Fire or Water
Choosing life, truth and extraordinary courage in an unholy American winter
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On this last Sunday of Winter Ordinary Time, today’s scriptures refuse to let us drift. We must choose. Fire or water. Life or death. Yes or no. In this extraordinary American moment, neutrality is not holiness. It is surrender!
Fire or Water
The author of the Book of Sirach does not mince words:
“Before you are life and death, good and evil, whichever you choose shall be given you” (Sir. 15:17).
Stretch out your hand, Sirach says. Choose!
Never have those words rung in my ears like they do now. We inhabit a nation convulsing with cruelty, deception, and raw vengeance. We watch leaders lie without blinking. We see policies that harm immigrants, our LGBTQIA+ children and grandchildren, and the poor. We witness public rage normalized and baptized as strength.
In such a moment, Scripture does not invite us to polite piety. It demands a decision.
Fire or water.
Destructive anger or life-giving mercy.
Scapegoating or solidarity.
Authoritarian bluster or gospel humility.
In an iconic line in his 1963 protest song, “Blowin’ in the Wind,” Bob Dylan asks: “How many deaths will it take till [we know] that too many people have died?” Sirach would recognize that question. So would Jesus.
Are We Following God’s Way—or Someone Else’s?
In response to Sirach, the Psalmist notes:
“Blessed are they who follow the law of the Lord… who seek God with all their heart.” (Ps. 119:1)
Do we follow the Lord and seek God with all our heart?
Or do we follow false prophets? Party loyalty? Social media algorithms? “Strongmen” who dominate and oppress?
When we hear the name Donald Trump, many of us feel either devotion or disgust. That polarization alone should sober us. No politician deserves the loyalty that belongs to God. No party platform replaces Jesus’ Sermon on the Mount.
The psalmist prays, “Give me discernment, that I may observe your law and keep it with all my heart.”
Discernment is not passive. It is not timid. It requires that we ask hard questions about the voices we amplify and the injustices we excuse.
Faith without moral courage is not faith at all. At best, it is branding.
A Wisdom Not of This Age
In their first extant letter to the Corinthians, Paul and Sosthenes speak of “a wisdom…not of this age, nor of the rulers of this age who are passing away.”
Let that sink in.
“Passing away.”
Every empire imagines itself eternal. Persia did. Rome did. The Mongol Empire and Qing Dynasty did. The empires of Britain and Spain did. So did every regime that crucified truth-tellers. Paul reminds us that rulers who crucified “the Lord of glory” mistook brutality for strength.
We must ask ourselves: Where do we see the crucifixion of Christ continuing today?
Hold the Bible in one hand and a newspaper in the other, obvious answers emerge: Christ is crucified in the detained migrant. In the trans teen targeted by hateful legislation. In the journalist vilified for telling inconvenient truths. In communities destabilized by reckless political theater.
Whenever leaders—whether Pam Bondi this week, or anyone else in any time or place—defend policies that erode human dignity, Christians must evaluate them not by partisan loyalty, but by cruciform wisdom.
God’s wisdom is not the “wisdom of this age” (1Cor. 2:6). Pursuing it is costly. And extraordinary.
Let Your “Yes” Mean Yes
In today’s gospel, Jesus intensifies the Law. No murder. No rage. No lust. No casual divorce. Reconcile quickly. Let your “yes” mean yes.
Jesus does not lower the bar. Indeed, he raises it!
He warns that anger can “kill.” He insists that reconciliation precedes worship. He strips away loopholes and legalisms.
I’m reminded of a joke:
If you’ve read the Scriptures, you know the most flagrant lawbreaker in Scripture.
Not Adam and Eve.
Not King David.
Not Saul before he became Paul.It was Moses. He broke all Ten Commandments at once!
Exodus 32:19 tells us that Moses smashed the tablets in fury. We smirk (or roll our eyes) at the holy humor. Then we recognize ourselves in that punchline. We shatter commandments all the time. Through our rage, our silence, our complicity.
In a culture hooked on outrage and the pounding of gospel values—think Succession, House of Cards or even the tribal theatrics of professional wrestling—Jesus quietly demands integrity.
Calls to Extraordinary Action
As we approach Ash Wednesday and the beginning of Lent in just three days, we must refuse spiritual anesthesia. Here are five concrete invitations:
Practice public truth-telling. When leaders distort reality, correct the record—calmly, factually, persistently—particularly for family members and friends who may be susceptible.
Visibly stand with the vulnerable. Show up for immigrants, queer youth and targeted communities when policies threaten them.
Refuse dehumanizing language. Do not share memes or jokes that degrade people—not even when they degrade you.
Engage holy discernment. Rather than give up candy or soda, consider fasting from outrage media during Lent. Immerse yourself in the Gospels instead.
Reconcile, where possible. If someone “has something against you,” initiate healing. Model alternatives to vengeance.
This nation does not need more performative outrage. It needs the best of our faith traditions: extraordinary love, extraordinary courage and extraordinary integrity!
Ashes on the Horizon
Winter Ordinary Time is quickly ending—at a time when our political climate feels anything but ordinary. The Church, in her quiet wisdom, now leads us toward ashes.
Ashes remind us that empires crumble. Strongmen fade. Even our fiercest cultural battles will pass.
But the choices we make—fire or water, life or death, good or evil—shape souls.
Sirach began with an image of hands extended toward life or death. As Lent approaches, we again stretch out our hands. Will we grasp the torch of rage? Or will we cup the cool waters of mercy?
The choice is not abstract. It is immediate. It is personal. It is now American.
And it is extraordinary.
Questions for Prayer and Reflection
Where in my life am I choosing “fire” instead of “water”?
Which voices shape my moral imagination more than the Gospel?
How have I allowed anger to masquerade as righteousness or nicety?
What specific acts of public courage is God inviting from me now?
As Lent approaches, what must I relinquish to more faithfully follow Christ?
Where do I see Christ crucified in my community today?
A Prayer for Discernment and Courage
God of wisdom not bound to any age,
You set before us fire and water, life and death, good and evil.
Grant us discernment, that we may follow your law with our whole heart.
Deliver us from rage that destroys and from fear that silences.
Make us agents of reconciliation in a divided land.
As we approach Lent, mark us not only with ashes, but with extraordinary love.
Through Christ our Lord. Amen.