Cor Unum Abbey

Miner in a Gallery in Potosi, Christophe Meneboeof, Wikipedia, by permission

            When the change began, it was bolstered by human nature.  It was almost like the principle of physics, an object at rest tends to remain at rest … but once they were doing something up above, the mechanics and drills, the geologists and mining officials, politicians and journalists, all became feverishly involved.  Three essential plans were drawn up, combining in the abstract to give the best chance of breaking through at the presumed location, the refuge, “El Refugio.”

            In the mine, half a mile down, there was another kind of sea change.  The men had now been more than two weeks with no more food than their daily teaspoon of tuna fish and their half a cookie.  In the first hours, several men had, in opposition to an instruction, broken into the small food locker and devoured many bags of cookies and all of the canned milk that was there and fresh.  Now, they had had weeks to consider how far that food would have gone, added to their very meager store of sustenance.  

            Now, they all, still having heard no sound of drilling, having had time to consider how impossible was their situation, having had time to consider their fate in the light of their faith or the lack of it, they were moving beyond misery and into a quiet despair.  Day after day, always darker than night, except for the feeble and fading headlamps, which they used as sparingly as possible, they sat, they wondered; they hoped, but their hopes were growing more feeble than their headlamps.

            One bulb hung over the refuge, wired to a truck battery by one of the men in the early days.  Its light was eerie and they all looked as though they were not just underground, but underwater.  The psychological pain of helplessness was pervasive, in the brighter light of their situation and of their mortality.

            There were physical anomalies now; most had digestive problems and terrible constipation, and others were breaking out in rashes from the dirt and heat.  Sleep was a blessing, but it was always troubled and not refreshing.  From time to time, someone would attempt to shore up the others, point out that it would have to be many days before they could hear any drilling through that much rock.   They tried to assure one another that their families would not give up on them, but they knew that the hearts of the mining officials were as hard as stone, sometimes.  Witness the utter lack of adequate supplies and, above all, the utter neglect of the chimneys meant to provide a means of escape.

            They thought how surely their families must be starting, at least by now, to see them as dead or dying, even if they had hoped they might have survived the collapse.

            For our purposes, let us consider our “33” and as we do, are there not names that stand out as those who are, and long have been, pretty sure that no one is really looking for them?  In their loneliness – darkness – despair, there are surely those who could not imagine anyone caring enough for them to keep up a barrage of prayer and worship, hope and faith.   Are there not those who feel certain that, in their “captivity,” they have entombed themselves because of their sin, their own unkindness, their own lusts or doubts or denial of both God and friendship?  When they look out of the window of their souls, they see immovable slabs of unbelief, and in truth, no one comes to faith on his or her own merit any more than those miners could move that mega block.  Some of our own 33 feel like nobody is looking for them or cares where they are, and that God could never reach them and, they think, clearly He would never care to lift them up from the depths.

            They are already proven wrong.  We do care, and we are praying the heart of God for them.

“And there was a widow in that city …” anonymous artist, 1900, “Christ’s Object Lessons,” by permission, public domain, death of the artist, Wikipedia

Things were moving almost as slowly on the surface as they were in the mine.

            Families were beginning to gather as the first days slipped into a week.  Some organizations were arriving to provide tents and blankets and provisions for the waiting and expectant families, but nothing was happening.

            Men with hard hats were still milling around, with very worried or sadly hopeless looks on their faces.  Who could blame them?  There was nothing they could do!  They didn’t know with certainty where the men were, whether or not they were alive, and no one had any hope of reaching them if they were down where they were supposed to have been working that day.  They knew that if they began drilling, at best they would not reach the refuge area for four months.  At best, with no equipment issues and no failed attempts. They also knew that they had food, at best, to lastfor days, not weeks or months.

            Relatives were tired, frightened, and now trapped behind a makeshift fence.  They hollered and made noise on the fence wires, and sometimes one or another of the supervisors came to talk to them, but that only increased their fear.

            Laurence Golborne, a mining engineer and an educated man, acted as liaison between the families and the other engineers and volunteers, but day after day there was absolutely nothing to report, and day after day the family members vested their feeble hope in his authority.

            One woman, not a wife or a sweetheart or a mother, but the sister of one of the miners, would be not quieted.  She wouldn’t hold her peace and she wouldn’t let the others to so, either.  She, of all those gathered, was the “do something!” voice.  The danger was very real that after a respectable number of days the stone would be rolled in front of the entrance, a cross set up, and everyone sent home to mourn.   She wouldn’t have it.  Not until they tried.  

