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.
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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.
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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.
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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.
And it changed the world.
The Roman centurion who oversaw the execution, hardened by years of violence, watched the way Jesus died and whispered, “Surely this man was the Son of God.”
That’s what hot coals look like when they fall from heaven onto a sinner’s head.
The cross is the ultimate bonfire of grace—it consumes hatred without consuming the hater.
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IV. Why This Is So Hard Today
We live in an age that rewards outrage.
Our modern idols are power and being right.
Forgiveness looks weak.
Mercy looks naïve.
And loving your enemy? That looks impossible.
Social media has become the new Roman arena, where we crucify one another with words.
We feed on division, we rehearse our grievances, and we call it “justice.”
But Jesus calls us back to something deeper—something harder.
He calls us to be thermostats, not thermometers:
to set the spiritual temperature rather than reflect the world’s heat.
The only way to do that is through the Spirit of Christ.
You can’t fake enemy-love.
You can’t manufacture it by sheer willpower.
You must receive it from the source.
You can’t pour from an empty vessel, but when Christ fills you, you can do what you never thought possible—love the one who wounded you.
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V. A Story of Coals
Let me tell you a story I once heard from a missionary nurse serving in Rwanda after the genocide.
Two women—both widows—found themselves living in the same village.
One had lost her husband and children to the machete of the other woman’s son.
Yet somehow, over time, through the church’s ministry, through prayer and community, they began to talk.
And one day, at communion, they knelt side by side.
The woman who had lost everything looked over at the other and said quietly,
> “Because Christ forgave me, I forgive you. Let the past burn away.”
It was as if the air itself caught fire.
Tears fell. The village watched in silence.
And that night, someone said, “It was like God walked through our ashes.”
That’s heaping hot coals—not destruction, but transformation.
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VI. What It Means to Heap Hot Coals
So what does it mean practically to heap coals on someone’s head?
It means you choose mercy when everything in you screams for revenge.
It means you return kindness when insulted.
It means you give water to the one who left you thirsty.
You’re not condoning evil—you’re confronting it with something stronger.
Evil knows how to handle force; it doesn’t know what to do with grace.
Each act of undeserved love is a coal placed gently on a conscience that may one day ignite into repentance.
Even if it doesn’t, you have still become more like Jesus.
That’s why Paul follows the command with:
> “Do not be overcome by evil, but overcome evil with good.”
In other words, let love set the fire—not hate.
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VII. The Mirror Moment
Before we start listing our enemies, maybe we should remember how often we have been God’s enemy.
Romans 5:10 says, “While we were God’s enemies, we were reconciled to Him through the death of His Son.”
That means God loved us not when we were good, but when we were guilty.
He didn’t wait for an apology; He made the first move.
He didn’t send a lightning bolt; He sent His Son.
If He did that for us, how can we withhold it from others?
When you understand how deeply you’ve been forgiven, you lose your appetite for revenge.
You start wanting others to taste the same mercy that saved you.
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VIII. When the Coals Are Still Hot
Sometimes love doesn’t immediately cool the fire—it makes it hotter.
Your kindness might expose guilt before it brings healing.
That’s okay. The process of repentance often starts with discomfort.
But here’s the key: your job isn’t to manage their reaction.
Your job is to stay faithful—to keep feeding, keep praying, keep forgiving.
God handles the outcome.
You can trust Him with justice because the cross proves He takes sin seriously.
You can trust Him with timing because resurrection proves He knows how to make all things new.
So don’t wait until you feel ready.
Start loving while the coals are still glowing.
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IX. A Personal Reflection
There was a man in my life once who made things very difficult for me.
He opposed almost every idea I brought forward, questioned my motives, and seemed to find joy in my setbacks.
For years, I avoided him, prayed half-heartedly for him, and secretly hoped he’d move away.
But one day, while studying this very passage, the Spirit whispered, “You’re holding cold ashes, not living fire.”
I realized that my polite resentment wasn’t righteousness—it was pride in disguise.
So I wrote him a note. Not dramatic—just honest. I thanked him for something he’d done years before and told him I was praying for his health.
Weeks later, he called me.
He said, “I don’t know what’s changed in you, but thank you. I needed that.”
The strange thing was, I needed it more.
Love had set me free.
And I finally understood: the coals had burned away something in me first.
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X. The Invitation
So here’s my question for you today:
Who needs your burning coals?
Whose name comes to mind right now when you hear the words “Love your enemies”?
Maybe it’s someone who’s long gone. Maybe it’s someone sitting a few pews away. Maybe it’s yourself.
Ask God to give you the courage to love where you once withdrew, to bless where you once cursed, to forgive where you once relived the wound.
Because the moment you do, you become a living fireplace of grace—warming the coldest hearts with heaven’s heat.
Let the fire start with you.
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Appeal
Jesus never said it would be easy. He said it would make us His children.
“That you may be children of your Father in heaven.”
When you love your enemy, you reflect your lineage.
The world may call it foolish, but heaven calls it family resemblance.
Would you let the Spirit kindle that kind of love in you today?
Would you surrender your grudges, your old narratives, your stored-up fuel for anger—and let the fire of grace burn clean again?
Let’s pray:
> “Lord, light the flame of Your love in our hearts.
Melt away the hardness.
Let forgiveness flow freely.
And may the heat of mercy bring life to every cold and broken place. In Jesus’ name, amen.”
