Burning Expectations
Prescribed Burning @ Morrow Mountain State Park
A Heart on Fire
I have a confession to make.
I’m an avoider. A comfort-craving, peace-loving avoider of the Class A fire-extinguishing variety. Fiery trials? Yeah, you can keep ‘em. I’ll take the high road, thanks.
So, as I share my experiences from the Morrow Mountain hike that we took all the way back on President’s Day in February, you’ll understand why I’ve waited so long. I’m not sure what I was expecting that day. I only know that what we experienced was NOT it. It’s the first hike I’ve not wanted to revisit in my thoughts. But I’m ready now…
It was unseasonably warm for late February when Jess and I arrived at Morrow Mountain State Park. Since we both had the day off and the weather was ideal, we had decided we should seize the opportunity for another hike. As per usual, we stopped off at the Visitor’s Center to grab a trail map. I couldn’t help but notice the “Prescribed Fire” sign just outside the entrance of the building. I’d seen signs like this one in some of the other parks we’ve visited, as well as the evidence of said fires, but never stopped to take in their message. Even this time, it was little more than a “cursory glance”...just long enough to take the picture really…and we were off again.
We studied the trail map for a few minutes, taking note of all the trails. They were quite spread out, as were the access areas to them, so we decided to take the high road up Morrow Mountain first. I mean, let’s be real. If there’s a trail with a far-reaching view among several others, and you can’t take them all, the choice seems rather obvious, doesn’t it?
It might surprise you then, when I tell you that taking the high road did not meet our expectations. The Mountain Loop Trail was on a rather steep incline, and so narrow and short that we really couldn’t enjoy it. I mean, the view wasn’t terrible, and seeing Lake Tillery in the distance drew us to our next destination. But there’s a certain rhythm we usually fall into when we hike together that we just weren’t able to find in so short a time. And, just keeping it real? It affected the rest of the day.
Still, explorers gotta explore. One disappointing trail doesn’t necessarily mean the others will be a let down. So we hopped in the car and set our sights on Lake Tillery. As we drove, I noticed evidence of prescribed fire in several areas of the park. Charred patches of ground and sooty logs added a sense of eerie melancholy to the barren winter landscape.
It took us a while to find a trail to the lake, since a lot of them were closed for the winter. Needless to say, we were a little frustrated as we trudged up and down the hills, switching back and forth over and over again on the seemingly endless trails. Surrounded by charred trees and dead logs and barrenness, we longed just to get to the lake, where we could rest and eat and take in a better view. I’d hoped for something really interesting on these trails below. I thought that surely by the lake it would be better. Since our experience on the mountain hadn’t been the greatest, I’d like to tell you that joyful notes of elation filled my heart when we reached Lake Tillery. I would like to tell you my expectations were exceeded in every way. But, for the first time in my “adventuring” life, I cannot tell you that. It was more of the same, only next to the water. We rested, we ate and we left. When we FINALLY made it back to the car after covering the same scorched ground again, Jess and I were in full agreement that revisiting is NOT in our future.
I’ve spent months trying to avoid giving voice to the feeling that shrouded that day. It’s that feeling of knowing where you are in a broad sense (in this case, Morrow Mountain State Park), knowing where you intend to go (Lake Tillery), and yet, having no idea where you are specifically at the moment. Hiking at Morrow Mountain was like walking through a macrocosm of my own heart. The highs and lows…the seasons when, through no choice of my own, certain paths were no longer accessible and I had to find another way. It reminded me of the moments when my heart was on fire from pain, and my expectations were burned up, leaving me to walk through the ashes of the fallout, just longing for rest.
Fiery trials? Yeah, I’ve walked through them. And I don’t know of one that didn’t change the landscape of my life in some way.
But I’ve been thinking about that sign: Prescribed Fire. Conspicuously placed for all to read, it provided an explanation for the seeming devastation we would walk through on the trails. PRESCRIBED fire? Hmmm…By definition, a prescription is the plan to improve a negative outcome.
