As they were walking along and talking together, suddenly a chariot of fire and horses of fire appeared and separated the two of them, and Elijah went up to heaven in a whirlwind. (2 Kings 2:11) (NIV)
The tornado was a prodigious exit for Elijah. I say this because, while working with an evangelistic team in the U.S. Midwest, I encountered some bizarre twister tales—live chickens plucked, horses relocated while still hitched to a post, and straws of hay driven into telephone poles. There is awesome power and irresistible mystery in a tornado. The fury of acres of storm condenses into a single column. It annihilates some homes and passes through others without disturbing a splinter. Thus, God safely took Elijah up as a way of pointing to the devastation, and protection, of his funnel of love.
There’s a hungry whirlwind zigzagging across the world today. It’s the tornado of the Holy Spirit blasting through the hearts of people. Here is a concentration of love so potent it sweeps some into the presence of God, purifies others, and destroys still more. My own response to this onslaught of one thousand mile an hour love has been … inconsistent.
Often, I run to the cellar crying, “Woe is me. I’ll be consumed. Hide me, fast.”
I hide from an encounter with the might of God. In doing so, I also miss out on the love of God.
Other times, I want only a peek at the phenomenon. Deep down, I panic at the risk of personal loss. It would be fine if it blew across my farm without changing anything. Perhaps a neat miracle or two would be okay, so I can join the conversation with chasers.
Now and then I catch sight of the truth that destruction of the old self leads to spiritual reclamation. Gentle breezes lifting layers of dust from my heart will never get the job done. I need a tornado. Like Elijah, I run into the Spirit’s vortex, spread my arms, and let him sweep me into union, heedless of the cost to my old self.
Prayer: Holy Spirit, I repent of hiding and peeking. Make me a chaser.