On their way they entered a village of the Samaritans to make ready for him; but they did not receive him, because his face was set toward Jerusalem. When his disciples James and John saw it, they said, “Lord, do you want us to command fire to come down from heaven and consume them?” But he turned and rebuked them. Then they went on to another village.                          [Luke’s Gospel 9.52-56]

A few brief moments ago, Jesus has held a small child in the midst of those who gathered around him. He has spoken of the least being the greatest, and how welcoming those on the edge is the same as welcoming Jesus himself.

A child? Really? This is nonsense. Let us talk of many (more important) things, of transfiguration, and healing, and radical reform.

In our impatience for what we know the reign of God should look like – it’s included in our mission plan, after all – we ride roughshod over those who reside at the heart of the gospel.

In their own impatience and self-importance, James and John, “sons of thunder”, imagine themselves able to blast swathes of destruction through a rural community which is unable to comprehend Jesus’ vocation, and determined path.

This tension between Samaritans and Jews reverberates through the community and the gospels, surfacing shortly in the most famous parable of all, astonishing all who hear – then and now.

Leaving aside the capacity of the two brothers to command the lightning, why is this their first response? Why pronounce this astounding violence upon a community which, Luke tells us, cannot comprehend Jesus’ calling? Even if there is a malign intent in the Samaritans’ refusal to offer hospitality, why do these disciples of Jesus think a holocaust is the best response?

What aspect of Jesus’ ministry leads them in this path?

We look askance at James and John, and then notice ourselves, and the images of those around us, and the consequences for the world in which we live.

We read these words as nation after nation have cyclonic violence at their fingertips. The ability to inflict catastrophe assumes the character of a video game. Leaders gloat about the destruction they have wrought on those they deem “enemy”. Social media posts have the appearance of football scores as drones fly and bombs fall.

I imagine there is a carcinogenic industry betting on outcomes, with vast amounts of money changing hands. As if the stock market isn’t amoral enough.

Perhaps this is possible (permissible?) because we avoid seeing the faces of the children, and the families and the communities. We can call down hellfire because we anonymise those who receive our judgment, so that they become someone other than who “we” are – Samaritans, or Palestinians, or Israelis, or Ukrainians. Or atheists. Or simply them.

Jesus offers two extraordinary responses, one of which is immediate. Jesus turns and rebukes the brothers’ desire for self-righteous violence. The uncompromising call to discipleship which Jesus makes is flavoured by this very encounter; discipleship always comes on Jesus’ terms, never our own.

The second response is Jesus’ parable of the Samaritan, whose response to an enemy’s suffering is not disregard, or to seek his own advantage, but to serve at cost and risk to himself, at every level.

What if this was our primary response; that the mark of our adherence to Jesus was to serve at cost to ourselves? Jesus challenges us not just to love those who love us, but to love each neighbour and our enemy. We are called to understand the depth of what it means to follow him; it is costly and rigorous, and life-giving.

In a world which reflexively seeks to punish, we are called to bless, and heal. In our world, where those in power inflict suffering, most often upon the least and last, we offer embrace and not punishment.

We act to offer life, because we have been offered this same hope in the death, and life of Jesus.