by supervisors.  If anyone starts to make noises about not being treated fairly they’re fired on the spot, no questions asked.  If enough people start making noises about the poor working conditions the company threatens to pull up stakes and move it operations to another country where there are plenty of other people willing to work.  And whether we accept it or not, our desire for cheap goods plays a significant part in the system that creates these kinds of places.  

It is then to this world, to the kind of world we live in that Jesus comes, not to play nice, to say everything is okay, but to proclaim the nearness of God’s kingdom, to lay bare every illusion, to shatter the self serving dream, to break down the death dealing systems that perpetuate the injustice of a “have” and “have not” world, and to reveal the depths of our own sin hardened heats.  The unavoidable reality is that the hard word Jesus speaks, the fire he longs to kindle is meant for the likes of us too!

Look, Jesus isn’t at all interested in cosmetic changes, in merely rearranging the deck chairs, in helping people to develop their full potential so they can “be all they can be.”  Jesus comes “to make all things new.”  And “if anyone is in Christ, there is a new creation: everything old has passed away; see everything has become new!”  But to be made new means getting close to the fire, too close for comfort, so close that everything that gets in the way between us and God is burned away.  And we might well be surprised to discover that some of the best kindling for the fire isn’t vice—our petty indiscretions, our failures, the wrongs we have done, but virtue—obeying the rules, keeping our nose clean, doing what we’re supposed to do.  When all is said and done there’s nothing we can do to make things right with God, nothing we can do to save ourselves, nothing we can do to hold back the flames. 

And yet the end of this consuming conflagration is not destruction, but something new.  When the flames die down, when the heat abates, when the smoke finally clears what is left is a thing of beauty.

One of the interesting places I visited in Nicaragua was a little artisans’ village called San Juan de Oriente.  There potters create beautiful vases, pots, plates, bowls like this one and other items like this flute.  They’re carrying on a centuries old tradition that goes back to pre-Colombian times.  One of the little shops will give you a tour of the shop out back and even give you a chance to try your hand at the potter’s wheel.  I didn’t do so well, but I think Luke may be on his way to becoming an expert!  Over in the corner stands the ceramic kiln.  Twenty even thirty feet away you can feel the heat it generates, sometimes in excess of a thousand degrees Fahrenheit.  But deep inside the chamber the fire and heat transforms drab, grayish pieces of clay into works of beauty like the ones I brought home with me.

Like a piece of pottery in a kiln Jesus speaks and the dross is burned away, the old sinner is put to death and we are transformed, changed, made new.  And from now on nothing is the same—how we see God in our lives and at work in the world around us, how we live for the sake of our neighbor, how we live out our baptismal calling “to trust God, proclaim Christ in Word and deed, care for others and the world God made and to work for justice and peace.”

In the hearing of God’s word we are being rendered renders into something new—the reflection, the image of God Himself.  May our lives shine brightly, that all may know the wonder of God’s love.  Amen.

 

Pastor Brian Peterson

 

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[1] Moon Handbook: Nicaragua, Second Edition, Randy Wood and Josh Berman, Avalon Travel Publishing, Emeryville, CA, pg. 68.

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