Of Rocks and Stones

by Rick Booye

            They were rocks, just plain old rocks lying in the dirt, all relaxed and laid back. The rain washed them. The sun warmed them. The dust covered them. Life was as they hoped, utterly stressless, utterly useless. The rocks loved it. But it didn’t last.

Rock-life ended the day a man came by and picked a few of them up. His hands dug down around their dirty undersides and pried them out of their comfortable dust. He brushed them off, viewing them from different angles, and took them home.

At first the rocks were quite pleased with all this attention and somewhat excited to belong to a real person. After all, it’s not normal for a rock to be considered valuable enough to belong to a living being (though they secretly think they are quite important).  Certainly, it seemed that their rock-lives had taken an enjoyable turn for the better now that the man had gathered them and made them his.

The journey to their new home was pleasant enough, even if rocks are not accustomed to being carried very much (they prefer to think of themselves as self-motivated).

Once inside the house however, the rocks experienced several new sensations.  First, they were scrubbed thoroughly with water. This offended them since a certain rocky dirtiness had always been admired among them.

Next, their new owner placed them into a large cylindrical steel can. Once inside they felt a cool, thick, gritty liquid poured over them. It squished down between them and filled the cylinder past the half-way mark. Good thing rocks don’t need much air. Then a cap was screwed tight to the top. They felt the whole container tipped on its side as their new owner placed it on a motor-driven roller. He flipped the switch and the motor hummed to life. Over and over it turned the can, slowly, relentlessly. The grit scrapped their skins. They tumbled end over end.

Well, they didn’t enjoy this at all. Rocks don’t like being lumped together in close quarters. They prefer open spaces where they can imagine that they are the only ones that matter. Neither do they appreciate the implication that all rocks are basically alike in most ways, and that none is inherently better than another. Being all bunched together hurt their pride. And they really hated the friction and constant movement. They were all rolling around together, bumping, scraping, rubbing each other’s rough spots. Even when they tried hard not to rub another the wrong way, it seemed the can would turn just so and the friction would sand edges off both of them. All this was quite painful, especially at first. (Many began to think how easy life was when they were just lying around on the ground.)

The process also took a lot of time, which is something rocks usually have plenty of, but in this case they resented.

Finally it ended. The man lifted the cylinder off the motor, unscrewed the cap and tumbled the rocks out of their rolling prison. Interestingly, they had begun to roll together rather smoothly by the end of the ordeal. So many of the rough edges had been removed that the whole experience took on a new dimension. The rugged individuality that had once caused so much trouble was reduced to a very smooth surface, which retained the original shape but allowed movement and cooperation. They had become more than ordinary rocks.

As the owner rinsed them all (this last washing was quite enjoyable) he smiled his approval. They were now stones, polished and beautiful, each unique, yet fitting together perfectly. Each had a luster and depth all its own, reflecting the owner’s light in a different way, bringing a special beauty to his home. And yet, together they seemed to be more beautiful than as individuals. There was a harmony of the colors and shapes, a glorious blending of the uniquenesses.

All the former roughness was forgotten now. The stones enjoyed touching each other and belonging to their owner. They began to realize that somehow in the polisher there had been a profound change in their basic essence, something much deeper than the shine alone. They had begun to live … like Him.

Looking back now the stones view it all from a new perspective. They had never realized how dead and alone they were before the Master picked them up. Somehow, they had convinced themselves that they were not in need of polishing or change or any other life than the one they were “born” with. But now they knew the truth, that there is a life infinitely beyond the ability of a rock to understand.

They also understand that the process of grinding, scraping, and polishing was purposeful, effective. At the time it seemed inefficient and needlessly painful. All they wanted was to get out of the can and on with the program. But the can was the program.  The shine they needed was developed in the process they hated. Far from being a waste of time, the despised polisher was miraculously effective in transforming the character of the stones, which turned out to be the real project all along.

They saw now how much they needed each other. Before, as they lay in the dirt, smudged and smug in their rocky individuality, they were completely unaware of their potential as a group. Closeness and cooperation were of no value. Unity (the kind they had now) was unheard of, unimaginable. But now they couldn’t imagine being utterly alone again. Their unity was their greatest advantage. They were so much more complete together, so much more luminous and glorious belonging to each other than they could ever have hoped to be on their own.

So it was all worth it. What had appeared easy and fun had turned out to be difficult and painful. But then, what had appeared useless and destructive turned out to be transforming and rewarding. The Person had used everything to benefit His stones and they were glad of it, all of it. And His purposes for them in the future? Who knows? Anyone wise enough to turn dead rocks into living gems can be counted on to think of something.  (I Peter 2:4-5, Rom.8:28-30, Eph.4:1-6).