When Fire Falls from the Sky

There is something inside the human heart that rises when we see violence.

When cities burn. When rockets fall from the sky. When children cry in the night because the sound of explosions has become louder than the sound of birds.

Something in us whispers a terrible prayer: send fire back. Destroy them. Make them suffer the way we suffer.

The disciples once felt the same thing. They had been rejected by a village. They were angry, they were hurt; they were ready to call down fire from heaven. It sounded righteous. It sounded powerful. It sounded like justice.

But Jesus turned and he rebuked them. He did not praise their anger. He did not bless their revenge. He did not say, “Yes, destroy them.” Instead, he stopped them.

Because the Kingdom of God does not fall from the sky as fire that destroys people. The Kingdom of God comes quietly as mercy that saves people.

Today our world still ponders the same question:

Bombs fall from the sky, missiles cross the night like burning stars. Cities that once held weddings and laughter become dust and silence. Somewhere tonight a mother is holding a child and whispering,
“Do not be afraid.”

But the child is afraid. Because war does not only destroy buildings. War breaks hearts. It steals fathers from dinner tables. It turns playgrounds into empty fields. It makes children learn the language of fear before they learn the language of hope.

War writes grief into the bones of humanity, and every side believes it is right. Every side believes heaven must be on their side. Every side thinks the fire should fall on someone else.

But Jesus still turns. And Jesus still rebukes. 

The rebuke of Christ is not weakness. It is the deepest strength. Because hatred, revenge, and violence are easy. But mercy is difficult. To refuse hatred when the world is shouting for it requires courage greater than war.

Christians are not called to celebrate war. Christians are called to weep. To weep for the child in Gaza. To weep for the child in Israel. To weep for the soldier who never wanted to hold a weapon. To weep for the mother who waits for a door that will never open again.

The cross of Christ stands between enemies and whispers a different story. It says that God did not destroy his enemies. He forgave them.

When the world cries for fire, the church must cry for healing. When nations shout for revenge, Christians must pray for mercy. When people choose destruction, followers of Christ must choose compassion.

This does not mean ignoring injustice. It means refusing to become the same darkness that we are fighting. Christ did not call down fire. He stretched out his hands. And those hands carried the wounds of the world.

Perhaps the most Christian thing we can do in a time of war is this:

To refuse to hate.

To pray for those who suffer on every side.

To protect life wherever we can.

To speak peace even when peace sounds foolish. 

Because every bomb that falls from the sky proves how broken the world is, but every act of mercy proves that God has not abandoned the world.

One day the fires of war will end. The prophets saw that day: they saw swords turned into tools that grow food, they saw nations learning peace instead of war. And on that day no mother will hide her child from the sound of rockets. The only fire left will be the gentle light of hope.

Until that day comes, the followers of Christ must remember the rebuke. When the world says, “Call down fire from heaven,” Christ says “No.”

And in that small word lives the fragile and beautiful hope that humanity may yet learn how to love.

—Rev. Daniel Addai Fobi is the leader of the God’s Beloved group at Kitchissippi United Church in Ottawa, and an advocate for 2S and LGBTQIA+ people.

The views contained within these blogs are personal and do not necessarily reflect those of The United Church of Canada.