Saying Twenty-Nine

Proverbs 24:19-20

Do not fret because of evildoers, nor be envious of the wicked; for there will be no prospect for the evil man; the lamp of the wicked will be put out.

Light a slow fire, observe green beetles.

Leaning back affably, his camping chair offering a tentative creak that threatened to justify his wife’s warnings against beer bellies, Mark watched his children work. All six of them — between ages three and fifteen — were engaged on the task of building a campfire.

Unable to agree upon the most effective technique, the party split into two factions of differing persuasions. Those of the ‘Max’ school of thought, being in character more impulsive and adrenaline-fuelled, seemed to believe in a strategy whereby truckloads of dry leaves were prepared for a vivacious, if short-lived, night of smoggy delight. Susan, on the other hand, leading her two smallest siblings obediently into the forest, emerged ten minutes later rolling a large log of jarrah, her companions harbouring shirtfuls of twigs.

Mark, in between gratified sips of Toohey’s New — wasn’t spring just the best? — watched the experiment unfold with genuine interest. Within half an hour, it had reached its predictable end. Team Max, punctuating their efforts with whoops and war-cries, sent sheet after sheet of flame into the dusky sky for at least three minutes, if not four. By the end of the fifth, however, the only evidence of what had taken place was a pile of smouldering sticks making occasional attempts at further illumination.

Team Susan, on the other hand, had kindled a less glamorous, more promising flame. It brooded thoughtfully around the stubby end of the log as though it knew you knew it was holding back.

It was.

Twenty-three marshmallows and a loaf of damper later, it looked like it was just getting started.

Now, if I were to claim that, at the moment when Max’s first batch of leaves went up in smoke, Mark — a nominal Catholic who attended most Christmas services (when he felt like it) — turned his larrikin’s mind towards the twenty-ninth of Solomon’s Thirty Sayings of the Wise, his eyes glinting with the light of newfound perspicacity, you would justly roll your eyes. “Contrived nonsense!” you might even exclaim, if you are prone to such commentary.

This being the case, we will have to end the wholesome narrative there and draw the connection to Saying Twenty-Nine explicitly ourselves.

While both Christians and unbelievers can derive enjoyment from their mortal lives, they do so in markedly different ways; their joy comes from entirely unrelated sources. The Christian, having his or her peace buried deeply in the nature of the triune God, can afford to have a patient, long-suffering, slow-burning joy. When the world around her burns with stress and anxiety, she might find herself enjoying a green beetle that strode providentially into her life — for the sheer sake of its divinely endowed beetleness. She enjoys God’s world from the abundance of a renewed heart.

The unbeliever, on the other hand, must continually scratch at the bottom of the barrel for his rations of joy, smoking as much of a high out of each crumb as he can before it goes stale. In this way, his state of pleasure erupts periodically, like Max’s bundles of leaves, into a short-lived frenzy — a rollercoaster ride of untethered emotion — before the realities of an unforgiven life sober his spirits once more.

Earthly joys not founded in the God of Scripture are better described as worldly joys — fleeting, transitory, barely deserving of the name. Christians, however, have the unique ability to, as Lewis puts it, “look along the beam” of God’s goodness, participating in the very joy he has in his own creation (God in the Dock, p. 212).

This is not a flashy joy. It does not dazzle. It does not flatter. It does not pamper your fantastical lusts. It simply burns a steady, quiet, truthful flame.

Your “good week” isn’t joy if it depends on the mood of your spouse.

Your “peace” isn’t peace if it only lasts until the next road incident.

Your “contentment” isn’t contentment if it requires the admiration of fools.

Those who build their happiness out of dry leaves ought not to wonder why the nights always feel so cold.

The Christian’s joy is slower, humbler, less photogenic than the flashfires of the wicked. It hums beneath disappointment. It survives humiliation. It eats burnt marshmallows with a resurrected grin. It sees the green beetle and whispers thanks to the one who invented green.

Stop fretting over the noise and glamour you once wanted. Instead, build something out of jarrah — something that will still be burning when, after revelling in the simple glory of your evening, God turns you in for a night of permanent rest.

Scriptures for Comparison

Proverbs 23:17-18

Proverbs 24:1-2

1 John 2:16-17

Proverbs 13:9

Psalm 37:1-2

Psalm 37:7-10

Psalm 73:16-17

Malachi 4:1-2

Jeremiah 12:1-2

Matthew 6:19-20

Luke 12:19-21

James 1:9-11