PASSING THE TORCH

PASSING THE TORCH

Imagine the Olympic flame, carried from Mt. Olympus, sun-ignited, to the center of world attention, the Games.  When the last runner finally enters the arena, the crowd erupts into jubilation!  But, imagine the shock and horror if the torch should be dropped and the flame extinguished!

“ye are the light of the world…” is one of the metaphors chosen by Jesus to describe his followers.  Unlike the Games, we do not pass a single torch, but rather take, from Mt. Calvary, the Son-ignited flame, to every back-road and main street we may travel, spreading the flame throughout the darkness, encouraging any and all to raise their torch and join the race.

Envision the darkness being pushed into the nether realm as the whole globe is enlightened.  Like a burst of embers from a bonfire, torches scatter, inflaming others who also spread.  And, the darkness retreats into crevices fearing exposure, even there!

But, the darkness pushes back.  Cold winds extinguish torches as runners sit down for one reason or another.  Families, villages, even whole territories shiver in cold darkness because the torch has not been passed.  A runner throws down his torch, and thereby, curses, into darkness, the next two or three generations of his own!  Some sit to camp, and revel around their fire; and across the river they languish in fear and futility in the shadows.  Open our eyes to the darkness of the abyss and, moreso, the brilliance of Your glory.

“light the fire, fan the flame,  …”

go to church, somewhere

“go to church, somewhere, this Sunday” was the farewell which I left with the two, young, tattoo’d construction workers.  I asked them if they were from Mobile; but they said, “No, Montgomery…”  They needed their missing jack to change a flat.  I had “happened by” them as I went to refuel the forklift we were using to clean up the lime kiln shop and organize the outage materials.  

I was running on “E” but had wanted to finish the clean-up before refueling.  And there they were in their company truck – stranded at the propane station, with a flat tire and no jack!  (I told them to tell their boss that was NOT acceptable!)  If I had refueled before the clean-up, I most likely would have missed them?!  I told them I had a jack, but it would not fit in their toolbox!  “just let me refuel first before we use it…”

The reason that this is noteworthy is that it reminisced back to so many, many times we helped idiots out of the mud down the dirt road in front of my childhood home in rural Alabama.  (I cannot say too much because I am just redneck enough too that I like to mud-ride also.)  But, so many fools would take the “shortcut” between our highway and another county road (saving 5-10 minutes) right after a rain storm.  Then they would walk out to our house, boots clogged with mud, and pitifully plead for help.  

Daddy would tell us boys to get up and out the door we would go.  (a time or two, one of us was toting a .38, just in case)  And after pulling, pushing, winching, jacking, towing we’d get them out.  Most would just gush with thanks and want to pay us.  To that, Daddy always had the same answer – “go to church this Sunday…” (usually inviting them to my home church, if they were locals.) 

The two roughnecks smiled as I encouraged them to be thankful that God sent them an angel to help them.  They promised they would go to church this Sunday.  I reminded them that God would know!

I smiled as I rode back to the pulp mill shop with our refueled forklift, stopping by briefly to “fellowship” with a fellow believer at the bearing analysis lab.  They were having a late afternoon discussion about Alabama insurance laws.  I listened, but my mind was down a muddy, red clay road with my brother and dad.  “go to church, somewhere, this Sunday!”  (is this Mt.5.16?!)

INSANE ASYLUM EMPLOYEE

INSANE ASYLUM EMPLOYEE

Ever feel like you do not quite fit in?  I mean at work, school, on the playground, around the coffee pot, …?!  Your efforts at conversation are met with an uncomfortable look of confusion?  Your silence during mundane, at best, and/or crude joviality and coarse conversation, maybe a bit better, is interpreted as disinterest or maybe arrogance?  There are those rare times when hearts touch with that rare soul mate; but, far too often you feel like a crystal marble in a bag of dried buffalo turds, touching, but you’d just as soon not?!

Some people just stick out.  They are different.  They seem like a lost child looking for the door while everybody else is rushing in to play at an arcade.  They do not care about the latest fad, nor do they get excited about what’s hot or in.  Different drummer echoing in their head?  Fresh fruit vs. fruity pop-tart?  Maybe they remember something far too many have forgotten?  Maybe they have seen something that too many are trying their best to ignore?

But, the crowd hates them?  They belittle them with humor, at best, or at worst, bully them until they beat the life and spirit out of them.  And, the whole time, they smile as if they are doing humanity a service?  They are making the world a better place?  Everyone should be like them and everything would be synchronized and systematic.  Harmony would reign?!

Maybe I am one of the outcasts?  But, sometimes, probably not often enough, I feel like an insane asylum employee.  I think, seriously, that I am one of the few normal ones.  “They” are busy redefining life and the “new normal”.  Up is down and black is white.  Some seem to be debating over what is the color of smell of seven.  Nonsense!  Romans one begins to seem contemporary?!

Less serious signs of changing times include some petty, but prophetic, degenerations.  My wife and I married with home-made decorations, a simple cake for the reception, and similar blue suits for the groomsmen.  My wife made the dresses for her attendants.  Nowadays, couples have the best wedding that their attendants can afford, because they are expected to buy expensive gowns that are never to be worn again, and the groomsmen have similar expectations.  Some couples even rent a hall at a lavish vacation location and expect everyone to pay their own way to the event.  On and on it goes:  cell phones for 8 year olds (not the freebies that come with basic plans!), $40K vehicles for 16 year olds, on and on it goes.  And, these kids’ parents have separate bank accounts because they do not trust each other.  The two have NOT become one, in any sense other than the bedroom?!

I suppose what set off this tirade was an incident at work recently.  Two co-workers, from a different part of the mill showed up at our afternoon break, selling raffle tickets for a volunteer fire department.  Good cause?  Sure.  But, they were raffling off the OLD ice machine at their station because they had bought a new, larger ice machine?!!  So, they wanted us to buy a chance on their old unit?  (and, why do they need an ice machine?)  Then, after some bought a ticket, they turned to me and I quietly said that I was not interested in a raffle ticket (company policy?  gambling? greed? …) but that I could make a donation.  But, they missed that remark, I guess, and began to ridicule and shame me into a ticket.  And after I refused the third time, one of the firemen said that I should not call them if my house caught on fire.  Did I miss something?

My tithing and charity is my business, between me and my God.  I believe in living simply so that others can simply live.  I do not have, nor want a beach property, nor a BMW.  I take Matthew 25 seriously.  But, I will not begin to defend nor explain myself.  I am stubborn and old-fashioned.  I believe people should pay their own way.  I do not particularly like subsidizing insurance rates for beach house owners.  If they want to live on a hurricane track, that is their problem.  I change my own oil, usually.  I cut my own grass.  Somehow, I still believe in one man/one woman/for life!  And, I support Chick-fil-A.

But, I will keep mopping up the messes on my ward, if I can figure out how to adjust this uniform jacket.