Edgework

I am having a lot of fun with stones this summer in the process of building a fieldstone fireplace into the picnic shelter at my hobby farm. As I think about it, this experience offers some insight into the challenges of living faithfully as a Kingdom citizen.

My fascination with rocks began early. Where I grew up on the bald prairies of South-central Manitoba there was hardly a stone in sight – just heavy, black gumbo. So whenever my family and I visited areas where stones were more plentiful, I would fill my pockets with these wonders of nature. Once home, I found a hammer and proceeded to crack them open to reveal the clean, sparkling crystals hidden behind their weathered exteriors. Of course these became trophies that ended up in my bedroom, much to the dismay of my mother.

Of course I grew out of that childhood fascination and went on to other interests in life. But in University I took a few courses in geology and learned a lot about different kinds of rocks – how they were “manufactured” and how they were spread around through the actions of water and glacial movements. That helps me understand the presence of the cornerstone on my property the size of a pickup truck. Some of my friends who haven’t studied such things believe that somehow in God’s providence he chose to place that huge rock right there. I don’t argue much about that.

A decade later, during my seminary years in Harrisonburg, Virginia I helped out a friend a couple of summers who worked with stones – usually sandstone or black limestone. Mostly we built retaining walls and fireplaces. Ken taught me the tricks of the trade – how to find the right rock for the right place, how to chip it to make a snug fit and finally how to mortar it into the wall of stones we were constructing. Our skills were in high demand in the Shenandoah Valley. I was thankful for this experience which was a nice contrast to my academic endeavors during the winter months.

Fast forward about thirty years to the present and again I find myself working with stones. The Southeastern region of Manitoba where I live has more than enough stones. As a matter of fact for most people they are considered a curse. Many farms have large piles of stones at the edges or the centers of fields – stones that have over the years been collected off the fields. Some farmers have begun burying them so they can be out of sight and out of mind.

I don’t know when I first got the idea, but sometime after I had built a large picnic shelter on my country property I began to think that maybe it was time to return to working with stones. The vision of a fieldstone fireplace at the east end of the shelter would not leave me. I knew it would be a lot of work, but I remembered the beauty of those stone walls I had helped to construct in Virginia half a life-time ago.

I checked around and discovered that area farmers were just too glad to allow me to pick up the stones they had collected over the years. Away with them – out of my sight! And indeed as I approached a rock pile there was not that much to commend it in terms of beauty. It seemed everything had a monotonous, grey, weathered look about it. But, with the help of my son, we carted trailer-loads of these rocks to my hobby farm. They didn’t look much better lying spread out in and around my picnic shelter.

But something magical began to happen when I started carefully choosing rocks to be mortared in next to one another. I discovered that most rocks displayed their true inner beauty on at least one or two of its faces. And, oh my goodness, what a variety there was! Black rocks, red rocks, pink rocks, grey rocks, mottled rocks, white rocks – and every color imaginable in between.

When I finished the inside eleven-foot high stonework, I scrubbed the surface of the rocks with diluted muriatic acid to eat up excess mortar and brighten up the lucky faces of the rocks who were fortunate enough to see the light of day. When I stepped back, I quietly whispered, “Wow!” in as humble a way as I knew how, although it was tinged with a little pride as well. I hear the same expression from family and friends who see it for the first time. Last night a close friend dropped by the farm to see the progress for himself and promptly called me on his cell phone with an out-pouring of congratulations such as should be reserved for being nominated as the future president of the United States.

I don’t have space left to get too philosophical or theological about this “parable” of the fieldstone fireplace. But permit me to make a few observations.

1. Grey, weathered stone can display amazing beauty when cracked open. And so it is in our lives. It is often in those times when we are cracked open by the vicissitudes of life that our true character begins to show itself.

2. Every stone has a face or two that hints at its beauty hidden within. This reminds me that every person is endowed with the image of God, no matter how difficult it might be to detect.

3. When stones are carefully chosen and mortared into a structure next to one another something magical happens. Something new is born. The whole is greater than the sum of its parts. So when life seems dull and grey, step back to see the beauty of the structure of which you are a part.

4. And finally, as I Peter 2:4-8 suggests, Jesus Christ is the living cornerstone who provides a sure foundation for life. Why would one look elsewhere?