Trinity Church in the City of Boston
The Rev. Morgan S. Allen
August 14, 2025
XIII Pentecost (Proper 15, Year C), Luke 12:49-56
Come Holy Spirit, and enkindle in the hearts of your faithful, the fire of your Love. Amen.
On November 17, in the Year of Our Lord, 2000 … I quit smoking. I’m coming up on 25 years, yet I still have those dreams, man – the ones where I forget I quit and joined a smoking circle while out at a local bar. I wake up sweaty, the taste of shame and R.J. Reynolds on my tongue.
In my modest defense and by way of reminder, in those days before the turn of the millennium one could smoke while shopping at the Prudential Center or while settling into a movie at the local theater. One could smoke at restaurants of every status, from the Capitol Grill to McDonald’s – where we played make-shift, Formica air hockey with the tin ashtrays in every booth [you know, with the salt and pepper shakers as paddles …]1 Looking back, we normalized smoking in so many ways – not only with those little ashtrays found in fast-food stores, but with the misshapen, ceramic ashtrays we were told to make for our parents in grade school … madness!. And, as I have shared in other contexts, one could also smoke at Camp Hardtner, the Episcopal summer setting that taught me the nicotine arts.
At Hardtner, the community reigned supreme: absent of anything fancy, we did not cultivate “special interests.” Instead, we focused the week-long, un-air-conditioned experiences on doing most everything together and then learning how to love the people with whom we did it, no matter what. We sought to become a Beloved Community! And to nurture that Community, we needed buy-in from every camper. Specifically, we realized the Hardtner magic could not be conjured if we had some kids sneaking off into the woods to smoke cigarettes and intone Violent Femmes lyrics while the rest of us played Capture The Flag. Therefore, to combat such sabotage [no matter its righteous soundtrack], the leadership strategized The Great Compromise: “smoke breaks” for the campers and staff.
Now, this sounds completely outrageous even to me who lived it, but the idea was to covenant with the teenagers at the Middle-High and Senior-High sessions (so, 14 to 19-years-old humans), allowing them to smoke at certain times of day and in designated places, if, in turn, they would promise to participate in the rest of the program … and so came to pass “The Burning Bush:” eight wooden benches in the shape of a square just outside The Pavilion, where at 3:00p during Canteen, we would drink cans of Coca-Cola; eat Tom’s-brand, knock-off Mentos; and fill our still-developing lungs with tobacco clouds.2 By the time I served as a counselor, I could sink my coffin nail into the empty Folger’s can at the center of that guild, flicking the cigarette butts as effortlessly and elegantly as Roman Anthony’s left-handed swing.
In this morning’s lesson, Jesus texts in all-caps: speaking difficult words and ending each sentence with an exclamation point:
I came to bring fire to the earth, and how I wish it were already kindled!3 Luke 12:49.
I have a baptism with which to be baptized, and what stress I am under until it is completed!4 Luke 12:50.
Do you think I have come to bring peace to the earth! No, I tell you, but, rather, division!5 Luke 12:51.
From now on, five in one household will be divided, three against two, and two against three; they will be divided: father against son, and son against father; mother against daughter, and daughter against mother” …6 Luke 12:51-52a.
… and, then, of course, the most believable example: “mothers-in-law against daughters-in-law and daughters-in-law against mothers-in-law.”7 Luke 12:52b.
As is often the case with excoriations like this one, much of this heat is about him, and not about them. That is, Jesus begins this proclamation with the announcement of his own frustration: “…how I wish [the refining fire of righteousness] were already kindled!”8 Luke 12:49.
Jesus struggles to see beyond the difficulties of his immediate moment.
Jesus is impatient.
Jesus is frustrated.
His judgment then becomes even more personal – not about the lethargy of the creation, but about his own fate: “I have a baptism with which to be baptized,” and, in the language of the New International translation, “how distressed I am until it is completed!” … how distressed.9 Luke 12:50. Knowing the cross looms unless the world would be renewed (a foresight that does not require divination) Jesus’ voice cracks not only with anger, but with desperation: Come on, people: Join me in this Good News! Turn away from the malaise of the way things are and choose the better course, that all people would be spared from a terrible fate.
Only after these personal revelations does Jesus turn his attention to his listeners: “Do you think I have come to bring peace to the earth?” … Did you think the Holy Spirit would move without consequence? For those who love war, our message of Peace will be rejected … we will not reject them – they will reject us! For those who love their own power at the cost of others’ oppression … for those who issue threats to win a prize for themselves, who leverage the vulnerable for their own gain … this Gospel witness will be bad news, long before it is Good.10 Luke 12:51. Even for us, these commitments can cause division within our own house.
