I had a baseball game that day, beginning and ending my career as a catcher for Dog 'n Suds at the tender age of nine. I was nearsighted, and the mask didn’t fit because of my glasses. Every time I turned my head, the mask moved slightly, as did my black nerd glasses, which made every pitch a funhouse adventure.

After I got home, following yet another losing game, and parked my orange Huffy with the black and orange striped banana seat, my mom met me outside and said, "There's been an accident."

Not knowing quite what to say, I said, “What do you mean? Who?”

"Jamie," she said. "He and Michael were playing with lighter fluid out in the woods, and Jamie was burned badly."

I remember wondering how it might be possible to be burned "goodly." But all I said was, "What happened?"

"I don't know, honey. His mom just called. I think he'd like to see you."

Jamie was a fairly sweet, if suggestible, kid who lived across the street from me. We were the same age, but we were in different third-grade classes and didn't hang out much together at school. At home, though, we roamed the neighborhood, built ramps to jump our bikes, played sandlot baseball and kick the can, and traded baseball cards.

Michael, a year older than we were, lived two doors down from me. And though my parents never said so explicitly, I got the impression that they thought Michael was a "bad kid." He always seemed to be in trouble, picking fights and swearing at adults. Last I heard, he was serving time for attempted murder somewhere in Indiana.

On the way over to see Jamie, I kept thinking about the bodily implications of being burned. I'd played with matches myself before, so I knew that fire hurt in an intense and memorable way. And the thought of someone close to me experiencing such pain not on a tip-of-the-finger-against-a-candle-flame scale but on a life-altering-torture scale seemed incomprehensible to me.

When I saw him, his leg was bandaged all the way up to his hip. He was whimpering. I didn't know what to say. Nothing seemed right. But his look said that he wanted something from me, some word, some bit of human contact from someone who didn't yet shave and still wasn't allowed to swear in public. So, I said all I could think to say: “Oh man, I’m sorry."

In the face of tragedy, the cries of a nine-year-old's heart, "I'm sorry," may hold a deeper meaning. It could be a heart-breaking acknowledgment of the harsh realities that lurk in the shadows, unsettling our sense of security.

After seeing Jamie's leg, I know one thing for sure: I’ve always had a healthy respect for the profound damage fire can do. Once fire gets loose, it feels like nothing in the world is safe. I have a picture in my mind right now of western states ablaze during wildfire season—hundreds of thousands of acres consumed in flames. Nothing’s safe: businesses, houses, wildlife, and human beings. Fire threatens everything.

So, I’ve got to be honest: when I hear Jesus say, “I came to bring fire to the earth, and how I wish it were already kindled!” I don’t get warm fuzzies.

Right? I mean, when fire shows up in the Bible, it feels like something really bad is going down.

When I think about fire in the Bible, I automatically associate it with the apocalypse, you know, the end of the world: “But the day of the Lord will come like a thief, and then the heavens will pass away with a loud noise, and the elements will be dissolved with fire, and the earth and everything that is done on it will be disclosed” (2 Peter 3:10).

But even worse than apocalyptic fire raining down from heaven is the imagery of hell—with its burning lake of fire, a lake that burns with sulfur.

In the words of George Orwell, that’s “double plus ungood.”

Yeah, so when Jesus talks about bringing fire to the earth, maybe I’m just sensitive, but it makes me a little nervous.

But then I have to stop and remember that fire in the Bible isn’t always a harbinger of doom. Sometimes it’s just the opposite. For the Israelites escaping the Egyptians and then wandering in the wilderness—God’s presence among them was manifested as a pillar of fire.

Fire in the Bible also acts as a purifier. John the Baptist says that Jesus will go to the threshing floor, gather up the wheat, and burn the chaff—that is, get rid of the bad stuff.