Lectionary Commentaries for August 17, 2025
Tenth Sunday after Pentecost

If a pollster walked around a major city with a film crew and asked strangers at random, “Why did Jesus come into the world?” we can presume that none of the respondents would reply, “That’s easy. Jesus came into the world to bring fire upon it and cause division in it.” If someone answered this way, the pollster might assume the person had misheard the question.

To be sure, Jesus does not hold back in Luke 12:49–53 when he speaks of fire and division on account of his coming (see also Matthew 10:34–36). He makes it sound like it is core to his mission. 

Neither does he mince words in the second half of the reading, Luke 12:54–56, calling the people “hypocrites” for interpreting the weather but not being able to interpret the “present time” (verse 56). In other settings in the ancient world, the word “hypocrite” meant “actor” or “pretender.” Jesus uses the word elsewhere in Luke to talk about religious people who perform a role and play a part but misunderstand the heart of God and the spirit of the law (6:42; 12:1; 13:15). The people likely did not appreciate Jesus calling them pretenders, play-actors, frauds.

Put Luke 12:49–56 in its wider context, and the heat goes up instead of down. The chapter begins with Jesus issuing two warnings. First, avoid the “yeast of the Pharisees, which is hypocrisy” (verse 1). Second, fear God rather than human beings, for the former has the power to throw us into hell (verse 5). 

In the story immediately before today’s passage, Jesus explains to the disciples that the Son of Man will come at an unexpected hour (verse 40). Using a parable to illustrate, he explains that those who are at work when the master comes will be blessed (verse 43). Much will be required and demanded from those who have been given much and entrusted with much, Jesus says (verse 48).

In the story immediately after, Jesus interacts with people in the crowd who want to know what he thinks about the Galileans whom Pilate murdered. Jesus remembers the Galileans who died, along with the 18 who died when the tower in Siloam fell on them, and he wonders aloud whether they were somehow worse sinners or offenders than “all the others living in Jerusalem” (13:4). Just like those who died, the people must face the same fate. Two times in five verses Jesus exclaims, “Unless you repent, you will all perish as they did” (verses 2, 5).

With so much heat in and around Luke 12:49–56, how can we as modern interpreters come to terms with Jesus’ stark claims that he will bring fire on the earth and cause division in it? Let us consider the latter claim first. It is one thing to say that you have come to destroy families, and another altogether to say that families will likely be destroyed on account of your coming. Jesus makes the second claim, not the first. 

Division in families makes more sense when we consider who Jesus was and what he came into the world to do. Consider the most obvious source of contention. In a nuclear family, whether then or now, some conclude that Jesus is the Messiah, and others draw the opposite conclusion. Because these opposing views cannot be reconciled, division comes to a family—sometimes painful division. 

A lesser point of contention can also develop, such as who gets to count as family outside the biological family. Jesus’ mother and brothers likely felt the sting of this when he left them standing outside the house in Matthew 12. Pointing to his disciples, he said they were his mother and brothers; indeed, anyone who did the Father’s will was his “brother and sister and mother” (Matthew 12:46–50). Both then and now, most family members will take offense if someone in their family refers to someone who is not “blood” as a mother or brother or sister. Again, because of Jesus, division comes to a family.

Perhaps Jesus wants us to know the truth sooner rather than later—namely, that being his disciple may mean that things get worse in our families before they get better, if they get better at all. He is like a doctor who gives us a tough diagnosis after we get a disturbing test result. It is better for the doctor to tell the patient up front that things will be hard for the foreseeable future than to lie or be intentionally ambiguous with the truth. The truth is difficult to swallow, but we can take some comfort: Jesus says it will get better someday, even if not in our families. In Mark’s gospel, he says the pain and sacrificial seed sown by those who have lost families because of him will yield a one-hundredfold harvest in this age and the age to come (Mark 10:29–31). 

What about the former claim Jesus made, that he would bring fire upon the earth? Such a sharp statement would not have surprised Luke’s audience. In Luke’s account, John the Baptist declares that the one coming after him will baptize with the Spirit and fire; indeed, he will come with a winnowing fork in his hand to gather the wheat and burn the chaff (Luke 3:16–18). 

