This is where I rest my eyes most mornings during my time with God. Each fire I lay starts with kindling (a noun). Ros’ words below are a wonderful metaphor. But think of kindling as a verb as you read.
I’ve introduced my Scottish friend, Ros, to you before. She is a master at sharing her life and bringing life to the Word of God. Thank you again, Ros!!
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“The neighbourhood is quiet. Outside the air is crisp, and in these hours since the sun set, tiny glistening armies of frost have surreptitiously crept over the hedges and bins, gaining ground for the winter.
Inside the quietness continues. The only noise I hear is the slight creaking of the log-burning stove as flames lick the side of the iron. I hear the air being sucked down through the flue to the sky. I can just about detect the timorous roar of burning timber.
While the audible is notable for its discretion, the visual is without restraint. My eyes are riveted on the fire. Darting yellows and flickering oranges, a stark contrast to the black framing of the stove window. These flames, winsome and alluring, somehow invite you to be mesmerised; their dance both calming and rousing to behold.
It seems a miracle to me, as I sit and watch, that fire exists. Powerful and beautiful, and so very very hot..
Each time I come to light a stove, I perform fire-making rituals. Sometimes I start by cleaning the stove window, for maximum joy at seeing the flames. Then I lay a bed of some sort of fire-starter, a few pieces of kindling, and then a couple of smaller logs. I open the vents of the stove, to let precious oxygen in. Finally, I strike a small piece of magic wood (a match) and let the blaze begin.
What I’ve learned over the years is that kindling is very significant to this task. Try to light a fire without it, no joy is to be had. Similarly, choose kindling that’s not dried out sufficiently, or is insubstantial, and all you gain is the cold disappointment of firelessness. But however good your kindling is, kindling by itself won’t start a fire. Some kind of accelerant or spark – which for me seems like a form of wizardry, but is, in actual fact, chemistry – is needed to set the pile aglow with flame..
Over these past weeks, as I’ve been laying many fires, it’s occurred to me that my inner-flame acts in a similarly mystical way. In and of myself, I cannot generate the burning within me that fizzes with energy for my Creator. I long to have spiritual vitality, to be ‘on fire’ for Jesus, but I am incapable of creating that myself.
For our God is a consuming fire, the writer of Hebrews proclaims (Hebrews.12:29), quoting a declaration to the people of Israel that we see in Deuteronomy 4. The imagery of fire is used throughout scripture to denote the power and supremacy of God: A pillar of fire led the people of Israel through the desert (Exodus 13:21), God spoke to Moses through a burning bush (Exodus 3:2).
When you come into the New Testament we see John the Baptist announcing that the coming Christ will baptise with the Holy Spirit and with fire (Matt.3:11). The day of Pentecost comes and divided tongues as of fire rested on the disciples (Acts 2:1-15).
My point is this: throughout scripture fire is used as something that God brings, not man. I cannot set my own heart alight with the power of the Holy Spirit any more than I can ask the moon to change the course of its axis. It’s beyond my capacity: I’m utterly dependent the mystical Flame-Bestower for ignition.
BUT – and here’s the point: in this state of fire-dependency, I do still have choices about how I lay the fire.
And this is where the kindling comes in.
If I want to give the Holy Spirit the best opportunity to dazzle me with the brilliance of the Godhead, whilst I can’t orchestrate that myself, I can enable myself to be in a position to receive. A small piece of kindling is unremarkable by itself, but exceptionally significant in the ignition and sustaining of a fire.
A spiritual piece of kindling might be meditating on scripture. It could be going for a prayer walk. It might be silent, it might be loud. It could be singing, it could be fellowship. Kindling moments for me often, but not exclusively, take place in the dim early and late hours of each day. Moments to take stock or look ahead. Moments where I’m reminded (because I so quickly forget) that I’m deeply and totally loved.
These kindling moments are the bread and butter of following Jesus; ordinary and unremarkable, not always that interesting. But every now and then the mighty Firestarter blows a little air onto the flame and somethings changes: revelation is experienced, clarity is given, fervour is felt.
I often hear from people saying they just don’t experience God, and I look at their lives and wonder whether they’re ever actually putting themselves in a place to be set alight. Of course, the Holy Spirit can start a fire with no kindling at all, but the not-preparing-the-hearth makes it less likely that we’ll even notice the flames in the first place. Kindling invokes expectancy: we long to burn.
This metaphor breaks down in one major area: the lighting of a stove is an entirely functional transaction. The ignition of a soul-fire is entirely relational. I burn when I place myself in positions to receive love. I respond to the being-loved by loving back, and loving others. I respond to the burning with adoration, awe and gratitude. And for those soul-fire moments, I’m mesmerised by the flames, and what they show me of the mighty, passionate Firestarter.
And so as I return to the present-day fire-side, I wonder what kindling I’m being invited to lay this Advent season. I confess, I’m simultaneously both tired, and wired. I’d love to try some new things, but lack the creativity or stillness to muster ideas. Yet even as I write I sense the reminder that setting the kindling isn’t an onerous task. It doesn’t have to be sophisticated or clever. There is nothing to prove. Put simply, the invitation is to come, as we are, and receive. That’s the key, not the form it takes.
Just before the soporific affect of the stove dulls my cognitions towards sleep, the words of a song come to mind, and I leave these words as a prayer for us in these dark waiting weeks. Come, Lord Jesus, come.
Holy fire from heaven
Descend to us we pray, let us burn again
Holy fire from heaven, consume our hearts today
Let us burn again, let us burn again
Holy breath from heaven, descend to us we pray
Let us breathe again
Holy breath from heaven, revive our hearts today
Let us breathe again, let us breathe again
Rosalyn Boydell
Waiting in expectancy
Surrendered to your sovereignty
We’re hungry for true intimacy, Lord
For the things of your heart
Holy stream from heaven,
Descend to us we pray, let us drink again”
Me again:
What does it look like for you to kindle expectancy as we enter 2022?
What habits do you want to kindle to live in expectancy?
MERRY CHRISTMAS!!
What an amazing reflection. It certainly kindled a response in my heart, and warmed my spirit. I, too am “tired and wired,” exhausted by the buffeting winds of events, uplifted by holiday visits with family and friend who live afar. I needed to be reminded of the ways in which I can engage in mindfully laying down kindling in anticipation of the Divine spark: in my devotional readings, walks through peaceful woods, quiet listening to a friend’s sharing of their joys or troubles. I tend to take those activities for granted, forgetting how they nurture me even as I seek to be a nurturer. Most of all, I’m grateful for friends I know like Sue, who introduce me to others of like minds, like Ros, and those connections are kindling, kindred. What joy! – Janet
Janet, your words are always a balm to my soul. Thank you, my friend.
I’m going to make sure that Ros sees you words as well. Ros and her family live in Scotland.