To Build a Fire

Gary D. Collier

Originally published in
Image 10:3-4 (May - August 1994 in two parts).
Updated and expanded here.

July 18, 1998

But the man remained silent. Later, the dog whined loudly. And still later it crept close to the man and caught the scent of death. This made the animal bristle and back away. A little longer it delayed, howling under the stars that leaped and danced and shone brightly in the cold sky. Then it turned and trotted up the trail.¹

In 1908, Jack London published his second version of his now famous short story, "To Build a Fire." In it, he tells of a man, a newcomer to the Yukon, who-perhaps like too many of us-"was without imagination. He was quick and alert in the things of life, but only in the things, and not in the significances."

Such thoughtlessness caused this man to break a cardinal rule of his ruthless and unforgiving environment: he decided to walk alone in a temperature of 75 degrees below zero. As he walked, he fell victim to a hidden water trap just beneath the ice and soaked his foot and leg. Concerned at first about losing an hour from his journey, he soon-after several desperate, but failed, attempts to build a fire-began to realize that more was at risk: first his fingers and toes, and then his very life. Finally, he acceded in his near frozen condition, sat down close to his dog, and quietly, helplessly, fell into an eternal sleep.

"To Build a Fire" is a gripping tale of human frailty and mortality. And it speaks volumes of allegorical warnings to anyone in urban churches.

First, like that man, many Christians think we are in a beautiful and friendly habitat; but we forget that it is ever-changing and quite deadly. Indeed, already we have stepped into the icy water, and many of us have yet to realize the serious nature of the threat.

Some of us, for example, do not realize how dependent our churches have been on the relatively "friendly"-and relatively unified-philosophic base of both our civil government and our society as a whole with respect to the notion that religion (and especially Christianity) is good. Over the past two hundred years, we have had good soil in which to flourish. When I was a boy, public service announcements regularly appeared on radio and television, and even on milk cartons, to encourage people to "attend the church of your choice"; Hollywood movies very often depicted "going to church" in a very positive light; and presidents and other politicians commonly referred to their belief in God or even to their prayer life. Such notices were both possible and commonly made.

Such things are rarely said anymore. To say such a thing, in fact, would certainly not be considered politically correct and could even ruin a politician's career. Everyday, now, we watch as government and society grow increasingly hostile toward religion in general and Christianity in particular. The one-time philosophic coherence that encouraged churches to thrive, and which held Christian communities in high regard, is steadily eroding.

The advent of post-modernity, to take but one brief example, demolished the foundations (and foundationalism!) of the culture that spawned and supported twentieth century American Christianity. This has far reaching implications. On this, Robert Lundin has written critically:

. . . the postmodern self no longer harbors hopes of discovering truth or secure principles. Instead, driven by the ideals of therapy and consumption, it seeks, by whatever means will work, to provide satisfactions for the unencumbered self; it strives to reduce all individual moral actions to matters of choice for which there are no authoritative guidelines or binding principles. In the culture of therapy and interpretation, there is nothing to direct the self except its preferences. There is no goal for the actions of the self save the fulfillment of its desires.²

Certainly, there are other, less critical assessments of postmodernism, but the point here is that our foundational society (with its sure answers) which supported modern Christianity does not exist any more. This has strong implications.

Of course, there are reminders of our past all around us, giving us a sense that all is as it was: the inscription on our currency, "In God we Trust;" the tribute in our national hymn, "God shed his grace on thee;" the motto in our pledge, "One nation under God." Like tombstones they remind us of what once was, but has passed away-not, of course, that God no longer cares, or that no one still has these beliefs, but that as a whole, our nation no longer believes such things.

We can see other evidences of change all about: sitcoms model "alternative" and confused moralities through bawdiness and lewdness; a six year old little girl is shot to death playing in her yard or a respected pastor and his wife are brutally murdered as terror increases in our neighborhoods; and Hollywood champions our new moral wisdom in the person of Tom Hanks, who not that long ago lauded "the wisdom of our wonderful creator who made us all-gays and straights-so wonderfully different!"³ Whether you agree or disagree it is evident that the face of our society has dramatically changed during the last quarter century.

