The Relic (~6/1/2002)

As our family prepared for our trip to The States this year, my wife, Becky, led the kids in a study of the American Civil War. They read biographies and historical novels. We watched the mini-series “Gettysburg,” sensed the horrible nature of war, and developed the sense that no one really won.

During our travels we visited Stone Mountain, Georgia and learned more about Sherman’s March to the Sea and the Battle of Atlanta. We visited Chickamauga and learned of the significance of Chattanooga to the South, and better understood the uniqueness of this battle that was fought predominantly in the forest. And we visited Gettysburg where we visualized the killing fields of Pickett’s Charge, the Wheatfield, Seminary and Cemetery Ridges and Little Round Top, where so many died in such a short time. It was an emotional experience!

As a result of these travels, a word picture began to take form in my mind:

To the farmer who plowed the field, now long silent except for the sounds of nature and the farm, the clump was nothing but another stone. To the boy who played in the field that once was littered with dead and dying bodies, the soft metal blob was a curiosity, a treasure to be added to his collection of feathers and animal bones, rocks and sticks. But to the relic hunter it held much more significance. He understood what this was. He knew that this was once an element of destruction, aimed with the purpose to maim or kill.

The relic hunter carefully noted the location where it was found. He carefully cleaned and examined the lead bullet that had been shot by a Civil War musket. He knew that even now, though once it was meant for destruction, it had a possibility, a higher purpose.

He could have kept it in a box, or given it to someone who would put it on a shelf as a personal souvenir, but he knew its value was much greater than would be appreciated as a solitary relic. Instead, he placed it in among a community of other relics, in a glass case, carefully arranged to tell a horrible story of death, of brother against brother, but also to tell a story of hope, of a better future, and of remembrance so that the mistakes of the past would not be revisited.

People passed by the exhibit and hardly noticed the individual blob of lead, but rather, felt the message of the entire body of relics. Not one of the relics alone could have had the same effect. But the collection of relics, carefully juxtaposed, told the intended story and worked a change in all who took the time to observe and consider it.

People, and in particular, Christians are like that relic. Our lives may testify of a past rebellion and destruction. By ourselves, we have limited value to accomplish much, if anything at all. But when we are included in the grand design and placed together with others, to function and interact in interdependence, our significance grows and can make an impression on those who take the time to observe us. We can become part of the Body, giving testimony to the past time of rebellion and destruction, the present deliverance, and hope for the future we now have in Christ.