A reading from the Holy Gospel according to Luke:
The crowds asked John the Baptist,
“What should we do?”
He said to them in reply,
“Whoever has two cloaks
should share with the person who has none.
And whoever has food should do likewise.”
Even tax collectors came to be baptized and they said to him,
“Teacher, what should we do?”
He answered them,
“Stop collecting more than what is prescribed.”
Soldiers also asked him,
“And what is it that we should do?”
He told them,
“Do not practice extortion,
do not falsely accuse anyone,
and be satisfied with your wages.”
Now the people were filled with expectation,
and all were asking in their hearts
whether John might be the Christ.
John answered them all, saying,
“I am baptizing you with water,
but one mightier than I is coming.
I am not worthy to loosen the thongs of his sandals.
He will baptize you with the Holy Spirit and fire.
His winnowing fan is in his hand to clear his threshing floor
and to gather the wheat into his barn,
but the chaff he will burn with unquenchable fire.”
Exhorting them in many other ways,
he preached good news to the people.
The Baptism of Fire is coming, to burn all the chaff away.
This is the Good News that John the Baptist preached: God is coming with His winnowing fan. The Baptism with Fire will start any minute. The Kingdom of Heaven is at hand, and it starts right where you are, with something simple. You don’t have to go off somewhere and do something reckless, and you don’t have to tunnel into your own house and do something cautious either. All you have to do is stop hurting each other, and learn to share.
This is difficult because we don’t like to share.
When we hear that the Baptism with Fire is coming, we want to do something extraordinary to protect ourselves. We want to pack up our precious possessions and flee to the mountains and hide ourselves from everything that is scary and dangerous, so that the Baptism of Fire can’t get us. But we cannot escape it in that way.
We want to dig a nice deep bomb shelter and stuff it with all the things we’d like to keep safe, and then climb in after our things and hide with them until it’s over, but we cannot avoid what’s coming by hiding underground.
We would like to band together with our friends we like, leaving out and shunning all the people we don’t like, and form an intentional community where we’ll all follow rules and keep each other safe from the outside world. But we can never be safe from the Baptism with Fire if we hide in an intentional community.
It might feel comforting to hoard all our resources in a great big cache so that nothing can hurt us if the food becomes scarce. We can sit on a pile of cans and boxes and stay well fed during a famine while our ill-prepared neighbors starve to death. But we cannot hope to avoid what’s coming if we do that.
The only thing to do, when you learn that a Baptism with Fire is coming, is to do what you ought to have done all along. Do not practice extortion. Do not falsely accuse anyone. Be satisfied with your wages instead of stealing from others who have less than you do. Do not tax people more than you have to. Stop cheating. Stop taking advantage of the poor.
If you have two cloaks, go out and find someone who has none, and give your cloak away.
If you have a cache of food set aside an emergency: the emergency’s already upon you. Your neighbors are hungry. That’s an emergency. Go, take the pile of food you stored up, and give it away. Donate it to a food pantry. Make your own free pantry in the front yard.
Or, have a feast, and invite everyone who is hungry to eat with you.
Put out your longest table and, when you find that’s still not enough, put the leaf in. Arrange your platters on the sideboard like a buffet so more people can squeeze into the table.
Put out the elegant tablecloth you’ve not used, for fear it would get stained. Set the table with your very best plates, the ones you were saving for a special occasion. This is the most special occasion there could possibly be. Don’t make the mediocre potatoes with milk and margarine; make the excellent potatoes with cream and real butter and far too much cheese. Baste the turkey in butter and herbs. steam your pudding. Bake your pies. Brew the good coffee. Pile up presents under the tree. Set out the soda and the ice. If you’re not sure you’ll have enough for everyone, invite your neighbors to bring theirs as well and make it into a potluck for the whole town. And then, open your doors.
Let in the lepers. Let in the foreigners. Let in the blind and the lame. Let in the beggars who can never repay you. Let in the humiliated ones who will ruin you reputation just by sitting at your table. Let in the children who will be noisy when you try to say grace. Let in the suffering who will spoil the party with their tears. Let them all in. Prop the door, put on the cheerful Christmas music and plug in the lights. The wedding feast of the Lamb is beginning, and here you are ready to welcome Him.
And then, the Baptism of Fire will come.
It will rest on your head like a tongue of flame, and not hurt you.
The chaff it will burn away, but you are not chaff. You are a child of God, doing the will of your Heavenly Father. And no one at the feast is chaff. They are your friends and neighbors, your brothers and sisters in Christ.
The fire is unquenchable because it is not thirsty. It is not hungry. It does not desire to consume or destroy. It only desires to warm and enlighten and dispel the darkness.
And then Christ will sup with you, and you with Him.
All you have to do is stop hurting one another and share.
This is the Good News that John preached to the people.
Repent, for the Baptism of Fire is coming. And you don’t want to miss it, because the Baptism of Fire is good.
Mary Pezzulo is the author of Meditations on the Way of the Cross, The Sorrows and Joys of Mary, and Stumbling into Grace: How We Meet God in Tiny Works of Mercy.
Steel Magnificat operates almost entirely on tips. To tip the author, donate to “The Little Portion” on paypal or Mary Pezzulo on venmo
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