Certainly, the world has always had its problems. Sin has always been present. It has always been true that people gravitate to the dark side of existence, even in the name or religion. But the question is, will the wider Christian community continue to hide from the realities of a truly changing world, as though it need not raise and be actively engaged in the all-important public discourse over questions of morals, ethics, and social justice? Will it increasingly abandon its role in public discourse and actually conclude that it only needs to hark back to past answers, or that national and global upheavals in philosophical and ethical values are really inconsequential for how it respond as the people of God?

Our world has made a radical shift in values and thought processes, and in what is and is not tolerated. Some of this change, of course, is good. However, the water is icy, the air is cold. And there is a very real threat.

Secondly, like the man in the Yukon, many churches are "without imagination" of how we are linked to our surroundings. Like that man, we tend to act with the naïve notion that we will be able, rather quickly, to get back on track, if we will simply ignore the changes around us as passing fads, or even to denounce them once and for all, as if we can run them off. On the whole there is a widespread failure of the various Christian communities to come to grips with, interact with, grapple with, or especially dialogue with our ever-changing culture. This is not a simple or unimportant matter.

In a recent major book, D. Newell Williams writes a Case Study of Mainstream Protestantism by looking specifically at his own denomination, the Disciples of Christ. In doing so, he sounds a somber note that can be taken to heart by all of Christendom:

The failure of the Disciples and other mainline Protestant denominations to appeal to the current generation of younger adults has dramatically disclosed truths about the identity of the mainline churches throughout the twentieth century: the mainline churches have not represented "American Protestantism" but only one segment of a genuinely pluralistic social and religious order. For the past twenty-five years this segment of American Christianity has had difficulty reproducing itself, and now, not surprisingly, its role in American culture is diminishing. ⁴

Meaningful interaction between culture and the community of God is crucial.

But sometimes we cannot see past our own four walls. We reason that since the Christian faith has had a long and prosperous life on American soil, and around the world, it surely will continue as in the past. With such a false sense of security, denominations vie with one another for prominence, power, and place, all in the name of God. When we think this way, we not only overestimate our own abilities, but we underestimate the conditions "outside" and our interconnectedness with those conditions.

But the culture that has propped up the current denominational proliferation, with its competitions, its infightings, and its one-upmanship, is surely eroding. The real task that lies before us is not that we become culture-less, but that we become culture-sensitive: we must be able to recognize it, understand it, live within it, and respond meaningfully to it-all from within another perspective, that of the government of God.

Like the man in the Yukon, rather than realizing the significance of our interconnectedness with our new world situation, and rather than finding meaningful ways to live and survive in it, the larger Christian community is merely perturbed that its schedule (the way it has always done things) is being interrupted. But when we take this approach in our new world situation and find ourselves dying from exposure, we end up having nothing but our pet doctrines to keep us company-and all they do, like the dog, is look at us pathetically and whine! But they can't help us.

The man in the Yukon did not understand the significance of such things for his own environment. Consequently, he was caught by it and eventually succumbed to it when he could not build a fire. Likewise, our own need to build a fire just now is not frivolous.

But how do we build a fire? I wish to offer some basics, not supposing that this will be all that is needed. Here, as I see it, is a crucial beginning.

I suggest that Christians everywhere go back to some basics; back to how the whole movement got started in the first place; back, in other words, to God himself. I advocate no naïve biblicism here. I speak, rather, of responsible acts of faith. Maybe it is time for us to focus on things we already take for granted. What would happen, for example, if Christians collectively were to open the book of Acts again and ask, How does God build a fire?

1. To build a fire, we must have sustained, earnest, and focused corporate prayer.

All these with one accord devoted themselves to prayer, together with the women and Mary the mother of Jesus, and with his brothers. (Acts 1:14)⁵

If ever a group found itself in a hostile world, the earliest disciples were the group! And let us be clear, they were not sure what to do next. They had been with Jesus, had been confounded by his works, had been convicted by his words, and had cowered at his arrest. They hid. And together they prayed. Not just once. Not just occasionally. No, the language here simply cries out for comment.

