Tag Archives: creation

Mountains of Fire

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Written for a devotional compiled by friends going into the mission field:

Mountains of Fire

“He looks at the earth, and it trembles;
He touches the mountains, and they smoke.” ~ Psalms 104:32

A volcano borrows its name from Roman mythology. In The Old Testament they were called a “mountain of fire.” These vents for gas, gigantic clouds of ash, and blazing liquid flame beneath the surface are testimonies of God’s glory. With tremendous horn-blast, surface hardened rock, black and lifeless, is split in two by the wonderous engine of rebirth to lay out new earth and sky with its recycled elements. The theophany of Yahweh to his people at Sinai, was very fire mountain-esque. It was God’s introduction of His Law as the bedrock of their Covenant, the revelation formed in stone written with the finger of God, yet breathed with a holy breath of God’s own intimate person. What else in creation combines all these elements: molten earth, powered by subducted water, burning with white-hot fire, and fuming with various organic compounds to change the air. A magnificent testament to the living, breathing, groaning of creation as it continues the work of creation of renewed land being formed.

Such a magnificent demonstration of God’s glory grants insight into God’s character in His image here on earth. The World that we know is living not on the foundation of a dead and cold shell, but a living and dynamic underground which moves and determines much of life here on the surface. Even so, just as the World is based in this fiery reality, the human being with a body is animated by a living spark of God’s divine fire. And just as fire-mountains, raised by the internal pressure of the old to be re-expressed in new ways, are vents for the world below to cry out for the redemption of God, so we too groan within ourselves, as the holy fire of God is at work within us to make new not only our own lives, but the life of everything around us.

Therefore, what is a better metaphor to describe a prophet? As Leonard Ravenhill said, “[A Prophet] has a heart like a volcano, and his word is fire.” A mere mound of human form, raised up by the revelation which fills him to manifest God’s glory according to their secret history together. He becomes the message, and as he roars with release he descends into the aftershock, content to have been fully expended for the pleasure of the One who loves the world and makes all things new, he is established forever as a monument in the landscape of the working of God for both judgment and renewal. And what was his qualification for such an important role? Availability. He was simply there to listen, to wait, to let God’s word have its way with him. “Would that all God’s people were prophets,” (Numbers 11:29) Moses cried.

What can God do through one simply willing to wait upon Him, like a servant on his master? He will move the mountains with his faith. (Matt 21:21) This is our victory that overcomes the land, (1 John 5:4) and God will once more be glorified as the Living God, (Deut 5:26) the all-consuming fire. (Heb 12:29) Until the day when He remakes the land completely, the elements burning with intense heat, (2 Pet 3:12-13) and there is a new heaven and earth, where this no longer any chaotic wasteland of death known as the sea. (Rev 21:1). Do you not know that most of the mountains of fire that exist today are under water? What more of His glory shall we see?

Sabbath

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Out the window, I see the sky and remember
Your sun brightens eyes like no electric ember
Even in the night’s canopy I ponder
The stories You tell in the stars beyond.

Caves, roofs, and trees all shelter
Me from the rains of inconvenience and disaster
But once a week, O just to seek
The sky to remind my eyes so weak
That though life’s shadows may be bleak
There is rest for those who shirk pride; who are meek

To shoulder no burden save the air
To bear no care but the sunrise
To soak in the cool spring of all that’s fair
And be drawn deeper into Your eyes.

The Hedgeman

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Madam Grandmother had a house of grey:
Grey roof, grey shutters, grey siding.
All one story; All one level
Surrounded by box hedge plants waist high.

A hedgeman had come and trimmed them recently
But he only chopped the shape just right.
He did not seek to undertake
The dive seeking weeds of thorn and vine:

Young spritely clinging little buggers
Troublesome meddlers in a boxy world
In shadowy subtlety they showed their heads
A long time they had grown in secret.

The hedgeman returned at the grandmother’s request
The bushes needed trimming, but the vines were his quest.
Over two days he set about the purge
Of everything that grew up from secretly seeded earth.

He found himself saying, as the vines scraped his arm:
“My goodness this bush is a pain.”
But then he thought to himself:
I wonder if God looks that way on me?

Extricating and tending the bush planted well.
From the weeds of the seeds of the unworthy sown.
Did the Maker of creation who saw it was good
Did He say, “This is a pain.” When the devil’s seed was sown?

Grace shines like the hot afternoon sun on his back.
Reminding him of the Maker’s glowing face.
Which does not cool when faced by those who turn
Their back on him shady tents to pitch.

O grief, such grief: that crown of thorns
That encircled the Savior’s human brow
To crown the flower with Satan’s weeds
To raise up a sacrifice of earth because of Heaven’s love.

