Homilies
Burning Coals
Holy Spirit take my words and speak to each of us according to our needs.
Well, I don’t know about you, but I have never considered heaping burning coals upon the heads of those who have wronged me……or have I? Not literally, obviously and it can be a hard thing to admit to ourselves, especially as a priest – people expect you to behave impeccably – but have my intentional actions ever had ulterior motives behind them, even when from the outside, they look perfectly respectable?
There is something rather uncomfortable about the passage from Romans we have heard today. Paul tells us to respond to our enemies with kindness: to feed them when they are hungry, give them something to drink when they are thirsty, and refuse to be overcome by evil.
And then that strange image of heaping burning coals upon their heads is an image that can make us pause. Because what if Paul is actually saying: Be nice to your enemies because it will make them feel really bad? What if the Christian version of revenge is simply to become very, very good at being nice?
Perhaps we have experienced someone being unfailingly polite to us, while somehow making it perfectly clear that they don't like us. Or perhaps we have done it ourselves. We might smile say, "That's absolutely fine." Or offer to help and behave impeccably. Yet somewhere underneath all of that is the thought: "One day you'll realise what you've done. One day you'll get caught out. And when that happens, everyone will see that I behaved well while you behaved terribly."
It can feel satisfying, like you’ve beaten the system. But there is a problem. We may have stopped ourselves doing something unkind to another person, but we haven't necessarily stopped wanting to hurt them. We have just found a more respectable way of doing it.
That is part of the challenge Paul is putting before us. The problem isn't "What am I doing to my enemy?" But rather "What is what I am doing to my enemy actually doing to me?" Because our actions don't only affect other people. They affect us.
Imagine someone cuts you off in traffic. We might shout or sound the horn. But then we might also spend the next ten minutes replaying in our mind everything that just happened; the other driver has no idea you are still thinking about them.
And notice what happens. They have driven away. But somehow they still have a space in the car with us. Their mistake has entered our mind. It has changed our mood. We have allowed it to follow us into the rest of our day. They have gone, but the resentment remains.
Or imagine that we receive a message that irritates us. We type a reply. Then delete it. We type another and delete that one too. Eventually we might send something technically polite, but carefully worded so that the other person will know exactly how annoyed you are. And then we wait. We wonder whether they've read it. We imagine their reaction and what they might reply, checking again for a response.
That interaction may only take thirty seconds for it to happen, but we can carry it around inside ourselves for hours or even days if we don’t get a response, more even, if we get a response we don’t like.
Our actions and attitudes have consequences, not only to others but within ourselves. That is one reason Jesus' teaching about loving our enemies is so challenging. It isn't simply a rule about being nice to unpleasant people. It is an invitation to freedom.
Because when we allow resentment, bitterness and the desire for revenge to take up residence within us, we can become imprisoned by the very people who hurt us.
We might tell ourselves: "I will forgive but not forget." And we imagine that this means they don't get to win. But refusing to let go means that they continue to have power over us long after they have moved on.
Loving our enemies is not about making ourselves feel warm and affectionate towards someone who has hurt us. It doesn't mean pretending that harmful behaviour is acceptable. It doesn't mean removing our boundaries. It doesn't mean trusting someone who has proved themselves untrustworthy and it doesn't mean that justice doesn't matter.
Sometimes loving someone means walking away or reporting wrongdoing. Sometimes reconciliation isn't possible, or safe. But even then, there is a question we can ask: What do I want this person's wrongdoing to turn me into?
Because that is where Paul's teaching comes into its own. Suppose someone is cruel to us. We have a choice. We can allow their cruelty to become our cruelty. We can become suspicious of everyone because of their unkind. Or we can say: "What happened to me stops here." That doesn't mean what happened didn't matter but it does mean that it doesn't get to perpetuate itself through us.
This is one way of understanding Jesus' teaching about turning the other cheek and going the extra mile. It isn't about being a doormat or allowing people to walk all over us.
There can be something remarkably strong about refusing to retaliate. If someone insults us, we don't have to become insulting. If someone tries to humiliate us, we don't have to humiliate them in return. If someone behaves badly towards us, we don't have to allow their behaviour to dictate our character.
It is not weakness, it takes enormous strength and it doesn't mean that there are no consequences but it means that our response isn't driven by the desire to cause suffering.
This brings us back to those mysterious burning coals. They are not there to give us permission to enjoy our enemy's discomfort. The image is pointing towards something much more uncomfortable and yet, much more hopeful.
Imagine that somebody has behaved badly towards you. You respond with unexpected generosity. You don't retaliate. You don't humiliate them. You don't try to get even. And eventually, they are forced to confront the difference between what they did and how you responded. They might feel shame. Then recognise and acknowledge their behaviour. Perhaps then they change. It can happen. But there is a crucial distinction. We can hope that someone changes without making their humiliation our goal.
If I am kind because I genuinely want their good, then whatever happens within them is no longer something I am controlling. If they feel ashamed, that can lead to repentance. If they recognise the damage they have caused, that can lead to change. If reconciliation becomes possible, it can be accepted and welcomed.
But I don't have to engineer their discomfort. Otherwise my kindness has become another form of control. And that is one of the hardest things about Christian love. We have to let go of the desire to control the outcome and to do what is good because it is good.
We tell the truth. We establish boundaries. We pursue justice. We forgive because they all matter and we don't want hatred to possess us. And then we leave the consequences in God's hands.
That doesn't mean doing nothing. It means recognising the difference between justice and revenge. Justice says: "This must stop." Whilst revenge says: "You must suffer." Justice seeks to protect and restore. Revenge seeks satisfaction for the wound. And sometimes the difference is difficult to see especially when we are hurt.
Perhaps we could ask ourselves "If this person never knew how generous I had been, would I still want to do it?" If the answer is no, there may be some element of revenge hidden inside the kindness.
Another way of looking at it might be "If they never apologised, never admitted they were wrong, and never realised how gracious I had been, would I still choose to do what is right?" That is much closer to the Christian freedom, Jesus talks about because then our goodness isn't dependent upon their reaction.
I don't need them to feel guilty for me to be gracious. I don't need them to admit defeat for me to be at peace. I don't need them to suffer for me to stop suffering.
Paul is inviting us into that way of being. Not a world where nobody hurts us. Not a life where we never feel anger. But a freedom in which another person's wrongdoing does not get the final word about who we become.
The goal is not to defeat our enemy by being nicer than they are. It is much deeper. The goal is not to let evil become part of us; that the harm we have received does not have to determine the person we become. We can choose another way. And perhaps, in doing so, we discover that the person we most need to set free is not the person who hurt us, but ourselves.