By a certain time in life, all of us consider that our days will sometime come to an end. For most of us, we then think very little about that day and time until it is upon us. That is a good thing when we are able to greet each day with thankfulness, with faith in this life and faith toward the next . . .
Supposing, however, you and I were to wake up one morning, going about our day as consciously or unconsciously as ever, and then, at around, let’s say, 2:00 o’clock in the afternoon, we were to find ourselves cast down into a hole in the earth, hundred of meters, thousands of feet underground, in the dark, and with no way out. We look, we gaze about as best we can, we explore, tentatively, our hearts beating like steam engines, but there is, and we know it, no way out.
If you wish, stop and imagine with me. Would you cry? I don’t think I would. Not then, not yet. Would you pound on the walls … let’s say, of stone … and rage against your misfortune? I don’t think I would do that, either.
Imagining, I think I might fall to my knees and pray to be kept very near to the Lord, that He would help me every minute, bring me up and out, but … being there and knowing I had no means of signaling that I was trapped or where, knowing that if ever I were to come out into the light once again, that it would be a rescue staged by God Himself, I think I would commit myself into His keeping as whole-heartedly as my fear would allow.
This is just and exactly what happened to thirty-three men in a gold and copper mine in Chile on August 5th, 2010. I was there … not in the dark, but via the news, as soon as word got out. With all the rest of the world, I cared, I prayed, I hoped, nearly lost hope, and I rejoiced with great rejoicing, along with an estimated one billion people around the world, when the last of them was brought up through a chute in the rock, drilled a half mile down and made ready for a capsule to lift them, one by one, to the surface.
Until that last man emerged, and the last man was not one of the original thirty-three, we held our breath. It was a long time before their story was fully told, as fully as has been possible, but we have learned much about their sixty-nine day ordeal, and we can learn much from it.
It was not until the second day that they, collectively, did kneel and collectively ask the Lord to stay near to them, to give them courage, to keep them strong, and to get them out. What mostly broke out was … repentance. And a facing of fears. The sands of more than one hourglass are draining, slowly, for each of us. Will we be faithful in our marriages? Will we care for those we have been given to love, at home and abroad? Will we conquer temptation and unbelief and live as free men and women? Until the sands run on out on our mortal lives, we may invert that bubble and trust the revelation given to us by Jesus Himself, “The work of God is this, to believe in the One He has sent.” (John 6:29)
I’ve never forgotten those men, through a series of circumstances in my own life, their story has stayed precious to me, but this August the 5th will be the 14th year anniversary of that day. Certainly, August 5 never rolls around but they remember that hour and that prison …
This year, I want to memorialize their rescue, the miracle that took place, underground, above ground in their hearts, in their families, in Chile, and among spectators around the world. Isn’t it glorious when people in Bangkok, Perth, Salzburg, Reykjavik, Boulder, Tahiti, and Siberia are all, as one, rejoicing and giving glory to God, even if they don’t quite yet know His Name? That’s what happened, all over the globe, but today, you and I know a few, perhaps 33, who have not yet emerged into the life that is theirs in Christ Jesus.
Picture taken by Rafael Ibáñez Fernández in Las Médulas, province of León, Spain, on 11th December, 2005
Marketplace Monastics 