Here is what might surprise us and perhaps undo us if we slow down long enough to let Jesus’ words reach us in a deeper place. The fire that Jesus wishes “were already kindled” (12:49) is a fire he will endure on our behalf. He refers this way to his imminent passion that will culminate on a cross: “I have a baptism with which to be baptized and what stress I am under until it is completed!” (verse 50).

A Christian does not have to ascribe to modern theological constructions of soteriology, like substitutionary atonement, to conclude that Jesus, who is our judge, must pass through the indignity of a mock trial and unjust judgments of state-sponsored terrorism to deliver us from death. Even the thief who hangs on the cross next to Jesus understands what has happened when he reminds the other thief, “We indeed have been condemned justly, for we are getting what we deserve for our deeds, but this man has done nothing wrong” (23:41). 

The one whose presence and mission will bring fire and division to the world knows how much it will cost him to bring it, yet he decides to move forward anyhow. One could argue that it will cost him everything long before it costs us anything. It will cause him great stress and even harm but will not deter him from his mission. When faced with the choice between avoiding the fire and enduring it, he will choose to pass through it, especially because he knows that this is the best and the only way to reach us.

In this complicated geopolitical world in which we live, it is difficult to know what is true, what is false, and whose truth prevails in the battle between competing points of view. It might be some consolation that these questions also plagued another community under duress thousands of years ago. At the heart of this week’s lectionary text is the question of who speaks for God and whose words are a fair representation of the divine word. Thus, how does one go about discerning between true and false prophets? Or, as God asks in Jeremiah 23:29, “What has straw in common with wheat?” Ultimately, the distinction between true and false prophecy is a matter of what is nutritious and, like wheat, can be prepared into the bread of life or, conversely, what has little to no nutritional value, like straw. 

Jeremiah 23:23–29 forms part of a larger section on failed leadership (Jeremiah 22–23), in which the prophet offers a sharp rebuke of the unjust rulers and the false prophets who have led the people astray. Sandwiched between a refutation of the false prophets in Jeremiah 23:16–22 and Jeremiah 23:30–32, one finds in this week’s lectionary text a poignant meditation on God’s presence, narrated in the first person. In a series of rhetorical questions, God reveals Godself to be a God who is very near, “a God not far off.” God is a seeing, hearing, knowing God. As elsewhere in the Hebrew Bible (Genesis 3:8; Psalm 139; Jonah 2), it is evident in this text that one cannot hide from the God who finds the believer trying to stow away in secret places (verse 24).

Employing lament language (“How long” in verse 26), God shares God’s dismay about the false prophets who turned away from God and led the people astray. God is furious because the false prophets steal the name of God when they proclaim, “Thus says the LORD,” and then continue to share their own dreams: “I have dreamed, I have dreamed!” (verse 25; see also verses 30–31). These lying prophets pretend to convey the divine vision through their dreams but instead lead people astray, causing them to forget God’s name and no longer recognize God’s presence in their midst. 

These dreams, moreover, as evident also in the previous pericope (verses 16–22), are rooted in the “good news” that all “shall be well with you,” that no calamity shall come upon you (verse 17), providing the people with a false sense of security that results in complacency. Echoing Jeremiah 6:4 and 8:11, these false prophets proclaim “peace, peace,” when there is no peace. 

As in the epic showdown between Jeremiah and Hananiah in which the latter emerges as a false prophet who proclaims quick fixes and happy endings, God condemns these prophets who are deluding the people, who “speak visions of their own minds” (verse 16) and “deceit of their own heart” (verse 26). However, as God declares: “I did not send them or command them, so they do not profit this people at all” (verse 32).

In contrast to the delusional, empty dreams of the false prophets that are, sadly, all too effective, the true prophetic word that comes to the people through God’s true prophet, Jeremiah, is portrayed in terms of some striking metaphors that capture the power and efficacy of the divine word. In verse 29, God’s word is said to be like fire and “like a hammer that breaks a rock in pieces.” The multivalent meaning of fire suggests that God’s word can warm the hearts and minds of those near it. But fire can also be destructive, turning the straw of false prophecy into ashes.

