A 4 by 3 inch slice of wood sits on my desk. Fifteen years ago it served as the stump to a Christmas tree that stood in our living room.
That year, I was struck by the fact that my Christmas tree spent 10 years preparing itself to be the family tree for three weeks. In the same way, I realized, God may spend months, even years, preparing me for significant moments.
I keep the tree sample on my desk as a reminder. In many ways, that stump symbolizes my values–the existence of God, the potentially redemptive nature of pain, the importance of preparing myself for significant moments.
Symbols Are All Around Us
We live in a world of symbols. Photos remind us of past events. Plaques, trophies, and medals take us back to earlier accomplishments. Tattoos on our bodies reveal untold stories. Perhaps you wear a cross to remind you of the steep price Jesus paid to save you from yourself. The symbols we choose to keep nearby say a great deal about our past and our values.
The importance of symbols cannot be understated. A life without them is a life devoid of meaning and memory.
When the children of Israel crossed the Jordan into the Promised Land, they gathered large stones from the bottom of the river and constructed a memorial on the river bank to remind them of the day God parted the waters to bring them home. The stones did more than tell a story—they taught the people about God.
The greatest memorial in the Christian faith is the Lord’s Supper, which reminds us not only of Jesus’ death, but also the forgiveness Jesus purchased for us, our hunger for him, and the importance of community (hence the word “communion”).
What do the symbols in your life communicate about you?
What symbols are missing?
What symbols shouldn’t be there?
As you revisit the memorials in your life, take a moment to listen. What might God be speaking to your heart?
If anything comes to mind, please share it with us!
Michael co-pastors The Neighborhood Church in Littleton, Colorado with Eugene Scott. His favorite symbol is a carved, wooden crucifix that hangs on a wall in front of his computer.
I love taking pictures of the American flag. The flag’s outward beauty is evident, but I think what it represents is even more beautiful; Independence. Freedom to worship without the government telling me how I need to pray or not to pray.
Personally, I have never known religious oppression, but I know it still exists. Growing up in the United States, I thought everyone had those same freedoms. When I moved to Guatemala I found out that I was wrong. Now, Guatemala is a much different place than it was even twenty years ago, and most people are very free to go to whatever church they like, but throughout Guatemala’s history the country struggled to find the right balance between secularism and religiosity. Mainly the Catholic and Protestant populations fought for control of the government.
Each group tried to impose it’s will onto the rest of Guatemala. This is a very simplified view of the centuries long struggle in the country. To go deeper we would have to consider racism, classism, and greed. Needless to say, Guatemala struggled because it wasn’t founded on independence and the freedom of religion like we were in the United States.
Maybe the reason why I love taking pictures of the flag is because America allows me to love my God. America lets me place God first in my life. I can abstain from saluting the flag if I feel like it is overtaking my allegiance to God. Just think back to the 1930s, in prewar Germany, people had to give the “Hitler Salute” or face severe punishment. And Germany was supposed to be a “Christian Nation.” But then again, that’s the same Nazi Germany that murdered millions of Jews just because they didn’t believe in Christ, which doesn’t sound like religious freedom to me, or very Christlike. I think it was Christ who said love your neighbor like yourself.
I know America has its flaws, but when I look at that flag, I see some of the things we’ve done right. I thank God for my country, and I pray that some day everyone will experience true independence, true adventure; a free life with God.
I hope you get a chance to take a look at your flag and think about what it means to you. Happy Fourth Of July!
On the night of June 16, 1965 a police sedan drove down our flooded street, blaring a warning over a loudspeaker telling us to prepare to evacuate. At eight or nine years-old it seemed exciting. But my parents were stern and worried. The street in front of our house looked like a small river. And Bear Creek, a couple of hundred yards behind our house, carried a 12-20 foot crest coming down out of the mountains. We huddled in our living room with our most precious belongings in suitcases and stuffed in pillow cases waiting to evacuate.
From June 12 on, rain had been drenching areas of the Front Range, what we call the eastern slope of the Rockies. We had received as much as 12 inches of rain in one night. Earlier in the evening my dad, my sister, my brother, and I had driven to Ruby Hill (we sledded there in the winter) on the southwest side of Denver and watched the South Platte swell from a small river into what seemed like a raging ocean, growing to over a half mile wide.
