Even The Fire is Fake

A friend and I were having a conversation in front of a fireplace in our school cafeteria. We were talking about the frustrations of being back at homogeneous Wheaton. We were talking about how Wheaton, as the epitome of white American Evangelical culture, values perfection so much that those who struggle, those who do not meet this disturbing subculture's standards of attractiveness, success, or spirituality often feel alienated, condemned, and silenced.

I watched the fire "burn" behind the screen. There was no smell of birch or oak to cling to our shirts. There were no crackles or sparks, and the "wood" has remained in the same artificial state since the fireplace was installed. There was nothing to stoke and nothing to build. The three neat little gas flames remained constant and perfect, reminding me that it was pleasing at first glance, but hardly as mesmerizing as a campfire or even one of the fires up at Honey Rock.

"Be ye perfect as I am perfect," commands the Lord. Yes, but it is the constant struggle that is the reality of life, not the perfection acquired post-eschaton. Thus the ash, the sparks, the smoke, all that is "imperfect" and "dangerous" is silently condemned and transformed into this fake fireplace, ridding it of its richness, idiosyncrasies, smells, and thus, beauty.

It is the struggle, with the presence of Christ, that is beautiful. It is the broken being redeemed and transformed into the new that is attractive, not the artificial facades we put on to impress those other "perfect" Christians who surround us (as if there was such a thing).

This institution is like the fireplace in our cafeteria. Temporarily pleasing to the eye, safe, and not without its warmth. But a real fire... the sometimes intense heat, the glowing embers of burning logs, the crackling of wood, the aroma of a true offering, now that's a beautiful fire.