This image of God’s word as fire is also found in Jeremiah 20:9, when the burden of being a prophet, particularly having to proclaim words of judgment, is associated with the image of the prophetic word as “a burning fire shut up in [his] bones.” Jeremiah exclaims, “I am weary with holding it in, and I cannot.” Being a true prophet is not easy, especially in difficult times that inevitably see the emergence of many false prophets. 

The lectionary text acknowledges the burden of bearing witness to the gross failure of leadership in this community under duress, with all too many lying prophets who “use their own tongues and say, ‘Says the LORD” (see also the repeated reference to this heavy burden both to the prophet and to God in verses 33, 34, 36, 38). And yet, those who have fire in their bones are implored to speak God’s word faithfully, no matter how difficult it may be.

The question regarding God’s presence in these battles for truth, in which God’s name and presence are invoked by true and false prophets alike, is important for us to consider. The series of rhetorical questions God poses, about whether God is nearby or far off, continues to resound as we are left wondering whose words truly reflect the divine word and who is conjuring up lying visions. 

On the one hand, one could say that it is good news that God does not hesitate to enter the fray and be present amid the messy politics dominating Jeremiah’s world, as evident in the sharp rebuke of the life-denying words and visions of the false prophets. But then again, the false prophets steal God’s name for their own lying dreams, causing great anguish both to God and to God’s true prophets, particularly because they are so effective. 

Ultimately, the text leaves us with no conclusive yes or no regarding God’s immanence versus God’s transcendence. Jeremiah 23:23–29 asserts that God fills everything and is to be found in all spaces (see also God’s question, “Do I not fill heaven and earth?” in verse 23) and, at the same time, cannot be localized near or far. Perhaps this inability to pin down God’s presence and/or absence in the text and the world suggests that God cannot be controlled by either side of the prophetic duel for truth.

Isaiah’s song of the vineyard in 5:1–7 may be the most click-bait biblical text ever. But in reality, it’s a radical click-bait-and-switch: Isaiah rivets his listeners and then pulls the rug out from under them in a one-two combo that would make the most captivating influencers jealous.

Context

Isaiah, son of Amoz, lived around 750–700 BCE, a time of multiple crises in Jerusalem. He was a spokesperson for YHWH––otherwise known as a prophet. Like many residents of Jerusalem, Isaiah took very seriously the promises YHWH had made to take care of the city and the Davidic king in perpetuity (see 2 Samuel 7; Psalm 48). But Isaiah was also deeply concerned about justice. Of course, ancient kings claimed that their station gave them the power to dictate justice itself, so it won’t surprise us to learn that the elites claimed the right to all the land, which forced the lower classes to make do with very little.

In contrast, the early Israelites claimed that YHWH owned all the land, and that YHWH had graciously given the land to the people, so that the land would be divided equally among them (see Numbers 26:53–56). This wasn’t just an issue of real estate: YHWH wanted Israel to care for the vulnerable and the poor among them by ensuring all people access to farmland.

Over time, however, the tribes of Israel demanded a king, even though this would lead to economic and political oppression (see 1 Samuel 8:10–18). The people wanted military and economic productivity, even if it courted their own disaster––and reluctantly, YHWH relented.

As predicted, the kings of Israel and Judah stole the best farmland and manipulated the justice system to take out objectors (see 1 Kings 21). The kings demanded ever-increasing levels of forced labor to build royal projects like palaces, storehouses, and fortifications (see 1 Kings 5:13; 9:15; 11:28; 12:18); they demanded ever-increasing taxes of agricultural products that the people needed to live (as in Nehemiah 5:4); and they engaged in wars that led to the rebuilding of villages as strongholds and the military service of many young men (see 1 Kings 16:24; 2 Chronicles 14:6).¹

These changes pushed farmers into debt and led to their land being seized, so the elite gained control of vast amounts of land upon which the farmers now sharecropped (see Isaiah 5:8–10). This injustice is precisely what YHWH warned about in 1 Samuel 8, and it’s what Isaiah often denounced (see Isaiah 3:10–11, 14–15; 5:7–10; 10:1–4).²

Text

As a prophet, it was Isaiah’s job to get up in front of the elite in Jerusalem and tell them what was on YHWH’s mind. But he had to get creative about his message: Nobody likes hearing that they’re being condemned. So he decided to write a hit love song, like the Song of Songs––which was a compilation of popular ancient love songs in Judah (“song of songs” is another way to say “the best songs,” or maybe “the ancient top 40”). Ancient professional singers wrote lyrics that were not only steamy in their time, but are so in ours too. Wealthy people loved these racy songs at parties––so when Isaiah got up to address the elite crowd at a feast in Jerusalem, some onlookers might have been amused that the old religious guy picked up the mic and then immediately made it clear he was going to sing a popular, racy love song (5:1). I bet people paid attention.

