The Flames of Suffering

For so long I have feared the flames. From a safe distance they provide light and warmth, but as they draw near it cackles with a voracious hunger. It seems to only consume until there is nothing left behind but blackened ash and smoke. Up to this point I have done my best to avoid the flames, to run from them, before they can catch me. Each time suffering rears it’s head in my life I flee to seemingly green pastures. And yet it haunts me. It has found me once again. I was walking in the cool of the day enjoying the breeze on my face when all of the sudden the smell of acrid smoke draws into my nostrils.

Fear sets in immediately; my muscles tense, my eyes go wide, and my fickle life force seems to drain from me. And yet there is something beautiful about the flame. As it topples trees in the forest it’s almost like I can hear a strange song. It’s not a happy song, not happy in how you and I might describe a happy song. But it’s deep and powerful. The sound resonates in my soul and I cannot explain why. My mind screams for me to run, and yet I cannot. My feet are rooted in the ground like the trees around me awaiting their fate. The flames come closer providing a dangerous warmth that sends sweat trickling down my back.

Alas, I can take the heat no longer and I frantically search for water to throw on the flame. I find a cup of water sitting on a table and I attempt to douse the flame. It’s futile I know, but something inside me is desperate to try even though deep in my heart I know that I could dump the ocean on this flame and it would still burn. The flame rages with a purpose that I cannot understand.

I try several more cups of water, but it’s hopeless. Sweat pours off my forehead and tears stream from my eyes. I am surrounded now. Normally at this point I would run away to another field somewhere, but there is nowhere for me to go. The flames will only find me again and I am so weary from running. It’s not my body that is tired, but it’s my soul that can no longer muster the strength to flee. I cry out to the heavens pleading for help, but there is no answer except the cackling of flame and the falling of timber. I continue to cry out in desperation, but the smoke invades my lungs and I begin to choke. It wages war on my eyes, nose, and throat clawing at my very life.

The day has finally come. I had convinced myself that I could always run from the flames, but deep down I knew that at some point they would catch me. As I sit down my body racked with coughs from the smoke I wonder to myself, “Why have you been running from the flame?” The answer seems obvious and yet it’s not. I realize that it’s not the pain that I fear most, but rather it is the divine judgment of the fire that makes me tremble. The flames of suffering can only be for those who have displeased God. His love has completely withdrawn from me and now I must face the flames.

I feel the first of the flames lick at my feet with the tongue of wrath that lashes at me with rage. My body attempts to withdraw to protect itself, but there is nowhere to go. Tears continue to stream down my face as the flames spread across my body. It takes but a moment for the agony to set in. My hair curls and my skin begins to boil underneath the heat. It's as if the flame contains every agony, every affliction, every fear, all unleashed at once erupting my soul into a raging inferno of sorrow. In my mind I plead that it might be over quickly, wishing for the sweet release of death, and yet it does not come.

I am about to slip into either unconsciousness or death, although I don’t know if there is much of a difference. I hear an actual song this time and its sweet to my hears. It must be a harmony of angels bidding me to come home. And then I feel someone grasp my hand. It hurts at first to have someone squeeze your burned flesh, and yet it is a pinprick compared to the consuming agony of my suffering. But then a cooling feeling begins to radiate from my hand to my arms, across my chest, and down my legs. It is the sweetest reprieve I have ever known. It’s like a sweet balm spread over my skin and seeping into my bones. The pain subsides and I can breath again. My lungs are surprised to be breathing fresh air and not the smoke of depression. Sweet fresh air, like after a rain has fallen over a meadow in spring. I open my eyes and expect to see a charred wasteland, but green grass spills over the hills and birds chirp in the trees.

Remarkably I am able to stand on my own two feet. I look over my hands and see not a single burn mark, singed hair, or trace of soot. And then I see it on the ground. It’s like a snake skin, but it’s much too large to be a snake skin. As I get closer I realize that it’s in the shape of a human. It’s my own skin. It’s been peeled off and left like a husk on the ground. I poke at it with a stick and am amazed at the enormous weight of it. It’s surprising I could walk at all with all that extra flesh to carry around.

An incredible thirst paws at my throat and simultaneously I hear the trickling of a stream. I walk over towards the trees and there is a bubbling brook, with the clearest water I’ve ever seen. The sound of it flowing over rocks is like a melody, and I stoop down for a drink. I scoop some water towards my mouth and it kisses my lips gently. It’s like I’ve waited my entire life to drink from this stream. Everything else I have drank to this moment must have been salt water, making me thirst even more, but this water quenches my thirst and refreshes my soul like I have never known.

I’m not sure what happened today, but for now I think I can submit to the flames. They don’t intend to burn for the sake of pain and judgment, but rather their purpose is to purify. I suddenly realize that has been there intent all along to release me from the bondage of my own flesh. I would like to say that when the flames come again that I will not be afraid or that I will not run because I do not possess that kind of courage. I may run again, and maybe you find yourself running from the flames as well. There will be a day where you can no longer run and you will have no other choice but to submit to the flames. I hope that as the flames encompass you that you hear the song of the saints singing over you beckoning you in the kingdom. That the salve of the gospel will provide healing to your wounds, and that the hand of Christ will ensure you that you are not alone or forsaken, but rather that you are treasured, adored, and that He is right there beside you.