Enter the Holy Spirit and, once again, the investigative nerd awakens! (Ha Ha) It’s called fire ecology, and it’s pretty interesting stuff when you make the connection. At least, I think so. So here’s the science…
Fire ecology examines the positive and negative effects of fire on the natural environment.
With the spread of wildfires throughout the United States, fire tends to get a bad rap. So, I want to focus on prescribed, or controlled, burning and the ways it benefits the environment. It would be impossible to list them all here, so I’ll just mention a few that have captured my attention and provide the links for you to explore more on your own later.
Prescribed burning involves creating a very detailed plan for setting and controlling fire in specific areas of a landscape, taking into account weather and environmental conditions. Fire managers will then create a plan (prescription) to include how the fire will be set, how it will be extinguished, what it will burn and what they hope to accomplish with the burning. But why is fire important? (https://education.nationalgeographic.org/resource/controlled-burning )
Simply put, fire keeps the forest healthy. One of the best summaries I’ve read provides this list of the benefits of fire:
It creates habitats for bugs and small animals.
It controls weeds.
It kills pests and diseases.
Burned plants give nutrients to the soil.
It clears clutter on the forest floor.
It creates space for plants and trees to receive nutrients, sunlight and water.
And, can I share just one more interesting discovery before I tell the investigative nerd to go take a nap? Many plants develop certain adaptations in order to survive fire:
Resisters resist fire by shedding lower branches, developing thicker bark as a shield, and growing deeper roots and moist, short needles or leaves for protection.
Sprouters endure fire by resprouting from their trunks, roots and limbs after fire. Some of these have hard seed casings that can only be cracked open by fire, exposing the seed.
Seeders evade fire by shedding lots of seeds that sprout once the fire is over.
Invaders take over recently burned areas. They are usually unknown to the area, their seeds being blown in by the wind, animals or people. These are usually noxious weeds that take over after disturbances like fire and flood.
Avoiders are the least adapted to fire since they typically grow where fire doesn’t normally occur. They prefer to be near water or in higher elevations. Their bark is thin, their roots are shallow and they contain lots of resin that enables fire to spread.(https://www.blm.gov/or/resources/recreation/tablerock/files/fire_ecol_intro.pdf)
It’s that last survival adaptation that grabs me. As I look over the landscape of my life, I am beginning to understand that there has been some spiritual fire ecology at work in my heart. Though, like the Psalmists, I prefer to be leaping on the high places (Psalm 18:33) or sitting by the peaceful streams (Psalm 23:2) with the Good Shepherd, I cannot avoid the inevitable seasons of fire that permanently alter the state of my life.
It is becoming clear to me that the heart can burn with pain or it can burn with purpose. Sometimes the fiery trials in my life have been the result of the carelessness of others, sometimes they have been of my own making, and then there are those times that they have been intentionally set by the Manager of Holy Fire (Hebrews 12:29) as the prescription to improve the negative outcomes in my life. But in every case, if I surrender to Him as I endure the fire, He will take control of the burning and assure my safety.
The challenging question is this: “What do I do with my expectations in the midst of the burning?”
It isn’t a new dilemma.
The Scriptures provide a first century account of Jesus Himself tending the burning hearts of two of His disciples as they walk on the road to Emmaus. (Luke 24:13-35) They believed He was their Messiah. They are in deep discussion, trying to make sense of His seemingly senseless crucifixion, as well as manage their expectations that had already been burned to ashes. Their hearts are on fire with pain and deeply grieved when Jesus meets them on their journey and engages them in conversation by asking “What are you talking about?” Cleopas, one of the two, gives a common reactionary response of one grieving as he says, “You must be the only person in Jerusalem who doesn’t know about the things that have happened there recently.” In essence, “Are you serious, right now?” Cleopas is aware only of his grief and pain. In response, Jesus gives space for his feelings as He says, “What things?”
As Cleopas tells the story to the One whose story it is, he reveals the ancient dilemma common to us all when he says, “We had hoped that He was the one to redeem Israel.” That’s what expectations are, aren’t they? Hopes and beliefs for specific outcomes that we have created and formed in our hearts and minds. Crucifixion was an inconceivable answer for the redemption of Israel in Cleopas’s mind. He wanted and expected a Warrior Redeemer to deliver him out of pain and oppression, not a crucified Christ. Don’t we all?
