My Burning Tree

While I'm on sabbatical until August 1, please enjoy this previous but popular post.

As any pastor knows, we're always looking for a good illustration. I like to pick them from my personal experience. It is a good exercise in humility and protects others from the unwanted spotlight. When bad things happen, we don't always see them as a good illustration, at least not right away. But when it occurred 60 years ago, and today you see a good application, it's nice to think God knew I'd need it as a teaching tool one day. Growing up in East Detroit, we had a lot of kids on our street; big kids, little kids, bad kids, good kids. My next-door neighbor was what we called in 1962 a greaser. He was a picture-perfect hoodlum, greased back hair, skin-tight t-shirt, Camel cigarettes rolled up in his sleeve, black pants, and boots. He had it all. I thought he was pretty cool. I was 9, and he was 17.

One day he showed me how to flick lit matches from paper matchbooks they used to make. I caught on quickly after he gave me a couple of matchbooks to practice. Once mastered, I went to show my younger friends how cool I was. We went behind their garage, and I started flicking lit matches in every direction. My friends were impressed. Concentrating on my technique rather than the direction the lit matches were landing, I failed to notice that one had landed under a tree, not just any tree, but a 20 ft. evergreen that towered over me. On the ground, beneath the tree, there was a thick bed of dried needles—a lot of them. My trick match landed in the bed of needles, and they caught fire instantly and burned rapidly.

To my horror, the tree was engulfed in flames in less than a minute. My "friends" vanished. My knees were trembling. Glowing embers filled the afternoon sky. I was in real trouble. That long walk home, only about four houses, seemed to take hours. This was one error in judgment I could not hide. Clouds of gray smoke rose quickly, and my blunder could be seen from blocks away. I got home, and Mom already knew. The tree owner, Mrs. Miller, had called her before I could get there. I was sent to my room, waiting for my Dad to arrive—another long wait. When Dad made it home, the punishment was swift and appropriate. I was sorry for what I had done for a lot of reasons. My Sunday School class was going swimming at the old YMCA pool that evening. It was something I had been looking forward to for some time. I tearfully accepted I'd spend the rest of the day, and night, in my room.

I was recently teaching about God's forgiveness. His forgiveness is quick, sure, and permanent. We often do not comprehend the nature of his forgiveness. It is incomprehensible. Psalm 103:12 offers a truth that we can hardly grasp; "as far as the east is from the west, so far does he remove our transgressions from us." And the even more difficult truth; For I will be merciful toward their iniquities, and I will remember their sins no more." (Hebrews 8:12). When I needed an illustration of forgiveness, my burning tree event came to mind, not because of the severity of the "sin" but the godly example of Dad's response. After finishing dinner in my room, Dad came in and said it was time to get ready. "For what?" I asked. "To go swimming," Dad answered. I was baffled. I had just burned down a tree that could have taken a house or garage down. "What about the tree?" I questioned. "That's been dealt with!" Dad said.

At the time, I was only grateful that I could go swimming! But over time, I realized the wisdom in how Dad handled the situation. Years later, I saw the similarities between what Dad did and what God does. Our sin is dealt with. We confess. We repent. He forgives. It is done. Underlying this marvelous truth is that our sin was dealt with when Christ died on the cross. As He died, He said, "It is finished." Our sin was dealt with once and for all. Our sins are an offense to God, yet He is graciously willing to deal with them and forget them. Forgiveness is a great blessing, and it came at a great price, yet the Lord is not stingy with it. To God be the glory for dealing with and expunging our sin with no memory of it.