Tried By Fire

"Blessed be the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, which according to his abundant mercy hath begotten us again unto a lively hope by the resurrection of Jesus Christ from the dead, to an inheritance incorruptible, and undefiled, and that fadeth not away, reserved in heaven for you, who are kept by the power of God through faith unto salvation ready to be revealed in the last time. Wherein ye greatly rejoice, though now for a season, if need be, ye are in heaviness through manifold afflictions: that the trial of your faith, being much more precious than of gold that perisheth, though it be tried with fire, might be found unto praise and honour and glory at the appearing of Jesus Christ: whom having not seen, ye love; in whom, though now ye see him not, yet believing, ye rejoice with joy unspeakable and full of glory: receiving the consummation of your faith, even the salvation of your souls." - 1 Peter 1:3-9

I love these words. They are filled with such joy! At first they were a little confusing. I had to reread the passage seven times before I totally understood what Peter was saying, and then I loved the message so much, I memorized it. I was going to try and itemize everything I love about this scripture and write it out in a nice tidy list, but it wasn't working so you're just going to have to bear with me as I merge seeds, fire, and roads made of gold. 

The words lively hope confused me for a while. Lively isn't a word we use very often today. When was the last time you used 'lively' in an everyday conversation? And what does being lively have to do with hope? When I think of something being lively I imagine a traditional Irish dance with fiddles and laughter and a good dose of Guinness. I don't imagine hope. 

Eventually I discovered that another translation of the word 'lively' is 'living' which made a lot more sense. Peter wasn't talking about a spritely, energetic hope, he was talking about a living hope. Then, of course, I had to wonder why having a living hope mattered. What's the difference between regular hope and living hope? Logically, the only way to figure that out was to ponder plants. 

I've mentioned before that I want to be a plant, springing up through blankets of snow and covers of darkness to reemerge green and vibrant. Recently, however, I found another fantastic example of the miracles of living plants. I was performing a transplant. For a variety of reasons involving the health and happiness of several plants in my garden, the passionflower needed to move. Passionflower is a perennial, but it's a bit tender and I was slightly worried it hadn't survived the winter. All I could see of it was dead brown stalks from last year poking above the ground. Still, it needed to move, so I dug it up, leaving as much root as I could intact. The roots seemed to be alive when I moved them to their new home and was diligent about remembering to water them for a whole four days! And then I got busy and watered them much less regularly. 

A couple weeks later I was concerned. Nothing had changed. The passionflower still looked brown and dead and I began to wonder if the roots had not survived the move. I started some new seeds indoors just in case, and laughed when not three days after planting those seeds inside, a few beautiful, green, and distinctly passionflower-shaped leaves emerged from the ground proving that the original plant was, in fact, very much alive. 

As I stared at those miracle leaves one morning, I remember thinking, "That is what it means to have a living hope." A dead hope doesn't come back. A living hope, on the other hand, is still there even when all outside appearances say it's gone. A living hope is still growing even though you can't see it. It's still alive even if you don't know it. A living hope can even survive a wildfire. 

At this point in my thoughts I started pondering burning plants. How do plants survive wildfires? Obviously some of them do because green, new growth can be seen within a year of a devastating wildfire. Can trees survive? If they're only burned on the outside, not the inside can they still grow? What about aspens? Do their roots survive to grow more trees even if nothing remains above the earth? If I were to burn my passionflower would it come back? I have no idea and I'm not willing to commit plant murder to find out.

I did learn something interesting, though. Did you know there's such a thing as a fire-dependent germinator? It's a plant whose seeds only grow after surviving a wildfire. The seeds are so hard, their outer coating so thick, that even years of watering and light exposure won't make them grow. They have to be burned. 

Obviously I had to try it. So the day after Thanksgiving last year I was on the front porch with a ceramic pot filled with dirt, a few fire-dependent seeds, and matches. I love fire, but I am not very good with it. Luckily with the help of my mom I eventually had a fire burning merrily on the dirt covering my seeds. We let it burn, smoke, dissolve to ash, and cool. Then I watered the seeds and left them. They haven't come up yet, not that I expected them to. While germination is impossible until the seeds have been burned they still might need several seasons of regular water and light after burning to germinate. My job is to keep them watered until they decide to prove that they're alive. 

Every time I walk by them, though, I ponder wildfire. It's incredible, isn't it? That something as devastating as a wildfire to us, is the only chance those fire-dependent seeds have to germinate. What we see as bad is actually a blessing for those plants. They need fire to live. It is their only hope. 

Which is where the roads of gold come in. Streets of gold, that's what we're promised in heaven, right? It sounds luxurious. 

There's just one thing that's always confused me. Gold is precious and beautiful. Why are angels using it to pave roads? It's going to get scuffed and scratched and dirty. 

Peter gives the answer. Sure, gold is precious on earth but in heaven it's about as important as asphalt. Why? Because the trial of your faith [is] much more precious than gold that perisheth, though it be tried with fire. The raw fact is that no matter how much gold is purified, processed, treated, and tried with fire, it will never be 100% pure and will always, eventually, tarnish. You, on the other hand, when tried by fire, become pure and precious in a way that gold never will, found to praise and honour and glory. 

It might not be immediately. You might get burned and feel reduced to charcoal and soot for a few seasons. You could feel like you're weighed down with heaviness for a while before you spring up with new growth and life from the proverbial ashes. But it's only for a season, and before long you'll discover that Peter was right and that trial by fire was much more precious than gold and you are now living proof of the power of a living hope. 

I used to think wildfires were a bad thing. I saw the devastation, the ugliness, the loss of color and vibrance and I mourned the destruction of some of the most beautiful vistas and meadows. Now, when I see the remains of a wildfire I see hope. I see opportunity for the wide variety of flowers and herbs that have lain dormant for years to finally bloom. Over the years as the green and color overtakes the black and gray I think the view is even more beautiful because I know where those plants came from. I know what they had to conquer to be here. To be alive. To bring hope.

The trial of your faith...it's hard. It hurts. It's devastating. I know it is. But hold on a little longer and believe what you can't see, what you might not even know is there, that your living hope is still alive and it will regrow and bloom again.