Don’t Pollute the Stream

People said it was a beautiful place, but it did not look like it from where we started. The brochure said the water was crystal clear, that the water came right out of the side of one of the Appalachian Mountains that surrounded us. The view from the mountaintop, the tumbling water falling hundreds of feet, the unspoiled natural setting — all of these made the three-mile trek along and up the mountain a journey to remember. At least, that is what everybody said.

When we parked the car in the gravel parking lot maintained by the state, it was not a promising site. That so-called stream of pure, sweet-tasting mountain water projected an offensive odor. The stream was polluted.

From the bridge that led to the hiking trail, one could see old tires tangled in the underbrush growing along the banks. Hikers who had gone before us had not been careful with their discards. Litter cluttered the trail near the parking lot and spilled into the water. It was not a pretty picture. In fact, it was disheartening. Like so many other experiences in life, it looked like the reality of this day would be far different from the beauty people wrote and talked about.

Tires and trash were not the only things marring the beauty of the area. People’s carelessness, or maybe their indifference, could be seen in broken tree limbs, in banks along the stream caved in by too many footsteps, by initials carved into trees and by countless other indicators that polluted the water and the trail.

Parts of the trail were hard. The state had not cut steps into the path up the mountainside. We wound along the rocks always looking for the occasional yellow markers that almost leaped off their brown background. Sometimes we  pulled each other up as we climbed along the banks of the stream that seemed to flow faster and faster as we went.

The higher we climbed, the less pollution we saw on the trail and in the water. In fact, when we stopped to rest alongside the stream, it was almost like the picture in the brochure. One could see the colored pebbles on the bottom of the stream in the still pools. Where the water broke over the rocks, the spray was white, tinged with blue. The bank was lined with oaks, hickories, pines and laurel so common to the Appalachians.

The three-mile hike, much of it climbing upward, was a challenge. But when we got to the waterfall, it was worth the effort. The water really did come right out of the mountainside as if a large pipe spilled out the crystal clear aqua. The aroma was sweet, just as advertised. The view across the valley was breathtaking.  Other mountain peaks dotted every direction. No matter which way one looked, it was an unbroken canopy of green. As we sat on the crest of the waterfall, a hawk circled below riding the changing currents of misty air. A rainbow played peekaboo. Now we could see it. Now we could not.

It was hard to believe this was the same stream we had walked beside earlier. That stream was ugly. It was polluted. It smelled. This stream was beautiful and relaxing. One could almost stay beside it forever.

But it was the same stream. The only difference was that now we sat at its source. Earlier we had been far downstream. At the source, hikers could not pollute and destroy. Downstream they not only could but did. It was a sober thought to realize the water flowing by the parking lot where we left our car could be as clear and sweet as what we experienced here if not for man’s pollution.

Every Christian stands in another stream, not a stream of water but a stream of grace that flows from the throne of God. One expression of that grace is the church which promises to nourish and nurture all who enter. Much has been written about the church. It is called the body of Christ and the bride of Christ. It is described as a fellowship, an instrument of worship, a catalyst for service. People say the church is a place of caring, a family of faith. It all sounds so beautiful.

But like the stream by the parking lot, even the church can get polluted. Carelessness and indifference can mar its beauty and corrupt its essence. Things foreign to the sweet smell of grace can foul the church.

Sometimes people think the church is a private possession, forgetting they stand in a flowing stream. They talk of “my” church, not as identity but as possession. They talk of my office, my supplies and my place of service.

Sometimes people act as if they own the church, as if they can control it and direct its flow. But like the discarded tires flung into that mountain stream, such notions are barriers that impede the stream’s flow and detract from the stream’s natural beauty. Sometimes the odor of the church is foul, not sweet. Sometimes the church is wounding, not a place where wounded are healed.

Today we wade in the stream of grace expressed through the church. That does not make it ours. Others were drawn to it before us. Still others will walk in it after us. We enjoy it only for a while.

To those who have been there before us, we are indebted. They preserved the beauty about which so many wrote, the beauty we sought as we began our journey. Some even cleaned up trash thrown into the stream so we would not have to face it.

Now we enjoy the stream. We do not possess it. We are its stewards. We are charged with keeping the water pure and clear and sweet smelling. Those who come after us will be searching for the beauty so often spoken of. They deserve to see more than discarded tires and trash.

Please, don’t pollute the stream. Don’t pollute the natural streams of water that crisscross our lands and don’t pollute the stream of grace expressed through the church that flows from the throne of God.