The song was about a lover and the lover’s “vineyard”—which is pretty clearly a metaphor for a lover. Grapes, wine, digging and plowing fields, a horn full of oil (sometimes translated as “fertile hill”), erecting a tower––I don’t have to explain these, right? The euphemisms were as obvious back then as they are now. The poetry is beautiful and skillful—Isaiah was known as an amazing poet—but here he seemed to be “selling out,” writing a hit song that was just about love, all to make people happy.

But then the twist comes: After all the strenuous labor that goes into making a vineyard fertile, the crop turns out to be “wild grapes” (literally, “stinky things”; verse 2). At this point in the song, I imagine a giant record scratch, and the music stops. What kind of love song is about stinky things? This is the twist that only comes out after everyone was into the song: Isaiah now demands that the people judge between the farmer and the vineyard, as if they were in court (verses 3–4). The farmer is the plaintiff now, and is deeply upset by all the effort and resources put into making this vineyard, all for it to produce stinky, worthless grapes. No farmer will keep putting energy or money into those vines––so the farmer inevitably rips them up and finds a new piece of land to farm, hopefully with better soil and seeds (verse 6).

In verse 7, we have yet another twist, and this is the big one: The vineyard represents none other than the elite Judahites with whom Isaiah is partying at that moment (the “honored men” and “nobility of Jerusalem,” who are “heroes at drinking wine”; verses 13–14, 22). They were supposed to be the fruit of YHWH’s labor––here called “YHWH of hosts,” menacingly referencing the divine armies––yet they have been abusing the vulnerable within their own community.³ God was hoping to see justice (mishpat) blossoming in their lives, but instead saw bloodshed (mispaḥ), and instead of righteousness (tsedaqah), YHWH heard the cry of the oppressed (tse’aqah).

This wordplay artfully draws attention to the shocking reversal of justice and righteousness in the land and serves to poetically condemn the predatory behavior of the elite in Judah. The word used for “cry of the oppressed” (tse’aqah) also occurs in Genesis 4:11 as the cry of the blood of Abel, which YHWH hears and responds to; it is also the word for the cry of the enslaved Hebrews (Exodus 2:23), and YHWH emphasizes that when vulnerable people cry out like that, YHWH will respond by vigorously defending them, even to the point of violence (22:21–24).

So, when Isaiah tells the elite Judahite partygoers that YHWH has heard the cry of the vulnerable who are being oppressed, it’s more than a subtle threat. It’s a demand for immediate action. And that is how you get people’s attention, for better or worse.

These points were immediately obvious in Isaiah’s day. For us, they take a little bit of background. We need to introduce some of the historical background and cultural context for the twist to really take full effect. This likely won’t all fit in one sermon. But with some skill, perhaps one could introduce these themes over a few weeks so the rhetorical effect of Isaiah’s masterpiece could find its audience even today.

Notes

1. See Gale Yee, “He Will Take the Best of Your Fields: Royal Feasts and Rural Extraction,” JBL 136 (2017): 821–38.
2. See Marvin Cheney, “The Political Economy of Peasant Poverty: What the Eighth-Century Prophets Presumed but Did Not State,” JRSSup 10 (2014): 34–46; Matthew Coomber, “Caught in the Crossfire? Economic Injustice and Prophetic Motivation in Eighth-Century Judah,” Biblical Interpretation 19 (2011): 396–432.
3. Marvin Chaney, “Whose Sour Grapes? The Addressees of Isaiah 5:1–7 in the Light of Political Economy,” Semeia 87 (1999): 105–22.

