Admit it: we are fascinated
with fire. We love to watch flames shimmer and leap in their dance. We can lose
ourselves staring into a campfire on a summer evening and watching huge logs disintegrate
into fine, grey ash. What else can explain our craving to keep fire near us: a
fire pit in the backyard, a barbecue grill on the patio, a fireplace in the
family room, to say nothing of candles and scented tea lights decorating the
mantel? Even here, on the communion table in the front of our sanctuary,
candles are burning brightly; and on Christmas Eve, we lit even more of them! Oh,
yes, we’re drawn to fire like a moth to… well, you know. The relationship that
we humans have with fire is as old as humanity itself. Every single
civilization has used fire. We needed it to cook our food, to give us light,
and to keep us warm. Why, until just about a hundred years ago, people handled
fire every single day! We contained it
in oil lamps, wood stoves, coal furnaces, and lanterns; and fire was as close
to us as the cat that curls up in our lap. And love it or hate it, fire still plays
a part in our lives. Thomas Edison may have freed us from our reliance on fire
in our homes; but our emotions and our imaginations are still firmly in its
grip.
It is little wonder that the
Bible associates God with fire over and over again. God does the very same
things for us that fire does – God feeds us, God warms us, and God illuminates
our path. We all know the story of how Moses was called to lead the Israelites:
God called him out of a bush in the wilderness that was filled with divine fire.
And almost 2,000 years later, the Holy Spirit appeared as tongues of fire
dancing over the heads of the disciples on that very first Pentecost. But the
biblical writers never forgot that fire is as dangerous as it is necessary.
It’s one thing to sit around a campfire and meditate on the dancing flames; but
it’s quite another to step into the middle of that blaze! The same fire that
roasts our hot dogs will scorch us if we get too close to it. So, does that
mean that God is dangerous, too? The writers of the Old Testament thought so!
The text that you heard just a few minutes ago (Exodus 19:16-19) is a great
example. I only read a small portion of that story, how God settled down on Mt.
Sinai in a fire that looked like a volcano erupting. If I had read a little bit
more of it, you would have heard what Moses told the people: don’t set even a
toe on the mountain under any circumstances; because if you do, you will die!
God is dangerous, says the Old Testament. Deuteronomy warns that “The Lord your
God is a devouring fire” (4:24); and the prophet Zephaniah claims that “The
whole world will be consumed by the fire of [God’s] jealous anger.” (1:18)
Hmmm. It appears that God is more like a nuclear reaction than a cozy little
campfire for toasting marshmallows!
But we don’t think that God
is dangerous! We don’t wear Hazmat suits when we come to worship on Sunday
morning. When we read these Old Testament stories and compare them to how we
feel about God today, we realize that something fundamental has changed in the
relationship between God and God’s people. We don’t have to be afraid of God’s
power. How in the world could such a change come about? It’s all because of Christmas Eve. On that
night, the sun decided to come down out of the sky and live among us as the
Son. The Star of Bethlehem became small enough to burn at the tip of a candle that
a preschooler could hold in her hand. The creator of heaven and earth – the One
who settled on Sinai with such power that the mountain itself trembled – that
one came to us as a human baby with tiny fingers and tiny toes and a head of
dark peach fuzz.
So… does that mean that God
has given up his power? Of course not! The divine fire that called the universe
into existence and set planets spinning in their orbits is as alive as it was
on the top of Mt. Sinai. But this side of Christmas, it is channeled into very
different activities. God has traded the power of a destructive blaze for the
power of sustaining love. “In him was life,” says the Gospel of John, “and the
life was the light of all people.” The child in the manger does what a distant,
threatening God could never do. Loving nurture has replaced violence. God guides
us not by threatening us, but by offering us divine wisdom. God feeds us not
with manna, but with his own body, the Bread of Life. And most amazing of all:
God doesn’t burn our sins out of us to make us acceptable! God uses the power
that shook Mt. Sinai to transform us into new creations that reflect God’s own
image! The last verse of the hymn “Love Divine, All Loves Excelling” expresses
this truth beautifully: “Finish then thy new creation; Pure and spotless let us
be; Changed from glory into glory, till in heaven we take our place.” The
divine fire that once burned on Sinai now burns in our own lives: in the eyes
of parents caring for their children; in the hands of a volunteers working
tirelessly to rebuild after a tornado; in the hearts of chaplains who minister
to prisoners living on death row; in our own lives when we pray for peace and
reconciliation.
As we reach the end of this
season of light; as we take the Christmas tree down and remove the greenery
with all the twinkling lights; as we put away the candles for another year; let
the light of the sun that is slowly returning to our winter world remind you of
the Son who has come among us, and of the Divine Fire that has invaded our
world and will not let us return to the darkness. And when our world seems to
be full of darkness, as it frequently does, look up to the heavens and count
the stars. Let each one remind you that the divine light that called them into
being is with us – today and forever.
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