Set the World on Fire: 20th Sunday in Ordinary Time

I can't help but write about what I learned in Mass this past weekend. I returned to St. Isidore's in Manhattan, KS. It truly is my home away from home.

Sunday’s Gospel was one of those readings that doesn’t let you sit comfortably in the pew. Jesus said, “I have come to set the world on fire, and how I wish it were already blazing.” It is not a soft or sentimental image. It is fierce. It is disruptive. It is a fire that demands something of us.

Father’s homily made it clear that this fire is not about destruction for destruction’s sake. It is about love. But not the watered-down, “feel good” kind of love that never asks anything of you. This is Christ’s burning love, the kind revealed in His Passion, where He gave everything for us. Love that refines, purifies, and transforms.

And here’s the hard truth: fire makes people uncomfortable. Always has. Always will. When we let Christ’s fire take root in us, it will not always be received kindly.

Sometimes, living with conviction unsettles others. Jesus even warned us that His fire would cause division.

Think about it:

• Choosing genuine and Christ-centered connections while in a culture of meaningless hook-ups.

• Refusing to cut corners or shade the truth, even when “everyone else does it.”

• Wearing your Miraculous Medal and not shying away when people ask you about Mary.

• Saying grace before a meal in public, not to be showy, but simply because that's what you do.

• Speaking up when gossip starts spreading, even though it would be easier to stay silent.

• Choosing to pay employees fair wages over profit margins.

• Telling the truth with conviction (and kindness) when it isn't what people what to hear, but is what they need to hear.

  
  

Those are small sparks of Christ’s fire. They don’t always look dramatic, but they do make people pause. They make others uncomfortable because they are reminders that love calls for more.

This past week was also the feast day of St. Maximilian Kolbe (my confirmation saint), a man who lived with that same fire.

He once said, “The most deadly poison of our time is indifference.” And isn’t that the opposite of fire? Indifference is cold. It is lukewarm. It is choosing not to care, not to speak, not to act, even when the truth is right in front of us.

Kolbe’s life was anything but indifferent. He started a media apostolate to spread the Gospel, he spoke out against lies, and ultimately, in Auschwitz, he gave his life so another man could live. He burned with Christ’s love until the end.

That’s the reminder I carried out of Mass: if we don’t let Christ’s fire burn in us, the world will cool us into indifference. And indifference is exactly what allows darkness to spread.

Jesus did not come to maintain the peace as the world defines it. He came to ignite hearts with the blazing love of God. He came to set the world on fire. And saints like Maximilian Kolbe show us what that looks like in flesh and blood.

The invitation for us is this: to refuse indifference, to let ourselves burn, and to carry the flame so others can see it.

So here is the challenge for this week: take one area of your life where you’ve grown comfortable, maybe even indifferent, and ask Christ to set it on fire. It could be the conversation you keep avoiding. The habit you keep excusing. The small act of faith you’ve been too shy to make visible. Pray for courage to step into the discomfort, and let God's fire spark something greater.

Because the world does not need more indifference. It needs more people on fire.

All my love,

Neva