Psalm 81 is a hymn with a prophetic warning pleading for faithfulness from the covenant community. It is not surprising, then, that Psalm 82 also emphasizes a prophetic warning. At the same time, Psalm 82 creates a very different setting, one quite unfamiliar to contemporary readers/hearers. The setting is a council of gods, with the chief God addressing the members of the council in a prophetic tone. 

Most contemporary readers/hearers of the Psalter will be monotheists, but in the ancient world, awareness of a variety of gods engaged with the world would be a common image. Texts such as Exodus 20:3–6 and Joshua 24:14–15 urge faithfulness to the covenant God YHWH in a setting that includes the reality of other deities. The prophets frequently called the covenant community to faithfulness toward YHWH rather than other gods (Jeremiah 8:19; Hosea 11:2). Some interpreters have characterized these divine beings as angels or even “godlets.” The deities participated in an assembly, and the Old Testament also refers to this divine council in several places; ancient Israelites would have been familiar with the image (1 Kings 22:19–23; Job 1:6–12; Jeremiah 23:18–22; Zechariah 1:7–17).  

The high God YHWH in Psalm 82 speaks to the gathered members of the divine council and speaks prophetic words of judgment. The clear claim at the heart of this unusual poem is that YHWH is the chief of all divine beings, and YHWH, in this Psalm of Asaph, speaks judgment to the members of the divine council in this imagined courtroom scene. It is the setting of the psalm that is so odd to many contemporary readers/hearers who adhere to traditional Christian theology. 

A Psalm in three parts

• The setting of the council (verse 1)

The first verse presents the setting of the divine council. The background above will provide some helpful information. This setting is a scene unfamiliar to most readers/hearers. A literal translation at the end of the first line is “the assembly of El.” El is the high god of this Canaanite assembly in ancient Near Eastern religion. The Hebrew divine name YHWH does not appear in this psalm, likely because the text is part of the Elohistic Psalter (Psalms 42–83) that emphasizes the more generic divine name Elohim. El is at times used to refer to YHWH (Psalm 19:1). El, as creator, is head of the divine council and here stands in the midst of the council to evaluate the gods. The question is the task of these members of the divine council and whether they are faithful to the task.

• Judgment of the other gods (verses 2–7)

Verses 2–4 articulate the task of the lesser gods, along with questions that accuse. These gods have unjustly favored the wicked, who appear to be the powerful and wealthy. The high God does not wait for answers but articulates the tasks of these gods—to bring justice to those who are vulnerable, lowly, poor, weak, and needy. The widow and orphan present the prime examples of those who are in need in the Old Testament. These are the ones who need justice, deliverance, and support in the face of the wicked. Such needs are central to ancient Israel’s life and faith. 

Care for the vulnerable is the central task of the Divine. Verse 5 pronounces a quick and powerful verdict on the lesser gods, a verdict of no knowledge and no understanding that have brought destabilization and darkness in the world. Therefore, these gods have failed and are sentenced to a human death. That understanding of “they” in verse 5 is the most likely reading, but it is possible that “they” in verse 5 is the people who reflect the failed actions of the gods. Verse 7 concludes a verdict of “guilty,” and that is likely toward the lesser gods. This gathering of the divine council has revealed these gods as false and oppressive idols.

• A call to God (verse 8)   

The concluding verse is a fervent plea from another voice, perhaps the people of the world whose lives the failure of the gods diminishes. The plea is that the creator and ruler of the world will rise up and bring justice to life.  

Concluding reflections

First, the unusual setting of this psalm suggests that we think again about monotheism. Ancient Israel came to monotheism over time. Millions of people in our world worship gods other than YHWH. Perhaps a more cogent response to that reality, rather than shock or horror, would be to see that issue as a divine, rather than human, issue.   

Second, the psalm makes it clear that support and justice for the vulnerable are central to the living of a faithful life on earth and in heaven. Care for those in need is at the heart of faith articulated in the Psalms, for all people in need, no matter what culture, race, creed, or location is theirs. Psalm 72, for example, defines the task of the Davidic king as justice for the vulnerable. The New Testament makes it clear that Jesus incarnates God in care for the vulnerable. Such is the church’s task.   

