Sometimes a stone is not just a stone

The troubled young man reached out his hand as I prepared to leave. We had been speaking of serious matters. I expected nothing from him, but here he was, obviously with something to offer.

I took the small object and turned it over.

“An arrowhead?” I mumbled, confused.

I thought he might have found an ancient keepsake out on the hillside, but wasn’t sure why he was giving it to me.

“I made it myself,” the man said proudly. “For you.”

We spoke of the work it had taken to produce this gift for a few moments. Then I thanked him and tucked the flinty object into my pocket as I headed for home. I regretted the decision to tuck it away there more than once as it dug into my leg when I moved my foot to the brake and the accelerator.

We all make poor decisions. I removed the arrowhead immediately upon arriving home. Still, it’s been a bothersome object nearly constantly since that day.

You see, I could easily pull it out of my pocket. It’s not so easy to get it out of my brain.

Am I the only one who has this sort of problem?

That arrowhead has been jabbing and pricking at my subconscious for weeks now. Every time I see it or the man again, something tugs at my thoughts. I’ve been trying to puzzle it out. I’m still not sure I’ve quite grasped it.

Perhaps, just a start here will help to firm up the shadow of the reality I know is lurking close by, just waiting to be seen in clear view.

Somehow, I find myself jumbling thoughts of stones, lots of them, banging against each other, together with reminders of bad choices and a lack of direction. I even find myself thinking about old Goliath and that stone that hit him in the middle of his forehead.

Odd, isn’t it?

Puzzles are like that — all confusing shapes and nearly-recognizable images — until one takes the time to sort the pieces out, sliding a little bit of sky here, squeezing some leafy trees in over there, and maybe even completing the border before ever considering the rest of it.

Perhaps we should start with the border

Border pieces. The ones that go around the scene, holding it together.

Pieces that can’t go anywhere other than at the top or bottom, far left and far right; all of them framing the rest of the picture.

Border pieces —let’s see…

What I know is this: in nature, rocks bang against other rocks, sometimes creating chips and edges, but most often smoothing each other. Over time, a bunch of rocks, randomly rubbing against others of their kind, become generally smooth and rounded.

Pleasant and rather benign, these stones are.

If they’ve been immersed in a creek or river, the process is faster and more efficient. I see them frequently when the Lovely Lady and I trek down to the river banks to look at the old bridges we love. There, on bars and little peninsulas, I’ll bend over and pick up stone after stone, spinning them back over the top of the water. After skipping along multiple times (if I’m lucky) they’ll drop back into the river’s flow, down to the rocky bottom to continue their polishing and grinding a while longer.

But, they can be used for more serious purposes, too. I’m fairly sure the stones I pick up by the river, to skip along the water’s surface, are not any different than the five smooth stones little David picked up by the brook’s edge back

there in Israel. (1 Samuel 17:40, NIV)

Goliath didn’t find that first stone so benign. It was delivered with purpose.

Who knows? I may have actually skipped one of those four David didn’t need across the Illinois River. It’s possible.

The border pieces are coming together

And this, the idea of physical stones that grind away at each other, polishing and smoothing, is the analogy leading to the spiritual truth of the outside pieces to our puzzle.

As followers of Christ, we live in community, as our God intended. But, contrary to what many seem to believe today, it wasn’t only for our emotional comfort that He gave us to each other.

It’s true. Smooth edges, gleaming — with hardly a chip to be seen anywhere —they’re comfortable. And, generally useful.

It even helps to fulfill the directive found in the book of Hebrews.

And let us take thought of how to spur one another on to love and good works… (Hebrews 10:24, NET)

The real reason we need to be together is so we can help our family do good, not just feel good.

We smooth off the rough places that keep us from loving others.

We help each other become useful to our God for His purposes.

Finally, the jumbled pieces begin to make some sense

As I think about these edge pieces, the frame around this puzzle, the other pieces begin to come into focus for me.

I realize that the stone I’m holding in my hand, this arrowhead, is very different than those described above, even though they are all shaped by stone-on-stone contact. The thought hits me hard. Really hard.

We are not all the same.

Oh, before our God, we are equal. His Word is clear regarding that.