We stood in awe, drenched by the continual rain, watching ravaged trailer homes, massive trees, and barges of debris rush down stream. This debris then caught on the bridges and eventually pushed them over into the river. Its power was unstoppable. Most of the bridges on the south side of town connecting west to east were taken out. At one point a police car, its red light flashing feebly in the gray night, raced down a road near the river as the road collapsed behind his car. We watched him as he drove out of sight hoping he could keep ahead of the river.
We were fortunate. Bear Creek never reached our house and I woke on the living room couch in the morning. The flood was abating and now all those who were not so fortunate began picking up the pieces.
The Colorado wildfires
That night came back to me as wildfires ravaged the Front Range these past few weeks. Thank God, we have had no fires near us, though we know people who lost their homes. And we keep all those suffering tragic loss in our prayers.
We do, however, live in what some call a “Red Zone”, an area where a wild-fire is likely.
“Not if there will be another fire, but when,” they say.
I’m asking myself, “If the ‘when’ comes, what will I save?”
Back in 1965 I packed my piggy bank that looked like a miniature safe and my Spiderman comics. I guess I thought those were my most precious possessions. Today I can only see them in my memory.
What would you save?
When it’s rainin’ fire in the sky, you ask what’s most important?
Today I would make sure my own family was safe. Then . . .
To wax practical, legal stuff, wills, etc. Yuck.
A couple of my hardback books: my own dissertation (just in case someday someone may read it), “Lonesome Dove,” “Peace Like a River,” “The Chronicles of Narnia.” This might be dangerous as I could burn up in my library deciding which books to take or my bag could get too heavy for me to make it out of the house.
My journals from the last 30 years.
My computer, as it holds all of my writing, and a lot of pictures, and my Bruce Cockburn and Van Morrison collection.
More than anything, however, I’d collect things that have people memories connected to them: such as pictures and scrapbooks, my dad’s watches and old miner’s lamp, love letters, poetry, my mom’s John Elway memorabilia. Those kinds of things.
Oh, and . . . . You begin to see the problem.
I have heard several people who lost their homes in the Waldo Canyon Fire say things like, “As long as we are safe.” Or “We can rebuild.” “It can all be replaced.”
I only hope I can be that mature and calm if the day comes.
Moth and Rust Destroy
But the truth is, though Jesus rightly warns us against “storing up treasures here on earth,” the things that have traveled life with us–books, pictures, keepsakes, a home against the storm, the place we spent Christmas and Saturdays working together in the yard–have gathered meaning like moss on the north side of our lives. Their loss is not monetary only. Our things often represent a connection to the past, present, and future. And that connection is often to people–and even sometimes–to God. Losing the small wooden cross I have had since June of 1972 would be like the God chapter being ripped from my story. Maybe Jesus is asking us to ask about the eternal value of the things around us.
Things count. But for what?
As I look around my house for what I would save in an emergency, I see my father’s miners’ lamp (possibly handed down from my grandfather) sitting useless on my bookshelf. What I really want from it is a piece of my dad. I would love to know the story behind it. His story.
Maybe then the best thing to do in these times is not gather things but stories. Talk to each other more. Turn off Facebook, the TV, and ask, “Tell me all about your life. And don’t leave out a single minute.” Then listen. Because pictures will not fill the void. And too often things are not all we lose when we see it “rainin‘ fire in the sky.”
Eugene C. Scott has too much stuff and would like to get rid of some of it. He is also trying to see God in daily life, even in tragedy. Join him in The Year of Living Spiritually. You can join the Living Spiritually community by following that blog and clicking here and liking the page. He is also co-pastor of The Neighborhood Church.
Last year our online community read through the Bible in a year. If you’re interested in reading through the Bible again (or for the first time), you’re welcome to dig through our archives. Last year’s calendar is located below.
This year we’re taking a slightly different focus as we explore the intersection of faith and life. So pull up a chair, pour yourself a cup of coffee, and join the conversation.
The Neighborhood Café 