Heaping Hot Coals

Introduction – The Heat That Heals

There’s something strangely satisfying about fire, isn’t there?

We gather around it on cold nights. We cook over it. We watch the embers glow and the sparks fly upward like prayers rising to the heavens. Fire can warm, purify, or destroy—depending on how it’s used.

I remember once on a camping trip years ago, my son and I tried to rekindle our dying campfire. The wood was damp, the air heavy with mist. We crouched and blew until our faces were streaked with smoke and ash.

Then a neighbor from another campsite walked over, holding a metal pail filled with glowing coals from his own fire. He poured them gently into ours. Within seconds, the damp wood began to catch. Flames rose again—stronger, brighter, warmer.

I think of that moment when I read Paul’s strange words in Romans 12:20:

> “If your enemy is hungry, feed him; if he is thirsty, give him something to drink. In doing this, you will heap burning coals on his head.”

Now that doesn’t sound like a normal act of kindness, does it? Heaping hot coals? Most of us have enough imagination to picture what that would feel like, and it’s not pleasant! It almost sounds vengeful—like passive aggression baptized in holy water. But it’s not.

Paul was drawing from an ancient custom in Egypt, where a person who felt guilt or shame would carry a pan of burning coals on their head as a symbol of repentance. The coals represented a change of mind—a visible sign that something inside was burning away.

So, when Jesus says, “Love your enemies and pray for those who persecute you,” and Paul echoes, “Feed your enemy and heap burning coals on his head,” they’re pointing to the same truth:

> Love has the power to ignite repentance.

Kindness can start fires that judgment never could.

That’s what this message is about. Not the kind of heat that destroys, but the kind that heals.

---

I. The Command No One Wanted

Jesus spoke these words on a Galilean hillside to people who had been bruised by Rome. They knew oppression firsthand—tax collectors draining their wages, soldiers conscripting their sons, governors crucifying rebels along the roadside as reminders of submission.

“Love your enemies”?

That would’ve landed like an insult.

They had been waiting for a Messiah with a sword, not a sermon on grace.

They wanted deliverance, not diplomacy.

When Jesus said, “You have heard that it was said, ‘Love your neighbor and hate your enemy,’ but I tell you, love your enemies,” He was doing more than revising social etiquette—He was rewriting what it meant to belong to God.

Because up until that point, holiness was mostly understood by separation:

clean from unclean, Jew from Gentile, righteous from sinner.

But Jesus introduced holiness through compassion—God’s perfection expressed as mercy.

This was not sentimentality; it was revolution.

Every empire runs on hate—it fuels loyalty, keeps people in line, defines identity by who you’re against.

Jesus broke that system.

He said, in effect:

> “You want to overthrow Rome? Start by overthrowing vengeance in your own heart.”

That’s why this is the hardest command Jesus ever gave.

Because it doesn’t just confront our enemies—it confronts us.

---

II. Loving the Unlovable

Let’s be honest: it’s easy to love people who love us.

Even tax collectors can do that, Jesus said.

The real test comes when love costs something—when it stretches our pride, when it feels unfair, when it hurts.

You know that person who wronged you years ago—the one whose name still sparks a flicker of resentment when you hear it?

The colleague who took credit for your work?

The family member who betrayed your trust?

The neighbor whose politics make your blood pressure rise?

Jesus says, Love them.

Not ignore, not tolerate, not politely distance yourself—but love.

How? By doing what seems unnatural.

Pray for them.

Bless them.

Do them good.

It’s the spiritual equivalent of placing hot coals on cold hearts.

At first, it feels wrong. But over time, the fire changes everything—it softens the edges, melts the ice, burns away the bitterness.

When you love an enemy, you don’t just show grace; you release yourself from their control. You stop letting their sin dictate your behavior.

Hatred enslaves. Love sets free.

---

III. The Cross: Love’s Furnace

Nowhere do we see this more clearly than at Calvary.

When Jesus was crucified, He had every right to call down angels in judgment.

He could have ended the mockery with a single word.

Instead, He prayed, “Father, forgive them, for they know not what they do.”

That’s what divine love looks like when it touches human injustice—it bleeds instead of retaliating.

Every nail, every insult, every drop of spit was met not with wrath but mercy.