After describing the faithful acts of Moses, the author of Hebrews moves to the wilderness period. By faith, the people crossed the Red Sea (11:29). This particular act of faith might be a surprising one. After all, the author depicts the generation who left Egypt with Moses rather negatively in Hebrews 3:7–4:11. There, they are faithless and disobedient (3:19; 4:11); here, they act “by faith.” This dynamic portrayal of the wilderness generation illustrates the fact that the bar for the author of Hebrews is not perfection. In Hebrews 11, the ancestors are commended for singular acts that demonstrate their trust in God.

Whereas all the faithful acts to this point were the actions of people (typically individuals), Hebrews 11:30 deviates from this. The grammatical subject of the verb—who or what acts by faith—is the walls of Jericho. “By faith,” they fell “after being circled for seven days.” The author does not tell us what it means that walls are faithful, but we could understand it as an indication that all of creation responds to God. The author may also expect addressees to presume the faithful act is the people’s, yet this raises the question as to why he introduces another subject when the people were the ones acting by faith in 11:29. 

Rahab is named in the last individual act of faith (11:31). She decided to flee with God’s people and not die “with those who were disobedient.” Some translations understand her being preserved as being because she received the spies in peace. But it seems more likely that the author separates her reception of the spies from her profession of faith in God later. 

Speaking with the spies later in the story, she says, “I know that the LORD has given you this land and that a great fear of you has fallen on us, so that all who live in this country are melting in fear because of you” (Joshua 2:9), and then later, “Now then, please swear to me by the LORD that you will show kindness to my family, because I have shown kindness to you. Give me a sure sign” (2:12). Rahab trusts God before she is permitted to live among his people, at a time when she thinks she and her family will be killed during the siege on the city. This is a tremendous act of faith.

After describing Rahab, the author notes that he could say far more about figures like Gideon, Barak, Sampson, Jephthah, David, Samuel, and the prophets (other figures with mixed reputations like the wilderness generation), but time will not permit it (Hebrews 11:32). Even without describing these figures in detail, the author of Hebrews constructs one of the longest lists of exemplars during that time. But it isn’t over yet. The author then transitions to describing acts that could be attributed to these figures—including many unnamed prophets—but to many others as well. Many of these actions relate to a story recounted in Scripture.

David conquered kingdoms, and the others named served as judges, carrying out justice. Some received promises (it is not clear who), and Daniel, one of the prophets, shut the mouths of lions (11:33). Those who quenched fire may be Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego, and the one who fled a sword may be Elijah (1 Kings 19:10; Hebrews 11:33). Each phrase can be connected (more or less convincingly) to a scriptural narrative. The thread through these stories, especially from 11:36 and following, is one of harm, typically to the point of death. In 11:37, the author mentions the deaths of many prophets, such as Zechariah (by stoning; 2 Chronicles 24:21), Isaiah (by being sawn in two; for example, The Ascension of Isaiah 5:11–14), and many others (by sword; 1 Kings 19:10). “The world was not worthy [of them]” (11:38).

To conclude this list of those acting by faith, the author connects the ancestors to the addressees. All of these people were commended for their faith (11:39); they even died in faith (11:13). And they were faithful to the very end, despite the fact that they did not receive the promises (11:39). They will receive the promises—something better than what they experienced—alongside us. All of God’s people will be perfected together (probably on the Day of the Lord).

The fact that the fate of the ancestors and that of the addressees are linked explains the next image the author uses: a race. The author exhorts them to “run with perseverance the race that is set before us,” but not to do so alone. We are “surrounded by so great a cloud of witnesses” (12:1), says the author. These witnesses almost certainly include the ancestors named in the preceding list—people from Abel onward. These are the spectators, cheering us on toward the finish. 

Ahead of us is Jesus. We look to him, “the pioneer and perfecter of our faith.” The word translated “pioneer” could also be translated as “trailblazer” or “originator.” These translations together help illustrate the meaning of the term. Jesus is the one who goes before us, like a pioneer or trailblazer, and that work enables or generates our faith, like an originator. He also perfects our faith, ensuring that it reaches maturity. Like so many in the preceding list, Jesus suffered and died because of his trust in God. “For the sake of the joy that was set before him [he] endured the cross, disregarding its shame, and has taken his seat at the right hand of the throne of God” (12:2).