There is neither Jew nor Greek, there is neither slave nor free, there is neither male nor female — for all of you are one in Christ Jesus. (Galatians 3:28, NET)

His grace and mercy are extended equally to all who come to Him through Jesus. We all are on the same level before Him.

That said, the apostle (my namesake) had more to say about our individual responsibilities. To God and to each other.

In a memorable passage to the folks at Corinth (1 Corinthians 12), Paul spoke of how the body works. Naming off the body parts, he describes the big and the small, the pretty parts and the ones we cover up. It’s a long passage, but it can be summed up with one verse.

Even so the body is not made up of one part but of many. (1 Corinthians 12:14, NIV)

Not all of the stones have the same purpose.

And yet, all need to be shaped.

The Native American culture has many symbols. Not surprisingly, the arrowhead carries strong symbolism to them. It speaks of direction. Of alertness and purpose. To carry out that symbolism, the stone is shaped for a specific function.

Unlike the stones in the river, the arrowhead is treated roughly, with edges being broken off, and flakes chipped away from across the face. There is a specific process, which requires expertise and experience. And a good bit of common sense.

I’m not sure the young man who made my arrowhead has arrived at that point yet. I’ll treasure it because he made it for me, but the good quality ones belie the process, their smooth sides and straight edges almost leading one to think the process is not violent at all.

It is, though. The flint knapper — the process is called knapping — must know the quality of stone he’s working with and must be able to see the spot at which the flakes will split off evenly. Tapping with his shaping stone at exactly the right place, he is rewarded by a single tiny chip popping loose.

Again and again, he breaks the stone, with the goal of having a complete and perfect tool for his purposes when the breaking is ended.

Broken, made beautiful.

I said earlier the realization that we are not all the same hit me hard. Here’s why:

We’re not all arrowheads.

Some of us are skipping rocks. Or, stacking rocks. Or even Goliath-stopping rocks. And, that’s good. Our Creator knew we’d all be needed. And used.

There’s more:

We’re not all flint knappers.

And, this is a difficult thing for many of us to accept. You see, one wouldn’t know we’re not all experts at shaping stones by scanning our social media feeds.

No one would know it by reading our replies to online articles or even our everyday communication with each other in the coffee shops and watering holes.

Often, it’s not evident in our homes, with spouses and children, in-laws and guests.

We know what’s wrong with people and we’re on a mission to fix them. 

Give us a little information, let us read a Bible passage and check a commentary, and we think we should shout from the rooftops the solution for every other human being’s problems.

Except one. Our own.

Before we can shape, we have to be shaped.

Before we can teach, we must be taught.

Before we can love, we must learn what it is to be loved.

More delicate stones have been shattered by the stones around them than can ever be counted. Simply because we thought having a tool in our hand gave us the right to wield it.

I look behind me and see the carnage.

I did that. With my hammer of stone and my unbridled zeal, I did that.

Broken stones. Everywhere.

My fingers cease their movement on the keys, frozen in place, as my sight is dimmed with tears of regret. I don’t like the way this puzzle is going together at all.

What terrifying power we have at our command! And, how casually we employ it against each other. 

Our Creator has placed us carefully — surrounding us with family and friends, along with neighbors and acquaintances — for His purposes, not ours.

I wonder when we will begin to serve His purposes. Will we ever look at each other with new eyes, seeing the potential instead of the problem?

 Just stones. Shaping other stones. Stones that, like us, live and breathe — and serve.

Because we are following The Living Stone. (1 Peter 2:4–5)

Maybe today, we’ll start.

Not many of you should become teachers, my fellow believers, because you know that we who teach will be judged more strictly. We all stumble in many ways. Anyone who is never at fault in what they say is perfect, able to keep their whole body in check. (James 3:1, NIV)

We would tend these glades of flowering stone, not quarry them. With cautious skill, tap by tap — a small chip of rock and no more, perhaps, in a whole anxious day — so would we work… (Gimli the Dwarf, in The Two Towers by J.R.R. Tolkien)

To a man with a hammer, everything looks like a nail. (Anonymous, sometimes attributed to Mark Twain)

© Paul Phillips. He’s Taken Leave. 2020. All Rights Reserved.