When Missy and I moved to Texas for seminary, I arrived with my smoking habit. A childhood friend of mine who was attending UT Law School at the time lived just around the corner from us. I would meet him in the late afternoon for happy hours at Shoal Creek Saloon, the gathering place for Louisianians and Austin-based fans of the LSU Tigers and New Orleans Saints. On our walk to Shoal Creek, we would stop by the 7-Eleven, and I would buy a pack of Marlboro Light 100s11 Which I convinced myself offered the greatest tobacco value for my dollar. that I would nearly finish by the time we had owned the shuffleboard table for as long as we wanted [see, you got to add a little bit of spin to make it sit up just right].
At some point in that fall of the year 2000, I could feel myself aging a month every day. Through hangovers and hacking coughs, reality struck at me: I had boarded an express train to becoming the alch-y, smoke-y priest … which might have played for a few years at The Burning Bush12 By that time, the Burning Bush was no more – when I became Head Counselor, I ended the practice., but in my heart of hearts I knew was not the person God was calling me to be. Like every one of us here and all people everywhere, I had a charge greater than myself; my life was about more than only me! I had a responsibility beyond my own comforts, one calling me not to give in to the ick of things, but to do my part in healing the world. I needed to make changes that would require sacrifice, not only of me, but of the people I loved.
Among those changes, for one, I wasn’t going to be able to smoke anymore! You know, no more marking the end of a workday with that first pull on the drive home … no more easing into a cup of coffee or a cocktail with a crackle and drag.
Maybe even more demanding, I had to reorder my time and my relationships. In those days, it was not only hitting Shoal Creek with the one childhood friend; it was going to the Hole In The Wall bar with our other Shreveport-native and longest-tenured companion, to hear his and my brother-in-law’s band, a band and a rock-n-roll culture that centered what I considered a Beloved Community, the affiliations that gave me the identity I most prized. I mean, did anyone who listened to The Replacements – who really understood Paul Westerberg – did any of them not smoke? Who was I without a cigarette pinched between my fingers and a light to pass around the pool table?
I had to see through my immediate inconveniences, disappointments, mistakes, griefs, and struggles, and to stay focused on the richer, fuller, healthier, more meaningful days just ahead. Over and over and over again, quitting demanded I say, “No,” and eventually, declining a cigarette was the easy part – I had to say “No” to hanging out with my friends, in the settings we most enjoyed. This was not about my judgment of them, but I knew that, for a time at least, I was not strong enough to drink cold beers, go to shows, and tell lies on a Friday night without smoking. Therefore, if I seriously wanted to quit, I had to leave that music scene, too.
So, as Jesus witnesses, committing oneself to the Christian endeavor is just like quitting cigarettes and finding new ways to enjoy punk rock … a process that leaves even the Son of Man a little feisty.
See, Jesus calls us to look within ourselves for life’s meaning and our essential value. Importantly, this does not mean we isolate or cut ourselves off from others. Instead, looking within ourselves in this way, each of us accepts our belovedness as a child of God, and we commit ourselves to a life lived in Love, a life lived in service of God’s Love.
Others’ affirmations or discouragements … others’ dismissals or acceptances … those do not determine our worth! God’s Love has already assured our value and charged us with a purpose, sent us into the world as emissaries of kindness, compassion, and grace. Again, all of us have a calling greater than ourselves, a responsibility beyond our own comforts, one urging us not to give in to the ick of the way things are, but to do our unique part in healing the world. No one else can accomplish what God has given you to do!
As Jesus warns and witnesses, our faithfulness does not promise every day will be easy or every moment will be comfortable – rather, Jesus calls us to see beyond every struggle and to set our anxiety or frustration or suffering in the wider, broader context of Love. Our momentary suffering is always in the context of Love – God’s love of us and our love of one another! We then order our lives and build our community – not with cigarettes or cynicism or conditions, but by that Love.13 I take heart that Jesus at first seems to come short of his own charge – for a moment, he loses himself in the larger story of God’s love and his frustration wins; surely, we have moments and days when we do the same. Yet, Jesus returns to his senses, and urges his friends to do the same.
That God’s Love would reign in our hearts and in all the world,
I pray in the name of God,
Amen.