The KJV reads "continued with one accord in prayer" and is followed by the RSV, "with one accord devoted themselves to prayer." These are not incorrect, but newer translations more adequately bring out the intensity of the Greek phrase proskarterountes homothumadon. These two words occur in Acts more than in any other single New Testament document. The first, proskartereo, occurs six times in Acts (1:14; 2:42, 46; 6:4; 8:13; and 10:7) and indicates a constant, focused, dedicated activity. The idea is that of attaching oneself to something or someone, as Simon latched onto Philip (8:13), or as the centurion had a dedicated attendant (10:17). In Acts, believers are said to "attach themselves" to the apostles teaching, fellowship, breaking bread, and prayer (2:42); to the temple (2:46); and to prayer and the ministry of the word (6:4). The picture is given for these early believers that continual and earnest corporate prayer dominated their understanding from the very beginning.

The second word, homothumadon, occurs ten times in Acts (1:14; 2:46; 4:24; 5:12; 7:57: 8:6; 12:20; 15:25; 18:12; and 19:29),⁶ and conveys the idea of being of one purpose, goal, or intent. This can be to a bad end, such as the mob (7:57) which came with one thing in mind: "Kill Stephen!" But more often the connotation is positive, referring to the disciples' state of mind, as in 5:12: "One in heart, they all used to meet in the portico of Solomon" (NJB). Especially in the opening chapters, Acts has a particular interest in helping us catch the vision of the those early disciples: they were of one mind with each other and of focused attachment to the worship of God. Indeed, two texts have both words together: "With one heart all these joined constantly in prayer," and "Each day, with one heart, they regularly went to the Temple," (1:14 and 2:46 NJB). This does not mean they agreed with each other on every point. It means, rather, they were focused and together on the task or tasks at hand-in this case, prayer. Prayer was not just something to do. It was not merely a habit. It was a focused decision and an ongoing effort.

In my own experience, this is not a popular concept nowadays. Of course, churches do pray: every Sunday, every Wednesday. And this is good. But more is needed. Special times of prayer-focused, prolonged, earnest. Private? Yes. In our closets? Of course. But more. In groups. With tear drenched cheeks, clasped hands, and riveted hearts. Emotionalism? No. Repentance and submission! Together. Resolved. Faithful. Longing. Expecting. We need wisdom. We need courage. We need focus. We need faithful times of prayer.

2. To build a fire, we must open Scripture again-for the first time.

Brethren, the scripture had to be fulfilled, which the Holy Spirit spoke beforehand by the mouth of David . . . (Acts 1:16)

As the disciples of Jesus huddled in focused, continual prayer, they also opened Scripture. And there they found something new; something they had missed before. This group was not an early "Jesus Seminar" (voting on which sayings of Jesus are authentic), nor was it a Sunday morning Bible class (superficially talking about marginally related items). Their effort was not to take up time before the morning worship hour, or to do their daily duty in reading three chapters from the Bible. No, they were looking for help! How in the world was God acting, for heaven's sake? And they found answers.

Today, we fight over Scripture. Which little group, which denomination, has "the truth" about how to read the Bible? Which hermeneutical principles must a Christian use, which exegetical rules are essential? Old hermeneutic? New hermeneutic? Your hermeneutic, my hermeneutic. A friend of mine says he follows the "Pan Hermeneutic"-he reads the Bible looking for God and believes it will all pan out. Well, this approach is overly simplistic, but frankly, it is a lot better than some of the other approaches I have seen.