Of course! Twas not for grief He bore
But for the Joy that was set before!
His cross he endured and the seed he planted
In the tomb of the rock to sprout forth with new creation!

Determined by his Father’s love,
Pronounced for the world from the beginning
He did not merely say, “It is good.”
He simply “Saw that it was good.”

Now the hedgeman was ennobled to press
Through the thorns that tore his exposed flesh
For in these thorns a fresh thought was true:
God fell in love with the world to make it new.

Emancipation: the feeling surged as one by one the vines relinquished their hook
They could not withstand the power of man determined to make the bushes good.
Why? Because these bushes were planted first, and then the weeds took root.
The bushes are good, it’s the weeds that have corrupted their look

So even though the weeds are deep entwined
With the plants of the Grandmother’s good intention
Still, deeper is the ability to dig
With a pair of pruning sheers to clip the hidden stems.

Strong is the stock the Sower sowed
When He made the world out of His goodness
The enemy may have added his own ingloriousness
But the Angels can tell what is good by its fruit.

Oscillating between standing and kneeling
The hedgeman cleared away the weeds by probing deeply.
Humility and confidence to seek understanding and apply it:
Getting to the root, and pulling up the shoot.

Familiar with these living plants
Their tender leaves not sown by chance
Were worth releasing from these self-ish pokes
For which the fire the Angel stokes.

Grappling with the plant near the top does no good.
It took a long time to reach the now spoiled-sightly top.
With a firm hand the hedgeman pulls on the vine
So he can pluck the thorns like a bow string and cut the base.

Others yank the plant up by the stem
Hoping that the whole thing will come right out.
Those who are clever know such a risk is not sound
Even if it clears the top, soon the issue will reemerge.

During his struggle, He sees the Creator dealing with him.
Not managing his issues so as to keep God busy
But always asking the questions that get at the heart
Of why man hides and turns his back on Him.

Resting in the tension of the Master’s pull
And wincing at the precise cuts of the wise Healer
Leveling haughty lusts from creeping back out again.
He reminds me of His pleasing and excellent plan

Utilizing the hedgeman to keep the hedges beautiful
The Creator has appointed a manager for His Creation
A Creation He made so beautiful, that it was even good in His own eyes.
The only One who is Good, saw that it was good.

Lo, He did not only say “It was good” when he made the light.
Nor even when he made land, trees, fruit and seed
Nor even when he made stars, and birds and fish and animals
But when He appointed man to rule He saw that it was VERY good.

Ended the task, back stood the hedgeman and smiled
The grey house framed by box-hedged life
The weeds were cast away to rot, to be chewed, and to die
And the Hedgeman sees that the Earth is worth redeeming.

Two Woodcarvers: A Fairy Tale

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Once there were two woodcarvers who lived in a magical forest. In this magical forest, the trees were of a very special kind of wood: when they were crafted correctly, they came to life, with the exact characteristics of the woodcarver who made them. Now, one woodcarver was a very careless woodcarver, and he found a patch of many trees, and he chopped them all down, and he dragged the tallest one away through the bushes, thorns, and briars; and by the time he had gotten his timber to his house, the log had been scratched, battered, and bruised. He split the logs, and set about to make his carving: a little puppet designed after himself. He cut out the torso, the limbs, the head, and he sanded out all the rough places, and set it up in his shop on a stage. The doll came to life, and stood on its feet. But the dummy did not take long before he too had an ax in his wooden hand, and started hacking away carelessly at every wooden thing in sight like the table and then the chair! The woodcarver grew very angry and hated his creation the more he destroyed everything he made. Finally, this woodcarver took his creation, and thrust him into the fire, where the doll shriveled up and became embers. He looked around and saw nothing but destruction and he was very unhappy.

The other woodcarver was not like this one. He walked through the forest eye-ing each tree. He took his time, and picked not the tallest, nor the stoutest, but the one that would be the most suitable. He finally found it, and took great care as his ax struck the tree near the ground—being very careful not to harm any of the other living things around him. Once he had felled the tree, he looked at it with eyes full of care, and lay down a blanket, and wrapped the wood around in it, so it wouldn’t be harmed by the bushes, thorns, and briars. Carefully, and painstakingly, he brought it back to his shop, where he set it up, and began his carving: a doll designed after himself. He split the logs, he cut out the torso, the limbs, the head, and he sanded out all the rough places, and set up his creation on the stage. Just as before, the doll came to life and stood on its feet. But did this dummy take an ax and start destroying everything in sight? No. Instead, he stared at his maker with wooden eyes full of care, and he took the blanket his master had wrapped him in, and wrapped it around his maker’s shoulders. And the woodcarver loved his creation, and they worked together to make more of them. And the maker was very happy.