Have you ever sat in silence around a campfire, mesmerized by the dancing flames? No one notices exactly when the quietness ensues, but the talking and laughter cease and the only motion is the fire, the only sound the one its tongues produce. Suddenly you notice as if awaking from a dream, all the other glowing faces, gazing just like you. What is it about fire that elicits such wordless wonder? For one thing, its constant variations must be information-overload to our brains. We understand instinctively that if we snapped a million pictures of the fire, no two shots would be the same. But I think there’s something deeper to the attraction. I’m convinced that fire is a bright reminder of our God and what’s to come. Allow me to explain.
Fire declares our God like nothing else on earth. Of all the elements around us, fire is most closely associated with our Triune God. Not surprisingly it is yet another trinity in action. Earthly fire cannot exist without three things – oxygen, fuel, and heat. When you see a flame, it is the combination of at least these three you see. But think of all the other fiery likenesses used for Him throughout the Scriptures, too. A burning torch to Abram, a burning bush to Moses, a pillar of fire to light the night for wandering Israel, the flickering tongues upon His follower’s heads at Pentecost. In fact, certain verses just come right out and say it, “Our God is a consuming fire.” (Heb. 12:29) Why does He choose this as His most common metaphor? Here are some possibilities.
Fire has a distinctly different direction. Every other thing we see on earth is pulled downward when released. But like the needle of a compass, always searching for the North, the flames of fire are always reaching for the heavens. Fire is like a cascade falling upward. While it may feed upon the things below, its heart is up above. Indeed, this is precisely how we grow a fire; we lay combustible barriers between it and the sky above it, and watch it run along the bottom, aching for an upward path. And when it finds the trails are insufficient to its yearnings, it bores a hole through whatever blocks its way. Fire reminds us that the things above are worth pursuing.
Fire is insatiable. We only control the girth of the candle’s flame by the stringent diet of the wick. Let that tiny flicker dine upon a larger feast, and just as Proverbs says, it will never cry “enough!” (Pro. 30:16) Hardly a year goes by without some headline of another wildfire’s spread. And those fires never die through lack of hunger, but only when deprived of food. Earthly fire only lives as it devours. Though the Bible teaches that our God consumes as well, He doesn’t do it to exist or satisfy some hunger in Himself. When Moses came upon the burning bush, what arrested his attention was not the fire, but that the bush was not consumed. If we were to come upon a tree burning in the forest, we would probably think nothing of it. Perhaps a strike of lightning or careless camper’s ember had left the hungry blaze. But if like Moses, we discovered that the fire wasn’t feeding on the tree, we would know in an instant that we were in the presence of the One who is I AM.
Fire reminds us of the praise our God is due. How fitting that we call the extremities of fire “tongues.” As on the day of Pentecost, when myriad languages glorified our God, so fire always lifts its tongues toward heaven in a ceaseless call to praise. And just as fire looks the same in every nation, so the Spirit is unifying what Bable tore apart. While no flames are visible above our heads today, the secret fire of the Spirit’s igniting work is spreading around the globe and will issue in a bonfire of extolling voices before the throne. Like fire praising Fire, we will worship evermore!
And fire reminds us of the coming judgment. No discussion of fire would be complete without recognizing its reminder of the flames of hell. While we may feel the warmth and comfort of the flames upon our faces, we’ve also known the singeing devastation it can bring. The simplicity of fire means that all the things that make it good are just the things that would destroy us if we got too close. And burning is what happens when eternity is near. One can hardly say the word “hell” without the images of fire and brimstone filling the imagination. “Who can endure the day of His coming, and who can stand when He appears? For He is like a refiner’s fire….” (Mal. 3:2) Moses and Israel trembled at the fire on earth; how much more so the fire that won’t be quenched. (Mark 9:43)
When we read in Psalms that “The voice of the Lord divides the flames of fire” (Psa. 29:7), we are meant to understand that fire has a language. He’s forming words in every fiery tongue we see. May we learn from fire to take a path distinctly different from the world. May we, like fire, be insatiable in our hunger for the things above. May we be warmth and comfort to a dark and shivering world. And may our tongues be ever extolling the wonders of the One Who saved us from the flames to come, that they might be inflamed as well.
