"The Spirit of the Sovereign Lord is on me, because the Lord has anointed me to preach good news to the poor. He has sent me to bind up the brokenhearted, to proclaim freedom for the captives and release from darkness for the prisoners, to proclaim the year of the Lord's favor and the day of vengeance of our God, to comfort all who mourn, and provide for those who grieve in Zion - to bestow on them a crown of beauty instead of ashes, the oil of gladness instead of mourning, and a garment of praise instead of a spirit of despair. They will be called oaks of righteousness, a planting of the Lord for the display of his splendor. They will rebuild the ancient ruins and restore the places long devastated" (Isaiah 61:1-4a)
In the arid mountain bowl of south-central Colorado lies a small town by the name of Cañon City, population just over 16,000. In addition to its close proximity to the famous Royal Gorge, Cañon City is best known as the "prison capital of the world." Within or just outside city limits are no less than nine state and four federal prisons or penitentiaries. One of the prisons, Colorado Territorial Correctional Facility, is older than the state itself and another in nearby Florence houses some of America's most infamous inmates, from mobsters to terrorists. Maybe it's because of such a unique distinction, combined with the empty, arid landscape, that Cañon City feels especially isolated, lonely and oppressed. I'm sure many of the locals would argue that it's all about perspective - after all, I live just a few miles from two prisons next door to each other between Monroe and Lebanon, and I don't have the same feeling about my surroundings.
It was with this essence of loneliness, this burdensome, tangible aura of pain and sadness emanating from within the walls of Cañon City's many prisons, that I embarked on a two-plus hour rafting trip along the rapids of nearby Arkansas River. Drifting through the beautiful walls of the stunning Royal Gorge, the thought of so many caged and lost souls easily faded into sun-soaked peacefulness. But then we passed through the steepest part of the gorge, where the famous Royal Gorge Bridge towers above the river as one of the highest suspension bridges in the world. Normally a bustling tourist destination, the bridge was eerily empty, closed due to a devastating wildfire earlier in the year that spared the bridge but destroyed most of the surrounding attractions. The small trees, shrubs and grasses growing in the walls of the gorge had been scorched, leaving blackened skeletons dotted along our river route. Thoughts of those prisoners returned, and of the ways in which my own life and the lives of those I love have at various points been imprisoned by sin and tragedy.
It was while my raft-mates were discussing the ravages of wildfire that I noticed it. Beneath the charred remains of trees and shrubs were tiny bright green and purple specks, almost imperceptible to the casual passer-by. Upon closer scrutiny, it became apparent that these specks were the shoots of new plants and wildflowers, struggling to poke their newborn heads through the surface. The combination of dirt and ash had provided the ideal breeding ground for new growth, brilliant in color and thriving with hope and determination. It was, as the saying goes, a God moment.
Wildfire is a part of nature's life cycle, and even if the fire is man-made, God's magnificent creation has a way of regenerating itself stronger and more vibrantly than before. And so it is with mankind. We experience the devastation of pain, struggle, tragedy and loss. Some of it is a natural part of life, and some of it is man-made, caused by our own sin or the sins of others. Like nature, we are capable of regeneration, of recovering and emerging a stronger, more vibrant instrument of God. How? By coming to the cross of Christ, by bearing witness to the suffering of the Lamb of God, by accepting Christ's victory over sin and death, and by allowing the Holy Spirit to consume us and guide our path.
Whether caged within prison walls in lonely Cañon City, Colorado, or chained by sin and sorrow in the suburbs, all is not lost. Life, healing and growth are possible no matter how harsh the circumstances. Nothing can destroy that which God has created and which lives in Him. Nothing. Beauty instead of ashes. Beauty from ashes. Praise God!
