Fireworks
Tuesday, 13. July 2010 by Dan Ryan
I have no idea where you were on the 4th of July, but for most of us, that involved fireworks.
After taking in Mahomet’s underwhelming display last Sunday evening, God more than made up for it the next night. A group of us trekked up to the south side of Chicago for a White Sox game, and there were plenty of fireworks—both during and after a glorious 9-2 Sox victory.
As we gazed up at the postgame fireworks show, I found myself wondering how the heck fireworks work. What causes the bright blues, greens, reds, etc.? What causes some to sparkle and some to sound like bombs? What causes some to soar high while others barely climbed over the skyline? Okay, I’m guessing you get the point.
I’m getting better at recognizing when Jesus is at the podium. So I decided to do a little research the next day. I knew fireworks contain black gunpowder. And obviously, they rely upon the fire and heat triggered by lighting them. Depending on what color you desire, you use varying metals/elements (e.g. barium for green).
What I didn’t know is that the height is controlled by how tightly one packs the powder into the firecracker. The more tightly wound the firecracker, the higher it will generally soar. Not only that, but the largeness of the display depends upon this pressure as well. Those massive fireworks which spread across the sky during a show’s finale, they are packed more tightly than the opening fireworks.
Interesting.
A while back, I heard this dude named Trygve Johnson talk about this concept called “askesis.” Askesis is a Greek word which has no natural English translation. Askesis basically deals with the need for something to be confined before it fully comes alive.
If you’re in need of imagery, think of violently shaking a can of pop before you hand it to a friend (oh, come on—I’m not the only one who’s done that!). Or Michael Phelps exploding onto the Olympic swimming scene after a decade of training and sacrifice. Or fireworks.
In each case, if that something or someone wouldn’t have been confined by boundaries, the reaction wouldn’t have been remarkable or even noteworthy. The problem is we see the word “boundary” and we recoil. Such boundary talk carries nasty, negative connotations into our discussion. Boundaries presumably infringe on our personal freedoms, and frankly, we don’t appreciate that.
” The law of the Lord is perfect, reviving the soul.” —Psalm 19:7
The actual translation for law here is the famous Hebrew word “torah.” Torah was never meant to be a restriction or hindrance, but rather a much-needed guide for us humans to reach a goal or ideal. At its core, torah is a means, not an end.
True, maybe something got lost in translation over the past 2,500 years. But the issue runs deeper than that. The issue rests upon my trust—or distrust—in God. Do I trust that He knows the way to places where my soul explodes and comes fully alive? Because if I don’t, then I risk subconsciously relegating God to be some pleasure-denying scrooge.
I was at a party on the 4th, learning to play washers in my friend’s backyard when our friend Nathan tossed a bundle of firecrackers at me and yelled, “Dan! Watch out!” Well, I didn’t dive for cover (only because I didn’t have time to do so). Turns out Nathan hadn’t lit the fuse on the otherwise harmless firecrackers. Yes, the gunpowder in those firecrackers was tightly packed, but obviously they needed the fire from an outside source. And so our weekly metaphor is complete.
May you embrace our God’s boundaries for what they are. May you see them not as fences, but a pathway to real life and the highest highs it can provide. May you trust in those confinements when it comes time to do so this week.
And when you do, may you sense God nearby, ready to light the fuse.
