In all the annals of human history, there is one item which has held out more hope and yet offered more terror than any other. Wherever human beings gathered, in the infancy of our race, there this one item, this one element, both attracted them and repelled them; it drew them close and yet it sent them running. This one thing, more than any other, has allowed us to survive, but, at the same time, has in it the potential to destroy everything which we have accomplished.
Can you guess what I am talking about? Do you have a clue? This one thing enabled us, from our earliest days, to have power; and yet that very same thing has made us afraid, for we knew it could kill.
That one thing is fire. Fire is the element which we have always cherished and yet always feared. Fire is the one thing we have always needed and always wanted; on a chilly day like today, it is only because something is on fire that we are warm and comfortable; and yet fire also strikes terror in our hearts, because we read of families wiped out and homes ruined where fire has gone out of control.
Fire has always fascinated us, and yet it has also repelled us. Fire fuels our highest hopes, as we don’t have fur like other animals, unless we’ve been to Saks Fifth Avenue! We need warmth to protect us from the elements; but we teach our children not to touch the stove, lest their delicate skin be damaged. If you are a parent, one of the first words I dare say you taught that little toddler was the word, “hot”. “Hot” Don’t touch!
Fire. The ancient Greeks told the story of Prometheus, who, it was said, stole fire from the gods and brought it to humanity. For this Prometheus was punished by being chained to a rock, where a vulture would peck at his liver continually. It’s just a pagan myth, and you and I won’t take it too seriously, but it does remind us that fire is a precious gift, which can also turn on us and disappoint us, if not destroy us.
If Greek myths about stolen fire and a liver breakfast for the birds are, for you, well, for the birds, then I have a simpler story that illustrates how fire attracts and yet destroys and disappoints. My father used to tell about his childhood days in the winters of northern Indiana, nearly a century ago. At Christmas they would set up a lovely tree in their home, and, as tradition dictated, they would put candles all over it. They would stand back and admire this lovely confection and think of that starry night when the Savior was born; they would marvel at the magic of flickering tapers and would delight in their beauty. But, said my father, it seemed that almost every year, some time during the Christmas season, some candle would burn down too far and touch a dry twig, and in an instant the glory of the Christmas tree was being rushed out the front door into the snow, there to burn itself out in an ugly heap. The fire of glory and delight so easily becomes the fire of dried up disappointment. The fire of joy so quickly turns into the fiery ashes of mourning.
Solomon had dedicated the Temple in a long and passionate prayer. The king had poured his very heart not only into the construction of this wonderful new worship space, but also into its solemn consecration. His prayer had rehearsed Israel’s glorious history and especially the story of his father David. He had boldly called on God to judge with righteousness anyone who misused the house of God, and had acknowledged that famine and blight might come, that defeat in battle and confusion at home might appear. But Solomon had asked his God to forgive all the people’s sins, so that God’s name might be magnified in the use of this house. Solomon’s prayer was truly magnificent, full of the harsh realities of human life, but nevertheless packed with trust in the mercy of God.
I
And so God answered Solomon’s prayer. God answered his prayer by sending a roaring fire from heaven, to consume the sacrifices that had been laid on the brand new altar. And our text tells us that the fire of the glory of God filled the temple, overwhelming everyone. The people did the only thing you could have done when that happens; they fell on their face and worshipped. Abjectly, sincerely, in awe and wonder, they worshipped so mighty a God.
“When all the people of Israel saw the fire come down and the glory of the Lord on the temple, they bowed down on the pavement with their faces to the ground, and worshipped and gave thanks to the Lord, saying, ‘For he is good, for his steadfast love endures forever.’”
And then, it says, that the gifts of the people overflowed the altar; it says that they sang the songs of their history together; and that when they went home, they went
“joyful and in good spirits because of the goodness that the Lord had shown to David and to Solomon and to his people Israel.”
Joyful and in good spirits. I tell you, there have been times when all I have wanted to do in this house is to sing and shout in wonder. There have been times when the fire of God’s glory burned so brightly and so wonderfully right here that I could do nothing but marvel. I cannot speak for you, but I can witness to my own feeling that during this past year the fire of God’s glory has burned brightly among us. I must give witness to this: that in this house, there have been high and holy moments that have allowed us to feel the warm fire of God’s glory. And if I were not such and introvert, and you were not such a proper people, I just might have shouted, more than once! Can I recite some history for you?
