Playing with Fire
During my freshman year of college, my former youth minister invited me to serve as a counselor on a student retreat. I eagerly accepted the invitation, grateful for the chance to finally be an “adult” leader. My enthusiasm was somewhat dampened when a cafeteria lady at the Baptist camp rebuked me for leaving the room without permission; she incorrectly assumed that I was a high school student rather than a chaperone.
I am sure I had a range of responsibilities over the weekend, but I can only recall one duty, perhaps because I failed so spectacularly in its execution. I also cannot remember the retreat’s theme, but I will never forget the passage of Scripture that set the stage for my failure: 1 Kings 18:1-40.
The youth minister planned to present a dramatic retelling of Elijah’s confrontation with the prophets of Baal on Mount Carmel. On the final evening of the retreat, the teenagers would gather at the camp’s amphitheater. While they sat on rough-hewn log benches, a narrator would mesmerize them with the story of the dueling prophets. The special effects (provided by yours truly and another college student) were intended to enhance the experience.
In the afternoon, the youth minister and a chaperone prepared the fire pit at the amphitheater for the evening activity. Kindling and logs were carefully positioned and thoroughly soaked with lighter fluid. Boards were nailed to two pine trees to create ladders. These conifers, growing on either side of the back row, served as anchor points for two cables, which were strung to intersect at the center of the fire pit.
Before dinner, my FX partner and I were given our marching orders. Thirty minutes before sunset, we would discretely make our way to amphitheater. We would carry two items with us as we ascended our assigned ladders: a bundle of rags (spritzed with lighter fluid, attached to a carabiner) and a cigarette lighter.
After climbing the trees, we did a quick, simulated run-through with the narrator (sans fire). On his cue, we would flick our BICs, light our combustible bundles, and send the fireballs soaring down the cables toward the primed pit. Let the pyrotechnics begin!
As darkness descended, the youth group assembled on the benches below us. The narrator - another college student - took his position in between the fire pit and the crowd. As he began to tell the paraphrased tale of Elijah and the prophets of Baal, I began to get nervous.
I worried that I would not be able to ignite my rags - after all, my experience using a cigarette lighter was limited to the past three hours. My anxiety escalated as I assessed the risk factors - for myself and others. I was perched precariously in a pine tree above the heads of unsuspecting teenagers, preparing to literally send down fire from heaven.
Why in the world did the youth minister think this was a wise idea? Why would he entrust college freshmen with firefall? Why did I agree to do this?
Suddenly, my ears perked up. What did the narrator say? Where are we in the storyline? He’s talking about the altar. He’s calling for fire!
While simultaneously clinging to the tree branch and holding the carabiner in place on the cable with my left hand, I awkwardly managed to produce fire from my lighter with my right hand. As soon as the flame touched the bottom of the bundle, the fireball ignited. Relieved, I gave the carabiner a push.
The instant the fireball left my hand, I glanced across the amphitheater toward my FX partner and realized that our actions were not synchronized. In fact, he remained motionless, clutching his carabiner. He was still waiting for our cue. The narrator was still talking about the prophets of Baal.
I watched as my fireball picked up speed. I watched as students glanced up at the mini-meteor streaking over their heads. (Not nearly as impressive as the youth minister had hoped.) I watched as the rags ignited the bonfire. (Again, not nearly as impressive as the youth minister had hoped.)
My horror at my premature release of divine fire was matched (or possibly exceeded) by the look of horror on the narrator’s face. His well-rehearsed monologue was quickly supplanted by an extemporaneous adaptation of the text. Abandon Baal! Fast-forward to Elijah!
At the proper cue, the guy in the other tree adeptly lit his bundle and propelled it smoothly down the cable. Alas, the element of surprise was long lost. The students craned their necks toward the trees, curious to discover who was involved in this lackluster spectacle.
Looking back at this incendiary incident, I find myself pondering the same questions I asked while perched in that pine. Why in the world did my youth minister think that stunt was a wise idea? Why did he entrust college freshmen with firefall? Why did I agree to do that?
I have other questions, too. Why was that particular story chosen to be the focal point of the retreat? What message did the adults who planned the event hope the youth would take home with them?
1 Kings 18 is a horror story. The prophets of Baal mutilate themselves during their failed attempt to rouse the attention of their god. Elijah heartlessly mocks them. After the prophet successfully calls down fire from heaven, the astonished onlookers spontaneously praise the God of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob. We have a winner!
But that’s not the end of the story - although I’m sure that was how the flustered narrator on the youth retreat concluded the narrative. Following the triumphant prophet’s orders, the worshippers seize the 450 prophets of Baal and drag them down to the Kishon Valley, where Elijah executes them.
When I read 1 Kings 18 today, I have difficulty viewing Elijah as a hero. The violence and vengefulness on display in this story is repulsive to me. And to view the results of this contest as a victory for God . . . No.
When leading spiritual formation groups or offering individual spiritual direction, I often invite people to contemplate their primary images of God. What were they taught about God as children? How have those images impacted their relationship with God through the years?
Not surprisingly, people who were taught to view God as judge often have great difficulty drawing close to God. They respond to God out of fear, hoping to avoid God’s wrath. Some seek baptism repeatedly, because they are worried that they didn’t do it right the first time; they fear they will be sentenced to eternal judgment if they get it wrong.
Others can’t make sense of violence ostensibly authorized or condoned by God, so they put down their Bibles and exit the pews. God’s love has been obscured by people who divide the world into opposing camps: God’s team versus the Losers. Anne Lamott’s words come to mind: “You can safely assume you’ve created God in your own image when it turns out that God hates all the same people you do.”
If the image you have of God doesn’t draw you closer to God, find a new image. Read another story. Sing another song. The life-giving Creator of the universe loves you.
Note to Youth Ministers: Be careful how you teach stories from Scripture. You could be playing with fire.
INVITATION TO WONDER: How do you approach stories from Scripture that disturb you? What images of God are life-giving for you today?
