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10 Pentecost - 14 Luke 12:49-56

Jesus is Jewish.

That means you cannot love Christ and be anti-Semitic at the same time.

It means heaven is run not by a Christian, but by a Jew.

And it means that whenever we hear a gospel reading about the rabbi and his

Jewish students and crowds, we are overhearing a different family’s conversation.

If he is talking also to Christians, it is only secondhand, brokered by his generous Holy

Spirit.

So when Jesus talks baptism, don’t picture a baby with smiling parents standing around a

pretty bowl of water.

Picture a grown man who can’t swim neck deep in the sea.

A couple years back, this foreigner asked a rabbi or a scribe, “How do I become Jewish?”

“Forget it,” they said.

“No, really, I want to be like you, live like you, worship your God and follow your

teachings.”

“No, really, forget it,” they said.

But the man persisted, and so the reluctant teacher started putting him through the

paces: learning Hebrew, memorizing Torah, reading commentary, arguing theology—a rigorous, multi-year education designed to weed out all but the truly serious.

He completed all of it and now still wants to become a Jew.

The teacher has saved the worst for last.

He will now drown this Gentile.

He will push and hold him underwater, which is the scariest place in the world.

There’s a reason that Noah and Moses and Jonah have to contend with floods and seas:

these are the Bible’s horror stories.

They are so terrifying, in fact, that we turned them into Sunday School lessons, the same

way we sanitize and minimize death into Halloween.

The drama of this murder is making a profound point: this man’s entire identity is

changing.

He is no longer who he was, no longer part of his family or people, which he renounces,

saying the massive no that is part of an even bigger yes to God.

If he survives the plunge, he will be a Jew, one of that widely mocked, misunderstood,

persecuted, trampled minority with only one strange, invisible God and a bunch of weird rituals and rules, many of which conflict with wider society.

Standing in the waves, he has reached the point of no return; nothing will ever be the

same again.


Jesus is Jewish, and so is his baptism.

He is heading for the cross, which is the scariest place in the world.

I have a baptism with which to be baptized, and what stress I am under until it is

completed!

God is calling him to be something entirely and unfathomably new, and it’s impossible to

get any head around all of it.

What is unmistakably, terribly clear is that God is calling him to die and that his heart

has already said a massive yes.


Baptism, of course, has ripple effects.

Not everyone will understand or approve.

Family and old friends will be divided, some in support, some in opposition.

The conflict has been building for weeks; just revisit the last handful of gospels

we have heard in worship.

Jesus has rejected potential followers who wanted to honor family and celebrated social

rejects: a Samaritan and an inappropriate woman who sat as a student at his feet.

He has sent out a delegation with instructions not to call down fire from heaven, a subtle

clue that maybe he was expecting some resistance.

He has pointed to and prayed for a kingdom doesn’t recognize power or status or wealth,

but does welcome those without any as beloved equals, and he has instructed his students to sell their possessions and give the money away—to abandon the economy entirely for a fundamentally different way of life, dressed and ready like the children of Israel for the Passover from slavery to freedom.

Which of course passed through the scariest place in the world.

Not everyone is on board with this destabilizing insanity, so people are polarized

and things are coming to a head … and Jesus, being human, is stressed out.


Tomorrow the church celebrates Mary, Mother of Our Lord, who was warned of this.

Simeon told her way back in chapter two, This child is destined for the falling and

the rising of many in Israel, and for a sign that will be opposed so that the inner

thoughts of many will be revealed—and a sword will pierce your own soul too.

The division cuts even deeper than the family.

It slices the soul.