#4: Bonfire Conversations
My original title was “Measuring How Much Longer Your Conversation Will Continue By The Amount of Burnability Left in Bonfire Logs.” For the sake of brevity, we’ll call that the abstract.
I remember working as a student ministries intern at Rock Point. We had a weekly Bible Study which was typically well-attended but seldom fronted much depth of conversation. Pastor Jeff suggested hosting a meeting at my house, hinting that maybe a bonfire would instigate better conversation than weeks prior. I wasn’t totally sure what he meant, until sixteen sweaty students encircled an inferno that would miraculously externalize the hills and valleys of their young lives. Something about staring into flames broke down barriers: kids began to talk about sin and struggles, loneliness and loss, and we blazed (not literally) through pages of Scripture as the Holy Spirit consumed us.
All of a sudden, I was sold. I still don’t know what it is about bonfires that allow the deepest parts of our souls to surface. Perhaps it’s the ability to escape eye contact. Everyone is staring at the flames; no one is looking at you. Maybe it’s the symbolic togetherness of gathering around a pit of welcoming warmth. Or maybe it’s the way the fire burns through everything in its path - marshmallows, paper plates, and perhaps all our problems as well.
Joe and I had one of our deepest conversations ever among bonfire logs. They seem to keep our secrets with every surmounting heap of ash. It is easier for me to cry around a bonfire than it is in a counselor’s office or even a bedroom. If you want me to open up, set me in front of a fire. And it’s not just me, there’s science behind this: A 2014 University of Alabama study, found that people were more social while watching a fire. They also had lower blood pressure, suggesting that they were more relaxed. This light-centered congregation is strangely spiritual, which is perhaps another reason (besides warmth and survival) that people have been gathering around fires since the beginning of time.
Perhaps one of my favorite things about bonfire conversations is that they eliminate the rush and keep me present in the moment. If I’m at a restaurant, I oftentimes feel the urge to get up quickly so that hungry lobby-dwellers can have our table. Coffee shops are so loud and stimulating that I’m hardly focused on the conversation in front of me. But when I have nothing to look at but the slow crackle of a red-hot fire and the twirling dance of smoke against a midnight sky, I’m all there. I can focus. We’re all focused on what’s in front of us. The sounds of what surrounds no longer matter. Strangely, we don’t even mind the silence.
Now it is with great delight that such bonfire conversations rank fourth on my list. It’s not the highest - the smell is far too staggering for that - but there is something symbolic about the way the smell lingers as long as the rest of us - like we can’t bear to pull ourselves away until every ember turns to ashes. Our conversation doesn’t end until the flames do.
For the way it brings us together and opens up what’s deep in us, I rank bonfire conversations 4th.