Life out of devastation

The mountain behind where I live on fire

It’s one thing to see a wildfire on television but it’s quite another to witness it sweep across the mountainside right above you. I live below one of the beautiful Table Mountain ranges in Cape Town. They have always wowed and impressed me like nothing else I have seen in all my travels. There is something to be said about their prominence, majesty, magnificence, beauty, strength and even mystery especially when you’re hiking them and think you’ve reached the top, only to discover there is another top! While their awesomeness seems to command my respect, at the same time they invite me to get up close and personal. And wrap me in their arms once I do. The sun is always brighter at the top and the sky bluer and the air fresher and the sounds clearer. There is no end to what one can discover on those mountains. They constantly challenge you to go up higher and not miss out on what could be just around the corner. Clothed from top to bottom with flora (or fynbos as its called here) and teeming with fauna; they are a picture of vitality.

Not once in all the years I have looked upon or walked upon these mountains would I have used the word vulnerable to describe them. But after witnessing the raging fires, that over five days devastated 5000 hectares of vegetation, I would add the word vulnerable to my description of them. Yes, the mountain itself is still standing but what decorated it has been stripped away. It’s naked, exposed. No longer a hiker or photographer’s paradise.

My mountain on fire

At this point it may be helpful for us to know the definition of vulnerable – able to be wounded. It is basically placing yourself, for the sake of the larger purpose, in a situation that could bring pain. For me the fires and how they have affected these mountains have been such a picture of the nature and character of God. Here He is prominent, majestic, magnificent, and mysterious and we could add to these hundreds of words; yet He has allowed Himself to be vulnerable. Much like these mountains succumbing to the whims of humankind who carelessly light fires during dry summers, God voluntarily places Himself in a situation that could possibly bring Him pain. It isn’t that He doesn’t foresee the implications of our carelessness, but because He has given us freedom of choice, He subjects Himself to our choices. Philip Yancey, one of my favourite Christian authors writes in his book, Reaching for the Invisible God, “I marvel at a God who puts Himself at our mercy, as it were, allowing Himself to be quenched and grieved, and even forgotten.” For me, the amazingness (if there is such a word) of God is that He goes through quenching and grieving while continuing to have His arms opened wide anticipating our turning back to Him. Not only that, but once we do, He turns all the heartache, pain, and damage we’ve done and redeems it.

My friend who works for Table Mountain National Parks sent me an article that helped to alleviate my distress at the effects of the fire. The botanist who wrote the article says that the fynbos vegetation that clothes our mountains is both fire prone and fire dependent. In order for the plants in the fynbos to be able to regenerate or reproduce it needs to be subjected to fire (usually controlled fires) every 10-14 years. The article says that these plants either resprout after a fire or they produce seeds that are adapted to survive fire and require heat and chemical compounds from the smoke to germinate. Some plants would have spread their seed within hours after the fire passed. So this magnificent mountain, in time, will be clothed even more brilliantly than before.

I don’t believe that the choices we make in any way diminish who God is. He remains the same yesterday, today and forever. But I do stand amazed that despite what we do to Him, He chooses to bring life out of devastation. 

Before fire

After fire

        

Before fire

After fire