Did you not feel glory on that Sunday this spring when five teenagers came forward to profess faith in Christ? That was the fire of glory.
Did you not feel it on that morning when a young woman out of Texas sang, and the depth and power of the spirituals she offered brought us to our feet? Do you remember? You heard the fire of glory!
Do you not recall the fire of glory on Palm Sunday, when our choirs sang “Messiah” and from sincere hearts came the glorious, “Hallelujah, for the Lord God omnipotent reigneth”? Surely the fire of glory was in this place on that day.
The fire of glory. I felt it. I knew it on that Sunday after the mere mention that we needed a few more dollars with which to purchase transportation equipment brought an outpouring of more than enough to do the task. Or on that Sunday when I was able to tell you that a former member was endowing a continuing love gift in memory of her parents, and would be giving us thousands of dollars over the years in order to finance Bible study. What a glory! Or on that Sunday when several people who had felt exiled from another fellowship cast their lots with us. Or on that Sunday when the waters of baptism were disturbed some eight times as candidate after candidate knew that the heavens pronounced, “My beloved, in whom I am well pleased.” The fire of the glory of God has been in this place. I do not doubt that for a moment.
I could go on to mention those stellar five nights when angels masquerading as choir members inhabited this choir loft; we called it revival week, but it was more than that. It was the fire of the glory of God. I could go on to mention messages from our children and from our youth that struck home to our souls. The fire of glory. And, if you will but indulge me a moment, I could even hope to recall a Sunday or two when the pastor was captured by the word of God and spoke more than he planned to speak. Even from this very spot, stained with sin as it is, still the fire of glory, at least on occasion.
We have experienced so much of the fire of the glory of God in this place. And we give thanks. It warms us. But remember: the same fire that warms us and sustains us can also be the fire of judgment, the fire that makes us afraid. Remember, the same fire that lights our way and gives us power also burns away those things which do not belong here.
II
And so King Solomon, once the great celebrations were over, and all the good feelings had simmered down, and everybody had gone home, no doubt saying, “My, didn’t we have church today?” ... King Solomon, alone on his bed in the night, heard the Lord speak of the fire of drought. The fire that consumes.
The Lord said to Solomon, “When I shut up the heavens so that there is no rain, or command the locust to devour the land, or send pestilence among my people...”
That’s heavy duty stuff, isn’t it? We need to look at this business. This is serious. Drought, locusts, pestilence. Where did all that come from? We’ve just had this great time, and everything seemed rosy. Why would God hint to the king that unhappy times were coming? Why is it that the fire of drought comes hard by the fire of glory? Why is it that just when things are going well, then the winds of change blow and something negative happens?
Have you noticed what I am talking about? That just when things are going right, some unsettling conflict pops up? That just when we think we have it all together, someone rains on our parade? Why? What is that all about?
Let me respond to that by going to this text and looking at it very closely. Let’s take this text very seriously.
a
One of the signs that a fire of drought is coming, it says here, is that there is no rain. No rain. Well, we have plenty of rain outside, but I’m talking about a different kind of rain. Is there any refreshment in here? Is our worship lifting us up, inspiring us, moving us, empowering us? You see, when worship becomes a ritual drudgery, just something we do because it’s Sunday morning and we have to; when we do not come as empty pitchers before a full fountain, we are inviting the fire of drought. If we do not expect great things from God in this hour, then I guarantee you, they will not come. If we do not use what is offered us to refresh us, then the sources will dry up, and we will be seared by the fire of drought. No rain.
I expect you’ve heard the old story about the pastor who began his ministry in a church, and preached his first sermon. All went well, the second Sunday came, and, lo and behold, he preached the very same sermon. Well, people thought that was peculiar, but they just figured that maybe he was a little forgetful, and so they let it go. But when the third Sunday came, and he laid it out there again, all the same thing, a little delegation of deacons paid a visit. Why are you preaching exactly the same thing, week after week? Don’t you have anything else? And the pastor’s answer was, “When you do the things I said in that sermon, then I’ll move on to the next one.”
You and I need to come to this place, Sunday by Sunday, and look for a fresh word from our God. Expect a refreshing word from our God. I would hope that I would have the honesty, so that if on any given Sunday I can sense no word from the Word, I would say so and sit down. If there is no rain, or you don’t use it, the fire of drought is settling in.
b
The fire of drought not only means no rain, it means that the locusts are devouring. The locusts are devouring. The searing sun of the desert just burns and burns, and before long, those hungry critters show up all over the place.
