| Here is a post I just put up on our LifeInQuip blog:
On July 5, 2007 a disastrous storm formed over Aliquippa and
inundated the city. I remember the rain starting that day -- I ran out
around noon to do a few errands, and noticed that the rainfall was
unusually heavy. By the time I returned to my apartment and parked my
car on Franklin Ave., the water on the street was up to my ankle. I
didn't think much of it, and I went up to my place on the third story
to wait until work that afternoon. But around 2:00PM I looked out my
bedroom window and saw the peculiar sight that had come to be. The
picnic table in the lot adjacent to my building was nearly covered by a
murky stream of water. Half an hour later I was out on the street
investigating what exactly had taken place, and I was shocked by what I
saw (you can see the pictures I took that afternoon here).
Much of the water had subsided, but what was left was a genuine
disaster area, covered in mud and debris, and now people lined the
street to look on in disbelief.
Basically what happened was an inordinate amount of rain had fallen
in an inordinately short amount of time, completely overwhelming the
sewage system that runs beneath Franklin Ave. Once the sewers were
filled, the water had no place to go but up, eventually rising as high
as four feet above the street level. Witnesses who watched it all
unfold said that it was "like there was a river down Franklin Avenue."
As you can imagine, this river caused excessive damaged. For one, I
found a muddy mess in my Explorer, and later realized the thing had
been totalled from the water damage in the engine. Other cars had
literally floated down the street, coming to rest against trees or
buildings or other cars. Every single business along Franklin Ave.
suffered water damage that had them closed for days (if not weeks, or
permanently). Likewise, and perhaps most tragically, dozens of homes
were severely damaged, many of which remain in unfit condition.
What a picture, this calamitous river rushing down Franklin Avenue,
taking out homes and businesses and cars, destroying the things that
people had worked so hard for. As I reflected on these things in the
months following the flood, I was reminded of a story of an altogether
different kind of river.
A few years ago, Joe Peabody, a good friend and brilliant
pastor/teacher/follower of Christ, was beginning a church plant north
of Atlanta. He decided to name the church The Water's Edge, which was
taken from a beautiful passage in the book of Ezekiel. This book is an
extended vision in which the prophet is shown many fantastic wonders,
far beyond what he can understand. The angel who serves as Ezekiel's
guide finally leads him to a celestial city where a new temple had been
erected, a holy place where God's glory and presence were palpable.
Then in chapter 47 something remarkable takes place: as Ezekiel beholds
the temple he sees water coming from the altar, spilling over the
threshold and flowing toward the east. At first the water is only a
small ankle-deep stream. But as it flows on, Ezekiel discovers the
water becomes knee-deep, then waist-deep, then deep enough to swim in;
but it is a river that no one could ever cross. Now read how Ezekiel
describes the salubrious power of this river:
"When I arrived there, I saw a great number of trees on each side of
the river. He said to me, 'This water flows toward the eastern
region... When it empties into the sea, the water there becomes fresh.
Swarms of living creatures will live wherever the river flows... where
the river flows, everything will live. Fishermen will stand along the
shore... the fish will be of many kinds, like the fish of the Great
Sea... Fruit trees of all kinds will grow on both banks of the river.
Their leaves will not wither, nor will their fruit fail. Every month
they will bear, because the water from the sanctuary flows to them.
Their fruit will serve for food and their leaves for healing.'"
And there you see what Joe had in mind -- the church should be a
place of life, a place of healing, a place of plenty, a place of
transformation, just as Ezekiel had seen there at the water's edge.
Indeed, this passage paints a splendid picture of what happens when
God's Holy Spirit flows into the world and brings God's Kingdom.
Now the juxtaposition becomes clear. In this broken physical world,
we saw a river down the middle of our city bringing destruction and
ruin. But there is a greater spiritual reality taking place: the river
of God's living water that ignites change, restores what is broken,
brings healing, and ultimately imparts new life to all that it touches.
This is my vision of Aliquippa. When you look closely -- not with
physical eyes, but with the discerning eyes of the Spirit -- you see
that this is the river supplying life to all who come to it in this
town.
Here in Aliquippa I attend Cresmont Church, which, as the name
implies, sits high atop a hill overlooking the city. It is not
difficult to imagine a stream flowing from the santcuary of the church
at its lofty perch and winding down to become a river flowing down
Franklin Avenue. As neat an idea as this is, it is surely wrong. God no
longer makes his dwelling in temples or structures made by man; rather
he abides in the hearts of his people. What does this mean? It means
that if the river of God is going to flow down Franklin Avenue, then
God's people must be on Franklin Avenue. And it works the same
everywhere else, as well. We know that the places that most need God's
healing, provision, and life are the places that are most broken, most
destitute, most dead. So how have believers become so comfortable
sitting in temples? God is calling his people to go in the boldness of
his Spirit and proclaim his Kingdom wherever darkness currently reigns,
to send his river gushing into the salty sea to bring the freshness of
life.
I encourage you, next time you see a scene of destruction and
despair, let God's river flow from the altar of your heart to bring his
Kingdom. And pray for the day when all the world will come to the
water's edge to find redemption and new life.
|
