Smoke and Fire – Meeting God in Disruption
Crack! Boom! Fsssssst. Wheert! Boom!
Every night for the last few weeks our neighborhood has carried on a nightly symphony of fireworks between midnight and an hour before dawn. Percussive,syncopated sounds startle us from sleep. Colorful flashes of light burst brilliantly outside our windows. Each night the energy and insistence of these displays increased, leading up to an almost endless display late July 4th and early July 5th.
Commentators are unclear about what’s driven the increase in fireworks this year, but all agree the scope and intensity is significantly increased. Some speculate that the fireworks are a symbol of liberation, a raucous way of re-engaging with community post COVID-19 quarantine. Others suggest they’re a not-so-subtle protest against police policies that have failed communities of color. Others suggest they are an expression of aggression.
On one hand, I think these explanations say more about the commentator than they do about the firework displays. We see what we expect to see and interpret our experience through plausibility structures that make sense to us. The activist, concerned about police brutality, sees a symbol of resistance. The parent, desperate for their child to sleep through the night, simply experiences aggression. On the other hand, exploring our interpretations can lead us to discover desire, perspective, and even values we’d otherwise take for granted.
The increase in fireworks, and corresponding decrease in sleep, have led me to reflect on smoke and fire as ancient, primal, symbols. From storytelling around the fireside, to the Festival of Lights, to candles in the window at Christmas, we’ve associated light and flame with the transcendent. We are drawn to these symbols almost involuntarily, as though the symbols themselves speak an inarticulate language of the soul. What might I learn if I explore these symbols as a contemplative Christian? What wisdom might reveal itself? And, how might this perspective help me to respond the next time the fireworks rouse me from sleep?
Interpreting the Symbols
Fire and smoke have a distinct symbolic function within my worship tradition. In liturgical Christian traditions, we use candles to symbolize the presence of God. Candles are usually lit before worship begins as a reminder that God is present before we do anything. Liturgical traditions also use incense in worship to symbolize the prayers of the church. The smoke diffusing from visible to invisible reminds us that the invisible God is not so far away. Our prayers and urgent (and sometimes pungent) cries are heard. The true God is Immanuel, God with us.
What happens if I interpret the screech and pop of the fireworks outside my window within this interpretive lens? It might enable me to see the fire as the presence of God in my community. Just as I believe God is present in worship before I do anything, the flashes of light may remind me that God is present in my neighborhood, even in the times and places where light may seem to flicker and pop, rather than bathe in a soft steady gleam.
Considering the burning smoke as prayers, I may wonder what dreams or longings are embedded in my neighbors as we live, packed together in this narrow strip of island. There are, more than likely, dreams of home, love, life and future, dreams of opportunity or hope. How many of those dreams feel as though they’ve turned to smoke in these last few days, weeks, or years? Perhaps the colored smoke out my window is a longing that can only be voiced as a loud, disruptive, boom, desperate to be heard.
Burning Invitation
If I read these symbols in this way, it’s impossible to shake their invitation.
In the liturgical tradition, the scent and sight of smoke is also a witness that it is possible for the invisible God to make himself visible in a man, Jesus Christ. The church, which is so identified with Christ as to be named his body, is called to smell distinct and recognizable. It is called to be as noticeable as smoke.
I doubt many of my neighbors expect the odor of the church to be pleasant or inviting. Many church communities in my neighborhood are struggling. How few, I wonder, whether in the liturgical tradition or not, burn with any kind of holy fire. I fear we smell more like American Idol than like the aroma of Christ. We hide behind cultural respectability, consumer comfort, and campaigning for causes left and right.
But if the smoke and fire of our late nights is an indication of any kind of spiritual hunger, perhaps we need to carry incense again. Perhaps we need to get close to a holy fire that we might remember how to burn. Perhaps we need to let our songs and silent desperations diffuse into the presence of the holy. Perhaps we might learn, through touching Christ, what it means to be human again.
Discovered Desire
A spiritual and liturgical interpretation, like the one offered above, says far more about me than about the people lighting up the night sky. This interpretation raises challenges for me to think and pray through. How might God be inviting me to love my neighbors well in this season? How might I respond to the stirring for holiness I experienced in these reflections? How might I point the way to light and life for others in this season?
Questions for Reflection
Consider something disruptive in your life and context.
1. How might you interpret that experience in a way that draws your heart and mind toward God?
2. What symbols or commitments shape your interpretative framework? Do these symbols and commitments accurately reflect your understanding of God?
3. What stirs in you as you reflect on your experience in this way? What might God be saying to you through it?