Fire from Heaven, and other stories that I've never actually seen happen

I want it to be exciting.

Tonight, James and I were reading the story of Elijah, how, when Elijah asked God to send fire from heaven on the wet wood of an altar, God sent fire. James just looked at me. He has become a skeptic where God stories are concerned. James understands that God did a whole lot of stuff that's really cool, dramatic, fiery, BIG, exciting, but he doesn't believe God really does that stuff now. I want him to believe, I want him to be excited.

If I'm honest, I want to be excited, too. Passionate. All-consumed. On fire. Sometimes it is that way with God. Remember church camp? That was big! Remember the first time you knew, just knew, that a prayer you prayed was truly answered? Or the confirmation of a call? I do.

Passion is what we're preaching about at Trinity these days. Yet even as I hope for passion, I remember that all those exciting times, for Elijah, were preceded by many, many days of simply walking with God, not to mention some persecution and extreme loneliness. Before the fire rained down, he had to gather wood, after all, and tote the water for the whole production. The writer doesn't really tell us about all that.

I remember that my own 'passionate' moments were preceded and followed by a whole lot of ordinary days when little old church ladies were praying for me. They were surrounded by huge stretches of time when I put one foot or one word or one action in front of the other and did my best to stay open to the ever undramatic nudging of the Holy Spirit. Passion is big moments, sure, but it's also coming to God daily, reading his word and looking for him in it regularly, doing something for someone else often, listening to the wisdom of the Body, and being ready for the big stuff when it's time.

Dailiness doesn't make a good story, I suppose. Maybe the parts of the Bible that talk about fire from heaven and crazed wicked queens are for the child in us. We need them. They remind us there is such a thing as faith that risks death. God is so much bigger than most of our puny prayers. We're kept on our toes, turning the pages day after day, never knowing just where or how the Wind of God will blow. As we do the daily work, as we keep returning our attention to God, the altar is built for the time when fire rains down.

I've never been good at manufacturing adventure or passion or excitement. All I can do is keep returning to Jesus, walking with him, doing what I can do to build the altar. He took care of the fire for Elijah. I suppose he just might do the same for me, and James.