Homily – The Fire of Christ

Brothers and sisters,

The Gospel begins today with words that shock:
“I have come to bring fire to the earth, and how I wish it were already blazing!”

Not comfort. Not convenience. Not compromise.
Fire.

What is this fire?

The Fathers of the Church give us two answers — and both belong together.

St. Ambrose says: “The fire Christ speaks of is the fire of the Holy Spirit, inflaming hearts with charity.”

St. Cyril of Alexandria says: “It is also the fire of trial, separating true disciples from false.”

So the fire is both love and the Cross.
It warms the faithful, but it burns away sin.
It unites the saints, but it divides the world.

Think of Pentecost: tongues of fire descending.
The timid Apostles became fearless preachers.
That fire is still burning — in Baptism, in Confirmation, in every grace of the sacraments.

The world says love is tolerance.
Christ says love is fire.
Love that consumes selfishness.
Love that risks everything.
Love that will not compromise with sin.

But Jesus links this fire with His Passion:
“There is a baptism I must undergo, and how great is my distress until it is accomplished!”

He is speaking of the Cross — the baptism of blood.
The fire He brings will cost Him His life.

And if we are His disciples, it will cost us too.
The Gospel is not a cosy blanket.
It is a refining fire.

Then comes the hard word:
“Do you think I came to bring peace on earth? No, I tell you, but division.”

How can the Prince of Peace bring division?

Because truth divides from falsehood.
Because holiness divides from sin.
Because loyalty to Christ sometimes divides even families.

St. John Chrysostom said: “Hell is paved not with the sins of the ignorant, but with the indifference of the instructed.”
In other words: it is not outsiders who are the greatest danger to the Church, but lukewarm Catholics who will not take the fire seriously.

This Gospel is evangelistic by nature.

Some say: “All religions are the same. Just be sincere.”
But Jesus says: “I came to bring fire.” That is not the voice of tolerance but of truth.

Some say: “Faith is private. Keep it to yourself.”
But Jesus says: “Families will be divided.” In other words, discipleship has public consequences.

Some say: “The Church should just get along with the world.”
But the Church cannot extinguish the fire just to keep the peace.
A Church that never offends the world is a Church that has stopped preaching Christ.

This fire has burned in the lives of real men and women.

St. Lawrence, roasted on a gridiron, joked with his executioners: “Turn me over, I’m done on this side.” That’s fire.

St. Catherine of Siena wrote: “Be who God meant you to be and you will set the world on fire.” That’s fire.

St. Maximilian Kolbe — whose feast we just kept — stepped forward in Auschwitz to die in another man’s place. That’s fire.

The saints show us: The fire of Christ doesn’t destroy you — it makes you more alive.

But here is the uncomfortable question:

Is the fire burning in us?
Or have we let it die down to embers?

Do we approach the sacraments with living faith — or as routine?
Do we pray with fire — or with empty words?
Do we defend the faith when it’s unpopular — or stay silent to avoid division?

Catholics, do you see what you have?

The fire is not vague enthusiasm.
It is here — in the sacraments.

In Baptism — where original sin is burned away.
In Confirmation — where the Spirit descends with tongues of fire.
In Confession — where the fire of mercy purges sin.
Above all in the Eucharist — the living flame of Christ’s Body and Blood, consuming our sin, enkindling our love.

If you want the fire, you don’t need to go searching.
You need to come to the altar, kneel, and receive Him worthily.

So how do we live this fire?

– By praying daily, not half-heartedly but with hunger.
– By receiving the sacraments with devotion.
– By defending the Church when she is mocked.
– By choosing fidelity even when it costs friendships, jobs, or comfort.

Because this fire is not for display.
It is for mission.
The world is cold, and only Christ’s fire can save it.

Jesus did not come to make us comfortable.
He came to make us holy.

He did not come to lower the temperature.
He came to set the world ablaze.

The Cross is not the end of the fire.
It is the spark that lights it.

The saints did not play with fire.
They lived and died in it.

So I ask you:
Will you be lukewarm — or will you burn for love of Christ?
Will you settle for peace with the world — or the peace of Christ?
Will you be an ember — or a flame?

Will you stand in the ashes of compromise—
or will you blaze with the fire of Christ?

Will you keep your faith hidden under comfort—
or will you let the Spirit make you a torch in the darkness?

Because lukewarm Catholics will cool and crumble.
But burning Catholics—those consumed by Christ—cannot be extinguished.

And here, at this altar, the Fire Himself descends.
Not a symbol. Not a memory.
But the living Christ, Body, Blood, Soul, and Divinity—
the God who sets hearts ablaze.

Come to Him. Receive Him.
Let Him burn away your sin, ignite your love, and make you light for the world.

For Jesus has already told us His mission:
“I have come to bring fire to the earth.”
And if you let Him, that fire will begin in you—
and never go out.