We all have read Scripture and we all have our pet opinions, as well as our strong convictions. But have we no energy for studying Scripture together? Yes, we've read it before. Now, we must see it as wholly new. A private venture? Again, yes, but more! Now, as the body of Christ on earth. We need groups of believers wanting to see, wanting to hear; brothers and sisters sharpening each other, and for once patient with each other; humble people focused not on themselves, but on God! "What does God want from us?" This should be our question. He is speaking! He has a word for us. But we must listen. We must read for understanding, to be sure. But we must, more than ever before, read to be transformed into his likeness, not simply to support some doctrinal platform. 

3. To build a fire, we must open ourselves to the activity of God's Spirit among us.

They were all together in one place. And suddenly . . . they were all filled with the Holy Spirit . . . (Acts 2:1-4)

It seems right, doesn't it, that this group which was of one purpose in prayer and in searching Scripture, receives God's Spirit together? Because together they had opened themselves up to God, God came to work among them! In Acts this message-that God is at work among his followers-nearly jumps off the page! Since the human Jesus has ascended into heaven, the Spirit of God has come to live and move among his people! Want to build a fire? Let God do it!

But, alas, we have already read Acts, and we live in a religious world hopelessly divided over worship style. Some are more expressive, some less. Some dance in the aisles, some sit like stones. How can we find any common purpose here?Perhaps you will (or won't) forgive my little bit of irreverence for some of our foibles, but the following point simply must be made: whether God chooses to give gifts of tongues these days or not, he certainly gives us his Spirit to move and work among us the same as when it all began. And if that has not been the case among us, as the body of Christ on earth, perhaps that says more about us than about God.

4. Finally, to build a fire, we must put aside our many differences and work together.

Now the company of those who believed were of one heart and soul, and no one said that any of the things which he possessed was his own, but they had everything in common . . . (Acts 4:32-34)

They had everything in common? What is described here is a new, growing, vibrant community of believers. This is a picture of unity, not uniformity. The point throughout Acts is not that believers were spiritual robots, but rather, that something wonderful was happening through this new and focused movement. Such unity of focus and purpose resulted in unbelievable power and accomplishment.

In contrast to this, we, as an historic and tradition-laden people, have many obstacles to unity. Sometimes we are divided by the notion that before we can fellowship another Christian group, we must believe all the same things-on just about every matter under the sun! This effort has often led us into irresolvable conflicts which , then become the focal point of our relationships. Think of it. We focus on our differences and then wonder why we can't get along!

But neither Paul (1 Cor 1:10) nor Acts advocates uniformity. And both reflect diversity of viewpoints-on things to believe-as a "given" among earliest Christians (cf. Acts 6:1ff, 15:39; Rom 14). Each speaks of being one in heart and mind, not one on a set list of credal statements about what Scripture teaches. I would suggest that if we were to focus on the types of things they were focusing on (e.g., the risen Messiah and the welfare of the Christian community at large) two things would happen: (1) we would find that we, too, could be of one mind and heart, despite any differences we might have over style or other issues; and (2) we would find better ways of dealing profitably with any matter we do disagree over. There are always going to be differences of opinion. But these matters do not define us as Christian. We should focus on what is crucial to the heart of God: that is where we will find our unity as the body of Christ on earth.⁷ This may be the hardest (dare I say, impossible?) step. For we all believe we are "biblical." Will we-together-ever realize that we are not the enemy, even though we disagree on some matters which we have deemed important? The enemy is the icy water, the dreaded dark, the long night; atheistic secularism, humanistic self-centeredness, frigid religiosity; greed, hate, lust; a hard heart, a dead spirit, a biting tongue. We do not need to assist these demons of the piercing night as they eat away at our resolve, sap our strength, and steal our life away. No, we must find contemporary ways of confronting these and other issues.

Of course, in the midst of all of this, it is just possible that we should consider doing what the man in the Yukon did not do. Perhaps we should consider sacrificing some of our pet doctrines-on the altar of submission to God!--in order to make it through the night.

As the body of Christ on earth, we need each other: in prayer, in a renewed search of Scripture, in an openness to the Spirit of God, and in a determined effort to be of one mind and heart on what is crucial to God. 

Oh, to build a fire!

 Endnotes