Fire

By Jean Williams

We made a fire today:
piled branches
in a top-heavy heap
and watched
as flames licked and spat and hissed,
roared high above our heads,
flicked their tails in a column of
dense green smoke.
We had to stand well back,
shield our faces,
dodge falling embers,
evade choking fumes.

And I looked,
trembled,
and thought,
“It is a dreadful thing
to fall into the hands
of the living God.”

We made a fire today:
it died lower, low,
till leaves vanished,
twigs glimmered,
branches charred,
ash deepened,
coals glowed.
Tamed (but not tame)
it invited
marshmallow-toasting,
potato-cooking,
melody-singing,
hand-warming.

And I looked,
dreamed,
and thought,
“His wrath burned out
in the body of his Son,
God becomes refuge comfort
sustenance warmth;

but never safe,
never to be disregarded,
never to be taken lightly,
for our God is still a consuming fire.”

——–
Hebrews 10:31; 12:29

Original post here.

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