Issue 048 PDF Version - Christian Ethics Today

infinite spaces. There is a certain profundity about silence.
Sound, however, is profounder still. God Himself is Word
according to John 1:1, reason expressed in a language that
humans can understand. God communicates with us
through spoken words, through sung words, and through
written words in his special Book. Do not judge me to be
out of touch with reality now if I put forward an opinion
that the little sounds made by a good fire may be heard by
those with ears to hear as one of the languages of heaven.
When there is green wood burning, a very special spewing,
blowing, or even whistling can be easily heard. A piece of
green hickory wood which has been coaxed to vigorous
burning by several pieces of dry oak and a couple of small
pieces of dry ash is capable of producing marvelous little
musical notes which are beautiful and gloriously unique. A
certain amount of dignified small popping is quite welcome,
also. I especially enjoy the phenomenon called
“popping snow” which can occasionally be heard. The
churlish, raucous popping of fir, green or dry, however, is
to be avoided if at all possible because it will both scare the
living daylights out of you and wake up your wife in the
nearby bedroom where she is trying to catch another little
nap in the early morning when you have braved the elements
by dawn’s early light in order to get the fire going to
drive the chill away before breakfast.
Mostly though the little sounds speak comfort, peace,
happiness, and warmth, at least to me.
7. Reverie. A comfortable chair in front of a nice fire blazing
away in a good fireplace is the quintessential matrix for
reverie, which I understand to be the art of being lost in
thought. It is near to being a lost art, of course; but I reckon
that reverie is one of the fundamental building blocks
of a healthy psyche. In these times we are so hurried by
agendas that are too full, so harried by assignments, obligations,
tuggings, and deadlines that we are hard pressed
even to pause long enough to draw a deep breath.
Sabbaths are not kept. Sleep is deprived. Rest is denied.
Reverie is hardly in our vocabularies.
To sit alone in front of a good fire is to encourage contemplation.
To stare at the coals as the fire burns down is to inject
into the day’s experience a solid quietness. To grow warm by
the fire is to aid and abet the inclination to be still and know
“that God is, and that he is a rewarder of them that diligently
seek him” (Heb. 11:6). To doze a little in the company of a
warm fire is to relax in the deep knowledge that things are
working together for good for those who love God and are
called according to his purpose (Rom. 8:28).
The ancient Greeks thought that fire was a very special possession
of the gods and that it could be shared only grudgingly
with mortals. With a different take on it, however, I understand
fire to be one of God’s good gifts, a not inconsequential
component of his gracious provision for the abundant life.
And if all this doesn’t light your fire, maybe your wood is
wet. ■
30 • FEBRUARY 2004 • CHRISTIAN ETHICS TODAY
May Day
Saturday – May 1, 1999
black Nike Airs set a quick pace
untanned calves flash in sunlight
a saffron robe with brown tasseled belt
flaps down the side of I-35
wire-frame glasses struggle to support
a concerned cro-magnon brow
brown bushy hair tires
to cover the shiny cue ball.
a stoic shoulder
harnessed with a nine foot cross—
black rubber wheel attached to the bottom—
Wal-Mart special.
a sign on the back of the cross roars at traffic
coming up behind:
GOD WANTS
PRAYER
BACK IN
SCHOOL.
and I’m thinkin’—
Jesus didn’t get a wheel
Southern-Fried Sundays
Mine was a
Sunday-after-church-fried-chicken-childhood.
Cornbread-n’-squash-casserole-afternoons gave way
to mandarin-orange-Jello-salad-sunsets.
Sweet-potato-evenings by roasted-marshmallow-fires
always left time for devil’d egg-stories
n’home-made-ice-cream-tunes.
guitars were the nuts n’ chocolate sauce
of unenforced bed times.
It was a mythical age when fam’lies stuck together
like day-old steamed white rice.
And laughter was as simple as a tipped-over-lawn-chair
and ashes on the end of a burnt hot dog.
Baptists’ll tell ya’ “church is everything.”
But they all know without saying—
God is in the food
and licked fingers
of a Sunday after noon.
By Nathan Brown in Hobson’s Choice
(Edmond, OK: Greystone Press, 2002).