The challenges that both we and the first century disciples face are our limited perspectives of the real issues present and the narrow-minded thinking that comes along with them. The first century disciples saw only the oppression of the Jewish nation, and set their expectations of the Messiah and how He would come and what He would do with those expectations in mind. They read the Scriptures and, again, set their expectations with only their oppression in view. A Warrior Redeemer would definitely be the answer to that problem.
But the limitless perspective of God saw that the greater issue was in the hearts of ALL humanity. Yes, Messiah WAS the solution…but for every human heart. In His infinite wisdom, part of His prescription for the first century disciples on a personal level resulted in burning up their expectations that did not align with the better, more positive, and more far-reaching outcome He had for the world. It sounds like a brilliant plan, doesn’t it? Yes, it does. Unless it’s YOUR heart that’s on fire with disillusionment and disappointment.
Jesus could have left earth having accomplished the work of the cross without resetting their expectations. But He is the Emmanuel of the Scriptures…God WITH us. He came alongside them and opened up the Scriptures more completely, revealing both Himself and the world from Heaven’s perspective.
God, the Father, saw the deep effects of sin and the ineffective ways we had adapted in an attempt to survive living in a world cursed by it. He saw the resistant hearts that are rooted and immovable in their selfish, self-centered thinking. He saw the sprouting, superficial hearts that appear outwardly productive, yet are inwardly hard. He saw the evasive hearts that skirt around the real issues, and scatter seeds that produce hearts just like theirs as they go. He saw the invaded hearts overcome by the noxious seeds of hatred, bitterness and revenge after they have experienced a season of burning. He saw the avoidant hearts who take the high road, avoiding the fires of conflict, if possible, yet accepting their devastation and allowing the pain that they bring to make them more vulnerable when the next fire comes. He saw all of us at once and the ways we had adapted to survive the pain of living in a world without Him.
The world needed a prescription for the human condition…a painful, burning, heart condition. We needed a crucified and resurrected Christ, Who comes to us when our expectations are burned to ashes and our hearts are on fire from pain. To the resisters, He comes as burning, selfless love, that enables them to feel safe and free to love others again. To the superficial sprouters, He comes as fiery heat that melts the hardness, revealing the potential for growth, making them fruitful. To the evaders, He comes as purifying fire that reveals the truth, improving the quality of their productivity. To the invaded, He comes as consuming fire that burns away their worthless weeds, making room for seeds of love and truth to grow. To the avoiders, He comes as comforting fire that seals their wounds, enabling them to risk connecting with conflicted hearts who need healing. I’ve needed Him in every way at some point in my life.
As I consider the Emmaus Road encounter, and my Morrow Mountain hike, I see that I am a lot like those first century disciples. My life seems so permanently altered that my expectations of how Jesus should accomplish what is needed have been burned to ashes. At times, I have been so disillusioned, disappointed and distracted as I have commiserated with others, that I failed to recognize Him when He came. But I understand a little better now. Jesus doesn’t want me walking around aimlessly, shrouded in sooty sackcloth and ashes, with extinguished expectations and no purpose. Though there are some things in life I would rather not revisit, He wants to walk over the same scorched, unproductive ground of my life again WITH me as I tell Him “what things” have left my heart in the ashes. In exchange, He will take me back to what the Scriptures say about Him and reset my expectations to align with His eternal purpose. He will bring me back to the table of Communion, where suddenly my heart sees and exclaims “Oh! There You are!”
I confess that I would still prefer to take the high road and avoid the pain of burning, even if the outcome will be good in the end. I’m human like that, I guess. But I’ve decided, if I must go through the fire, be it by trial or holy prescription, I will be safe with Jesus tending it. When I don’t know where I am at the moment, though I know I’m on my way Home, I will take my cues from the trail markers on the Emmaus Road…talk with Jesus along the way and reorient myself with His Word. And if my heart must burn? My hope and expectation is that it always burns for Him!