            She would not be quieted until they tried something, until they began to drill, until they put some plan in motion.  Before long, everyone was calling her “La Alcaldesa,” the mayoress, and indeed, she became representative, spokesperson, and de facto leader of the family congregation.  She said, “They could be alive, and they are counting on us!”  Her name was Maria Segovia, and she had been taking care of her little brother Dario all his life.  She wasn’t going to stop now.

            Once, in Scripture, another woman alone, a widow, took her case to a judge so unjust that he boasted that he feared neither God nor man, but that widow, coming day after day, pleading her case, was rewarded with his attention, not because he cared, but because she would not STOP!  And Jesus uses this very example to teach us, as He Himself said, to pray and not give up.  What cause is more just than that of people we know who, many of them, don’t even know how they got where they are, or if they do know, have no idea how to reclaim their lives?  The Lord God sees the injustice of the play of devilish fears upon unprotected children, wounded wives (and husbands,) teen-agers that no one has been able to reach.  Any of these might be trapped, down, down, deep down, in a place darker than most of us have ever known.

            How clearly Jesus says, “If that unjust judge is moveable, how much more willing is Your father Who loves both you and those for whom you pray?”

            Look at the unjust judge whom Jesus so clearly represents to us!  Look at Your Father, Who gives you the kingdom!  Why, I’ve wondered many times, why does He, the Father, sometimes seem to wait for us, to wait until our love and compassion catch up to His?  All that we want Him to do, He could do in an instant, without our prayers.  He could, but when He incorporated us into His kingdom and into His Son, He no longer would.  Our prayers are His heart and His promises, uttered on the earth.  He waits to hear them.

            I’ve wondered, perhaps you have, too, but our questions REGARDING prayer are not as important as the undeniable ache in our hearts for those who go about “oppressed, downtrodden, in chains not broken.”  This we do know, the honor of standing where Jesus stands in respect of those persons, to share His grief on their behalf even for thirty seconds, is something holy and not manufactured.  What could be done without us – we ought to rejoice! – will be done with us and through our prayers and our faith. Because both, our prayers and our faith, are ours in Christ Jesus!

Do our prayers seem weak? Does our faith seem small? We invest the talent we’ve been given, and we can always care deeply. Nothing expands compassion like prayer when we cry out for those wounded and oppressed!

            There was never any doubt among those who waited and those who watched that without the intervention of Maria Segovia, the Miracle of Mine would have become the Catastrophe of the Atacama Desert. We asked before, “But how?” and certainly one of the overarching answers is … by our persistence.

            Are not some of our 33 just as lost, just as buried in darkness, just as cut off? … but not from our care and our faith.

German Black Forest Rescue Training, René Kieselmann rmk (Bergwacht Schwarzwald e.V., BWS), by permission, Wikipedia

The 33 men trapped underground were as different from one another as might be any group of men facing a disaster.  They were all miners, although one or two had never worked on the rock, they all had their fears and guilts and desires, their lives were similar in their corner of the world, proud Chileans, except one Bolivian, all considered tough and capable enough to earn a living in a grinding and grueling way.

            Yet, as we meet them in the account of their entombment, it seems likely that anyone who wished to obtain their trust or be honored to know their deepest thoughts, would have to get to know them each, differently.  Some were delicate in their souls, some bombastic, some more spiritual, some very bitter, some buoyant.  Just like the panoply of the people you and I know.

            If you or I were to “rescue” one or two of those men in their hearts, befriend them from afar while they lived beneath the earth, their lives ebbing away physically and emotionally, how would we do it?

            Even more than that, what if we were praying for them, individually, and by the grace of God hitting upon the Lord’s provision for their deepest needs?  How would we begin to chip away at the rocky tombs that housed their hearts?  What would we ask for, on their behalf?

            Some things come immediately to mind, but we often and often quickly grow weary in prayer when we feel we are just parroting the same plea … even though tapping away at the largest rock will eventually whittle it down.

            There are, perhaps, two considerations.  

One … persistence matters when breaking through rock … and fear … and unbelief.

Two … it’s better to use the right equipment.  In the mines, a drill is more useful than a plastic spoon.  Let’s explore, next time, and with a spotlight on one of those waiting and hoping on the surface.

“Is not this the fast that I have chosen? to loose the bands of wickedness, to undo the heavy burdens, and to let the oppressed go free, and that ye break every yoke?” (Isaiah 58:6)

This morning, this first day of Lent for millions of people worldwide, is Day One of a small and friendly fast for a few favored friends … and you, too, if your interest and your heart should be so inclined.