You know, there are just some people who are chronically unhappy. There are some people who are not happy unless they are unhappy. And that unhappiness will inevitably turn on others, and seek to devour. I hear some signs of that among us. I hear some of us taking every opportunity to make the phone wires buzz and tell every little mistake, every little negative word, magnifying it way out of proportion. I hear some of my own words fed back to me sometimes in ways that I can hardly even recognize. Brothers and sisters, if we do not trust one another, then how can we expect the world to trust either us or our savior? The surest way to dampen the fires of God’s glory and to bring on the fire of judgment is to give ourselves over to criticism. Some of us are so unhappy with ourselves and live in such deficit that we cannot stand to see others happy, and so we turn and devour each other. That’s the fire of drought, which would eventually burn us all out, if we did not check it.
c
And then the Lord mentions to Solomon a pestilence among the people. A disease spreading throughout the land, creating sickness everywhere. As the fiery sun beats relentlessly on the dry ground, sickness and blight spread over all the crops. A pestilence among the people.
You know, those who study churches will tell you in a heartbeat that pessimism is a sickness that will kill. Pessimism. If you believe that this church cannot possibly do what we are called to do, then I guarantee you that, in fact, we cannot. If you believe that your church cannot win souls, cannot teach the Scriptures, cannot shape lives ... if you believe that your church cannot start new ministries, cannot improve its facilities, cannot begin new worship services, cannot change its community ... if you believe all these negatives, then, brothers and sisters, I assure you are right. A pestilence of pessimism among the people will dry us up and bring the fire of God’s judgment.
This is serious business. I hope you know that. My heart says “go for the fire of glory”, because I have seen what God can do with us. But my head says, “worry about the fire of drought”, because I also know that we can be faithless and careless. This is serious business: the fire of glory or the fire of drought.
III
This morning I only know that God has, in His grace, given us fuel for the right fire. I only know that God has taught us what He expects us to do in order to lift up the fire of His glory, with all its joy, and to hold back the fire of His drought. He has told us what we must do:
“If my people who are called by my name humble themselves, pray, seek my face, and turn from their wicked ways, then I will hear from heaven, and will forgive their sin and heal their land. Now my eyes will be open and my ears attentive to the prayer that is made in this place.”
It is the vitality of our worship and the sincerity of our humility that will open us up to all that God wants to do. It is the openness of our hearts and the integrity of our lives that will keep the fire that burns the fire of glory and not the fire of drought. When we humble ourselves, and pray, and seek His presence, and turn from any compromise with integrity, we are given the fire of glory. We douse the fire of drought and we grasp the fire of glory. When you and I truly worship, worship in spirit and in truth, worship in humility and in honesty, in openness and in expectancy, we have claimed the torch of victory and we have dashed the ugly embers of defeat. The choice is ours. The choice is ours.
A couple of Sundays ago, the time came for the acolyte to light the Christ candle. It was Christmas, and we had been lighting one Advent candle after another, and now the fullness of time had come, and we were to light the Christ candle. Our witness that Christ has come. Well, it wouldn’t light and it wouldn’t light, and finally she got just a tiny little flame to burn. “This little light of mine, it almost didn’t shine.” Sort of made me wonder, where is the fire, and what kind of fire is it? The choice is ours.
When I was a child, I attended a wedding at my home church. A candlelight wedding. Lovely to look at. In a semi-darkened room, with banks of candles burning, young men lined up on one side, young ladies on the other. The bride and the groom knelt in solemn prayer before the pastor. Suddenly there was a little scream and a hustle and bustle, and the pastor’s wife was on her feet, rushing from the second pew toward one of the bridesmaids, beating her around the head. What in the name of all that’s holy was this woman doing? Had she gone crazy? No, the pastor’s wife had seen that the bridesmaid had leaned too close to the candle, and that her hair was on fire! She had taken decisive action to make sure that the fire of beauty and joy did not turn to the fire of disaster and disappointment.
Worship decisively; worship with urgency. Claim the fire of glory and forever cast aside the dismal coals of doubt and drought. And God’s eyes will be open and His ears attentive to all that we do in this place.
