Wings of Wax into City

I step outside and it’s colder than I expected. The wind, blowing in quick, sharp bursts, slices against my unshaven face, coldly reminding me it’s still winter. I light a cigarette. The bank tells me it’s 34 degrees. The wind tells me it’s colder. I stand for a minute or so, the cigarette in my mouth as I put on my black leather gloves. The wind cuts. When the gloves are on I look right, then left, looking for someone I know. It’s Iowa City. It’s small. Besides, I’m almost always within the two-block radius of Java House and Java House-Prairie Lights. I’m not a homebird but routine is nice. Gloves on, cigarette burning, I walk from lunch to Java House. I arrive and the cigarette is still burning. It’s about a 100-yard walk. Outside the door I wait, drawing from the Camel Light, back against the wall, looking toward the street. As the cars drive by (routinely), my eye wanders to the sidewalk, to the familiarity of this city. Not two feet in front of me stands a lamppost, its base surrounded by snow, dirtied with specks of brown, black, and dark-gray. I look closer and see hundreds of cigarette buttes, strewn about the snow like bodies in France after World War II. Toward the edge of the snow are five brown lumps. Dog shit. And all it once it comes to me: this is the world. The world is dirty snow, cigarette buttes, and dog shit. I throw my cigarette but into the pile. My mark.

 

Over the last few weeks my thoughts have been dominated by two things: the shortcomings of this life and the perfection of God’s heavenly kingdom. Josh the Quarterback and I were talking yesterday. U2 is an amazing band and they have a song called “I Still Haven’t Found What I’m Looking For.” Josh and I were talking about this song. About how, despite all the beautiful things in life (community, family, love, to name a few), there is still longing. Nothing here can make us perfectly happy. That’s what I saw in the pile of cigarette buttes. That’s what I saw in Nigeria this summer. That’s what I see when I listen to the Counting Crows and when I read good literature and when I see my friends cry and smile and when Bono sings. “But I still haven’t found what I’m looking for.” But but but but but. Life is “but.” Life is, “Please one more.” Life is, “A little longer.” Life is, “A little deeper please.” Life is Icarus. If you aren’t familiar with the story of Icarus you should be. It’s an amazing story because, once you hear it, you see it everywhere.

 

In short, Icarus and his father were trapped and needed to escape. Icarus’ father fashioned them wings of wax, but before the flight he told Icarus not to fly too near the sun. When in the air, Icarus did what you think he would do, what we all do, he flew too close to the sun, and consequently his wings melted and he died in the sea below him.

 

We all try, in one way or another, to touch the sun, to “get there.” We try to reach heaven. And we die right before we get there. Look at Icarus throughout history: the tower of Babel comes to mind. Celebrities come to mind. Solomon comes to mind. I come to mind. You come to mind. The story of Icarus is the story of humanity: of trying to do it by ourselves. And damn it we get close.

 

“I have spoke with the tongue of angels. I have held the hand of a devil; it was warm in the night. I was cold as a stone, but I still haven’t found what I’m looking for.”

 

Now, if I haven’t lost you yet, the second pervading thought is much brighter. The brightest, in fact. And, as always, there’s a song that encompasses this thought.

 

Though the world is dark and painful, gray and bleak, my life is guided by a hope brighter than the sun that scorched Icarus. My life is led by a light greater than all the heavens together. My life is lead by the Light of the World. See John 8:12.

 

Though the world is stormy and rough, oft harsh and never enough, our world, my brothers and sisters, is a world of hope. Not a hope that is here just yet, but a hope to come.

 

“Don’t worry about a thing, cause every little thing is gonna be alright.” Bob Marley puts into words all the hope I have. “Don’t worry about a thing, cause every little thing is gonna be alright. Rise up this mornin, smile with the rising sun. Three little birds is by my doorstep, saying, ‘This is my message to you: Don’t worry about a thing, cause every little thing is gonna be alright.’”

 

I have hope that the Light of the World is gonna make everything alright, and that is how all the darkness is illuminated. I am guided by hope.

 

Revelation 21:1-7

 

garden—fall—redemption—city