Let it be said initially that the Lenten aspect is in part that this is a global season of fasting. One might start tomorrow or the next day or in July, no matter. The Lord does not count or mark days as we do, but it is, for us, significant that this is a season of humble and penitential seeking after God all over the world, and we take part in this small way.

This fast was birthed out of a silly/not so silly question. Reading a book about a fictitious ebola pandemic, the thought occurred, “If the enemy of souls can launch a virulent pandemic, couldn’t God launch a spiritual antiviral?” Of course He could, but what would it look like in this hour, and what would we call it, something wholesome and healing and holy, and just then the answer came, “It would be the restoration of the fear of the Lord in families and churches.”

That certainly bore witness, and, asking a few more questions and double-checking to try to be sure of the Lord’s leading, several of us decided to begin on this date. 

For us, from the beginning, the Lord’s emphasis seemed to be on prayer and as to eating … well … dining in the fear of the Lord! Righting personal wrongs, like too much snacking, too many sweets, too little water, or an imbalance of carbs and proteins, all completely individual. You know, eating in the fear of the Lord could very well be to eat the way you taught your children to eat! Healthy, balanced, and circumspect. Also, it seemed He was saying, “Forty days. If you miss a day of prayer, just keep counting until you get to forty.” That isn’t carved in stone; you might hear differently. Just sharing what we have so far.

So, we begin, and let me share for you the first words from the passage of Scripture I turned to this morning in my Bible, right where my bookmark is, right where I left off … the Father has such great Dad Jokes sometimes!

 “I tell you, my friends, do not be afraid of those who kill the body and after that can do no more.  But I will show you whom you should fear: Fear him who, after your body has been killed, has authority to throw you into hell. Yes, I tell you, fear him.  Are not five sparrows sold for two pennies? Yet not one of them is forgotten by God. Indeed, the very hairs of your head are all numbered. Don’t be afraid; you are worth more than many sparrows.“ (Luke 12:4-7)

There it is. A bit of confirmation and a lot of encouragement, held together with tremendous love. So God! It is a bit of a dive into the deep end, certainly. ”Do not be afraid of those who kill the body …” but if this isn’t the wholesome fear of God, it’s hard to say what is, AND look how He gets us started with “Fear Him!” 

This should be very interesting . . .

Claudio Gennari, “Two Sparrows,” by permission, Flickr/Wikipedia

Then one day, like the mangy dog that keeps coming around for a handout, we saw the thing for what it was, that cur that wouldn’t let us pass. We weren’t even trying to get to the riv…

Source: This Changes Everything

If we were going shopping for a Sovereign God, isn’t this the one we ought to come home with, the One who commands us like this:

Rejoice always, pray without ceasing, in everything give thanks; for this is the will of God in Christ Jesus for you.

(1 Thessalonians 5:16-18, NKJV)

Yes, it’s true that we do sometimes shop around for a different model, but this, with the Royal Law of Love (James 2:8,) is the way things should be, and will be, when we live under the protection of an Almighty God in a fallen world.

Almost without doubt you know someone whose doubt asks, “If God is almighty, why is the world fallen in the first place? Why did He set it up like that?” This matter of thanksgiving helps to answer that question: where is the gratitude when no liberty of life or love has ever been known or granted? Where is thankfulness when there is nothing to either lift or humble the heart, where all is given, programmed, provided, and no lack is ever at all possible. Neither is any necessity for struggle, any possibility of failure, any sweetness of determination and success has never tasted.

The nursing infant knows hunger and satisfaction, but he doesn’t know that he knows them, and he isn’t grateful.

I have a friend who, in every difficulty and on every stormy sea, can be counted upon to remind me, “This is a GOOD thing!” At first I found it charming, occasionally nearly annoying, always good-humored, and now … I have discovered that she’s right. God is good; He does good; there is good to be discovered in and through every particle of life, but we know and see and appreciate it because life isn’t static without His goodness. Without His goodness there is only badness. That leaves room for hearts brimming over with gratitude.

Remember Joseph in Eqypt … “What you meant for evil, God meant to me for good.” He wasn’t making that up when he spoke it to the brothers who had sold him into slavery. He knew his God. His hardship, his prison servitude, betrayal, rejection, separation from his father’s love … all worked out for good, even to the saving of an entire nation … two of them! If we know our God, we know that He is working all things together for good for those who love Him and are called according to His purpose. Joseph, sitting in prison, certainly was, but many are called, few are chosen.

By the mercies of Christ, may we give thanks today as if our lives depended upon it! Nothing that we see will remain un-surrendered to the goodness God has determined for us and for those we love, if we will not surrender our gratitude and hope.