"That's strange," said Chelsea. "
What's strange?" asked Linda.
"Well, I think I just saw a firefly."
"How do you know it was a firefly?"
"Well, it was like a fire spark but it didn't fly upward," said Chelsea. "It flew kinda sideways instead. It looked so strange it almost looked like something extraterrestrial, something alien."
There was a brief pause. "There it is again," said Chelsea. "I've never seen one before, but I am sure it was a firefly."
I was lying flat on my back in the bed of our travel trailer recovering from a marathon day of driving through northeastern Ontario. At the end of the day we had somehow landed just outside of Belmont, Man. We were nestled in the beautiful Kiche-Manitou Campground in Spruce Woods Provincial Park. Hearing Chelsea and Linda, I shook off the sleep that was overhauling me and crawled out of bed to see what they were talking about. By the time I had extricated myself from semi-consciousness, four inches of goose down and the embrace of our Labrador retriever Bud, there was a firefly convention happening in the leaves of the aspen grove just outside our travel trailer. The girls were standing outside, oohing and awing. All around them the "lightning bugs" were flashing their little bottoms. The aspen grove looked like it was ablaze and sparks were flying everywhere. But not one spark was flying upwards like fire sparks do. The frantic buzzing horizontal movement of the quot;sparks" actually resulted in one firefly coming right over Chelsea's head. It landed on the trailer awning almost touching her nose. She was suitably impressed and giggled.
Eventually we went back inside the trailer and left the flies to their midnight mating fireworks. Linda and I regaled Chelsea with firefly tales from our childhood. Linda told about building firefly lamps using a pickle jar. I told about my dad traipsing home after a date, inebriated just enough so that when he saw a host of fireflies in a neighbour's hayfield he thought he was being haunted by the "will-o'-the-wisp." He ran the two miles back home at a dead run (Dad always had an overactive imagination). And then I crawled back into bed, wrestled Bud for my share of the goose down and went back to sleep.
Or at least I tried to. The fireflies had started to stir up a Bible verse in my memory, and l'll be darned if I could remember where it was. I asked Chelsea for her Bible because mine was buried in my briefcase under the bed. I could remember a portion of the verse, "… sparks fly upward," but the more I looked, without the help of a concordance, the more frustrated I became. Finally I gave it up and rolled over to try another attempt at out-snoring Bud.
The next morning, with the help of my laptop computer's concordance, I found the verse. It is of course from the book of Job, from Eliphaz's pithy observations about life in Job 5:6-7: "For misery does not come from the earth, nor does trouble sprout from the ground; but human beings are born to trouble just as sparks fly upward."
I don't like Eliphaz very much in the book of Job, partly because he treats Job so poorly and partly because what he says, for the main part, is so true. I particularly don't like to hear what he says in Job 5:6-7, the point of which is that my afflictions and troubles are not often accidental; they don't usually just spring out of the dirt and bite me in the butt. Most often I bring them on myself by the choices I make. And in as much as all this is true, I bear responsibility. "I am born unto trouble, as sure as sparks fly upward," says Eliphaz. I seem prone to make sinful choices, and inevitably they bring affliction and trouble upon me. These choices just seem to flow from my life as easily as sparks dance upward from a bonfire.
Twenty-first century pop theology and psychology have developed an interesting approach with regards to people and sin. I think it's called denial. I think it started in the Garden of Eden. The way it works with me is, first, I start denying that I have sinned and then, I begin to deny that there is any real consequence with regards to my sin. When my body falls apart, its not because I sinned against my body by mistreating it for years. When a relationship goes in the toilet, its not because I sinned against that person in some way and never owned up to it or tried to put it right. When I begin to suffer spiritually, it's not because I sinned against God and have never come to Him in confession and sought forgiveness. My world has taught me to assuage my guilt for the sin I have committed against myself, other people and God, by denying responsibility for it. The real kicker in all of this denial stuff with regards to sin is that it prevents me from drawing on the wonderful means of grace called confession. Confession is owning up to personal choices of sin that I have made. This means owning up to the sins I have committed against self, against my body for example. This means owning up to the sins I have committed against my neighbour, most often those closest to me. This means owning up to the sins I have committed against God, and ultimately all sin is against God, or so the Psalmist says in Ps. 51:4. Confession is taking responsibility and saying, I know I did it; in my gut, even when I try to deny it, I know I am responsible for my sin and for its consequence. As the Psalmist puts it, "For I know my transgressions, and my sin is ever before me." (Ps. 51:3)
Taking responsibility for sin is so important because it leads to confession. Confession is a deeply healing thing because it leads to forgiveness. John R.W. Stott, in his book Confess Your Sins, quotes the head of a large British mental home: "I could dismiss half my patients tomorrow if they could be assured of forgiveness." Confession leads me to the place with self, neighbour, and ultimately God, where I can cry out with the Psalmist: "Have mercy on me, O God, according to your steadfast love; according to your abundant mercy blot out my transgressions. Wash me thoroughly from my iniquity, and cleanse me from my sin." (Ps.51:1-2)
And here is the thing. As I confess my sin, the very word of God promises me that I can absolutely count on this truth: "If we confess our sins, He who is faithful and just will forgive us our sins and cleanse us from all unrighteousness." (1 Jn:1.9) It's just as true, or so it seems to me, that if trouble and affliction flow out of sin, as sure as sparks fly upwards, that healing and wholeness flow out of confession and forgiveness, whether it be regarding self, neighbour, or God.
