In May, I completed my 16th year in Jesuit education. If you or someone you love has attended a Jesuit school, you know we love our lingo: magis, AMDG, cura personalis, Ignatian contemplation, and the list goes on!

Arguably the most famous Jesuit motto found its inspiration in today’s Gospel. St. Ignatius himself signed his letters to the earliest Jesuits, “Ite inflammate omnia”; “Go set the world on fire.”

Perhaps Inigo also read the words of an earlier mystic, St. Catherine of Siena, who said, “Be who God meant you to be, and you will set the world on fire.”

16 years of graduation speeches, Kairos talks, and branded materials allow even the biggest Ignatius fan to lose sight of how radical this call to action is. “Go set the world on fire” is not a pep rally chant, a feel-good catchphrase, or a t-shirt logo. For the sake of my students…my small child…our Church…and our world in 2025, I long to let the power of this appeal sink into my soul again.

What does it look like for us—in this moment—to “go set the world on fire”?

Today’s readings remind us that we aren’t the first, and we won’t be the last to consider this question urgently. “[We] are surrounded by so great a cloud of witnesses,” the epistle consoles. Let’s seek strength today in the story of Christian community.

Jeremiah—like most prophets—is deemed demoralizing by the powers-that-be. The prophet cannot stop speaking the truth in love, calling out stubborn people who will not hear it. He has been warning Israel and their leaders; unless they stop the injustice and stop making gods of things that are not God, Babylon will destroy Jerusalem. Rather than returning to God’s covenant, Israel’s leaders instead label Jeremiah a buzzkill…not patriotic enough...annoying at best, and dangerous at worst.

Throughout the book of Jeremiah, we see that he is not just a downer! The prophet balances warning and hope, preaching that God will inscribe the Law—love of God and neighbor—on Israel’s hearts. Still, the princes tell the people that Jeremiah clearly wants “their ruin” rather than their “welfare.” Because the prophet’s words make people uncomfortable, he must be the problem! The king absolves himself of accountability, and lets middle management throw Jeremiah into a cistern to die. We’re offered a scary sensory feast—dank darkness, squishy mud, hunger, thirst—until an Ethiopian court official pleads with the king for Jeremiah’s release.

The psalmist continues this dance of agonizing truth-telling and deep hope in God. We hear of the Lord who stoops toward our suffering and meets us in the mud. Lament and praise are interwoven by the composer, who knows in their heart of hearts that God listens to their needs. Even now, in the depths, I will keep singing.

Finally, in Luke’s Gospel, Jesus exclaims that he has “come to set the world on fire.” This is essential to my mission…and part of me wishes I didn’t have to do it, Jesus shares. Not only does he name the hope of building something new; he gives voice to the real ache of burning something to the ground first.

“There is a baptism with which I must be baptized,” he proclaims.

Fire doesn’t just consume; it purifies! But this baptism doesn’t conjure a cute little infant in white. It doesn’t only recall Jesus at the Jordan, beloved. It reminds us of all the trials that come next.

“And how great is my anguish until it is accomplished,” Jesus admits.

He acknowledges the cost of life in God.

“Do you think that I have come to establish peace on the earth?” Jesus challenges.

‍

Did you believe discipleship would be pretty?

Comfortable?

Instantly gratifying?

Immediately unifying?

No!

‍

The leap to which I am calling you will hurt.

It will mean leaving your old story behind for the sake of love and justice.

Not everyone you’ve loved will feel called or able or ready to go with you.

And that reality will sting badly before it heals.

‍

There will be family and community members

who will not support the burning before the rebuilding,

the death before the rising,

some who will be too terrified

to give up the illusion of certainty and control

to trust Love.

Jesus knows better than most how hard it is to hold loss and hope simultaneously. The Paschal Mystery begins with the devastation of Good Friday that must precede the astonishment of Easter Sunday.

If we truly want to rise anew, we simply cannot skip the pain.

Looking around in 2025, many of us are struggling with how to be hope-filled truth-tellers in the face of profound human suffering and sin.

We are witnesses today to the same rejection of covenant values about which Jeremiah warned Israel,

the same rejection of God’s love and justice for which Jesus gave his life:

poverty and violence,

racism and misogyny,

homophobia and transphobia,

consumerism and individualism,

eco-cide and genocide.

“Go set the world on fire” challenges us to speak truth in love like Jeremiah did, even if it makes soldiers and princes uncomfortable…even if it lands us in a cistern.

“Go set the world on fire” empowers us to remember the great cloud of witnesses that surrounds us and to take bold, countercultural risks like they did.

“Go set the world on fire” calls us to trust that the divisions we might exacerbate today are not signs that we should calm down, or make nice, or agree to disagree.

“Go set the world on fire” means we build resilience in community to withstand the divisions of the moment because we cannot abide the sort of dehumanization being inflicted on us and so many of God’s children, sometimes even in Jesus’ name.

“Go set the world on fire” enables us to hold on to the hope of the Resurrection without denying the darkness of this Good Friday era in our country and world.

Much of the time, I feel terrified of this moment.

And I have hope

that my students

and my toddler

will someday find inspiration and solidarity

in so great a cloud of witnesses,

just like we can,

like Ignatius and Catherine did,

like Jesus did,

like Jeremiah and the psalmist did.

While this truth of our ancestors cannot prevent the pain, it assures we will never be alone on the way to the rising.