I posted this on Wednesday. Then I read Don Reynold's post. Don volunteers his time and gifts on our vocal team at Granger. He's a good friend with a heart for God and people. Don writes:
There is a fire burning. It’s smoke can’t be seen. It’s heat can’t be felt. It’s light won’t change a dark room.
Or will it?
I have this thing I’m learning about myself and it has to do with fire.
But not with my inner pyro.
There’s this fire in my gut. It won’t go away. I used to wish I didn’t have a fire in my gut. I’ve tried to put it out.
I just can’t.
I realized recently that it can have one of two sources. Either it’s the fire of heaven, or it’s the fire of hell. There are times, when heated with either one of these flames, I wish I weren’t burning at all. Both of them can make life a little uncomfortable.
The fire of hell is that burning in each of us that has its source deep in our own selfishness. It’s concerned with pleasure, escapism, stroking. It’s about my ego getting his fix. It’s about my desires being fulfilled without the consideration of others. It’s about wanting to scream at my kids. It’s about wanting to get that new netbook I’ve had my eyes on. It’s about eating cookies and ice cream and Uncle Ray’s Salt and Vinegar chips ad infinitum. It can get connected to what I think is my worth and value. Whatever the spark, it’s all ultimately about me. It’s lure is innocent enough, but it can become a raging bonfire if gone unchecked.
I’ve seen this fire of hell take down friends. I’ve seen it break families. I’ve seen it hurt others with words, then fists. I’ve seen it slander. I’ve seen it slaughter. It can burn in anyone just as it burns in me. The only differences between a massive forest fire and the one in my backyard are two things: Fuel and time.
I’ve tried to pour water on the hell-fire that I have in me. Tried to not have a fire at all. If I could be less passionate, calmer, quieter, then I wouldn’t have this fire-problem. This hellishness in my psyche.
I’ve never murdered, but I’ve been jealous. Isn’t that the same spark? I’ve never abandoned my kids, but I’ve raised my voice at them. Isn’t it only because I didn’t fan the flame?
Point is, I have a tendency to burn. I have a pyro-prone temperament. This fire, if given fuel and favor, will consume anyone and anything to be satisfied. And its satisfaction is a myth fed by its own quest. This fire can become a system of negative thinking, behavior, even a system of injustice.
Then there’s the fire of heaven…
I gave my life to Christ. I didn’t stop at accepting him, his grace, his love. I traded my burden for his. I am broken for others. I am ignited with his fire. The fire of heaven.
In December I am going to India, where some people are living in a hell-on-earth. We would not want any of our children to live like some of these kids are. We would not like any of our family or friends to live in bonded labor. I have a fire burning in me, heaven’s fire, that is longing to carry the light of worth and purpose to those who believe they have none.
The fire of heaven is a desire for justice. It’s a deep burning to make things on earth into the way things are in heaven by living according to the way of Jesus. The fire of heaven is an outrageous love. It is not weak. It is not a clammy accumulation of sappy sentiments. It’s a white-hot, passion-filled, truth-driven, benevolence that goes beyond offences, breaks down barriers, heals us where we are hurting, helps us where we are fallen, and hits us between the eyes. God loves us too much to leave us as we are, where we are. And when heaven’s fire is burning in us, we love the same way. It’s a rescuing love. It’s a transformational love. It’s sacrificial. It’s pure and potent.
Every day I am exposed, on purpose, to things that fan the flame of heaven’s fire in my gut. I find myself looking differently at the shoes on my feet or the clothes in my closet. I find myself grateful for the pillow on my bed and the carpet on my floor. I feel like a king, but I’m not satisfied wearing my shoes, picking out my clothes, laying on my bed, or wiggling my toes in my carpet. Something in me is pulling me, burning in me, to make a difference in this world. To live beyond my self. This fire, this holy fire, leads me to give my self to a greater, eternal cause.
A lot about me…
what about you?
Can you relate to any of this imagery? Do you know this burning of either type?
Thought so.
The fire of heaven can make us extremely uncomfortable. It can illicit a risk-taking response, when in a moment of clarity, yields a decision which is the antithesis of our everyday-fog. You know the everyday-fog. Its the stuff that keeps you performing in the machine of Monday-Friday, paycheck-to-paycheck, keep-up-the-smiling phoniness that breeds false community. When we get close to God and the light of Christ burns off the fog of jumbled priorities we all succumb to, a clarity that resonates with us at a spiritually cellular level is the reality we are all searching for. It is real living. It is the way of Christ. In the words of Helen Lemmel,
And the things of earth grow strangely dim in the light of His glory and grace.
Not having a fire makes me miserable. I feel dead when there’s no fire in me. And honestly, I don’t like to hang out with people who put their own fire out. So we have a choice.
And even though having heaven’s fire burning in me can make me uncomfortable, I’m fanning the flame. I’ve decided burning for heaven is better than flame-less living.
We all need you to do the same.
And there couldn’t be a better time to choose.
