Uncle Julio and the Tongues of Fire

When God Knocks Don’t Slam the Door

We’re having a heat wave. The Pacific Northwest never needed air conditioners, but we’re supposed to melt for five long days. Climate change is shaking its fist at us, reminding us that we have lost our collective minds. I keep asking myself, If God’s really in charge, why are we roasting like marshmallows?

Maybe because we need to solve our own problems? You know, the ones we created? God could switch on the cool with a wave of the hand. Yet God keeps saying, “OK humans, you buttered your bread, now lay in it.”

 I’d love to blame that pesky Holy Spirit, but the whole warming planet thing keeps reminding me of my childhood in Yuma, Arizona.

I find myself thinking, “Oh it’s you again,” when, if I was willing to heat up just another degree, I might be filled again with love and light.

Yuma, where I lived until around age ten, is one of the hottest spots in Arizona. It’s at the start of the Sonoran Desert or maybe the gateway to hell. We had no air conditioning, only a swamp cooler perched on the roof. And on the Fourth of July, I’d join my Latino neighbor’s kids that were my sole playmates—Bobby and Peter Bone.

Bobby was the mean younger boy and Peter Bone (I don’t know why he was called that) was feckless but tended to follow Bobby’s lead. They both got ultra-short haircuts in the summer, where Yuma could sizzle near 120 degrees.

Their mom, Chu-chi, fascinated me with the way around a hundred relatives would show up at her house for practically no reason. I don't have that many kin in the world, but this huge extended family descended upon Bobby and Peter Bones' house to mark every birthday, anniversary or Mexican holiday. The adults marked celebrations with tequila. Which brings me to Uncle Julio.

Tio Julio, as the boys called him, was the kind of uncle every kid wants. He was older, white hair slicked back just so and his torso was round but in a solid way. Julio could do magic, a very important skill for uncles, and his booming laugh could rattle your teeth loose. Julio's favorite magic trick was to light a match to one of his nephew's burr haircuts, and the trick was to see how long the kid could be on fire before he cried out.

I don’t recall if the boys’ mom was for or against the ritual, but nobody stopped Uncle Julio and neither boy tried to run. Maybe it was about machismo or maybe it was simply an odd family tradition. I was awestruck.

If you've ever smelled hair burning you know what this is like. Julio, now many fingers into the tequila, would stand Bobby or Peter in the yard, garden hose at the ready, and strike the match. That sulfur stink always made my nostrils sting, but I couldn't take my eyes off the spectacle. This skinny kid standing there shaking, smoke curling up out of his nubby haircut, trying not to look like a baby in front of his burly uncle. When Tio finished terrorizing the boy, he baptized him with the hose. This was a nice touch because the kid could cry without being detected, but he still shook as if his bones had turned to rubber. I made a beeline for home in case Uncle Julio called for another volunteer.

I don’t know why this event has stayed with me, except to say that hot weather reminds me of Holy Spirit tongues of fire and tongues of fire danced on those boys’ heads. I don’t really want to set my own hair ablaze, but I’ve always wanted to feel like there was fire exploding from my heart like the disciples in Acts.

My experience has never been so dramatic. Instead of allowing God to light me up, I swat at the Holy Spirit as if a gnat was buzzing round my head. I find myself thinking, “Oh it’s you again,” when, if I was willing to heat up just another degree, I might be filled again with love and light.

Right now I’m facing a bunch of stuff I wish I didn’t have to deal with, so I’d rather crank up the AC, and forget about my troubles. But as Bobby and Peter Bone showed me long ago, you have to be brave to stand whatever God is igniting. If you run away, the flames grow bigger, hotter, filled with God-breath that never gives up on you. Never.

Yep, it’s hotter than H-E-double hockey sticks but do what you can to help the planet heal. Stand still and feel the inferno of love God has for you and me. We may need sunscreen, a hat and a plunge into clear cold waters, but God’s fiery love burns brighter when you give that danged Holy Spirit a chance. I think Tio Julio would agree.