Prometheus

In 1963 a grad student at UNC Chapel Hill named Donald received a grant. With this grant from the National Science Foundation [sounds made up, right?], Donald began to research climate patterns over hundreds and thousands of years. The best way to go about this research was to study trees, their rings serving as historical weather records.

In Nevada, eleven thousand feet up, is the Snake Range on Wheeler Peak. This area is the home to groves of bristlecone pine, some of which are over three thousand years old. These trees are nothing short of magnificent. They grow out of rock, often pulling rocks and small boulders inside their trunks as they do. Their trunks are wide and twisted, and their branches curl up to the sky.

Donald chose these bristlecone pine as the foundation of his research. He began drilling into the trees and pulling core samples for his climate study. On August 6, 1964, Donald came across Prometheus. A tree given the name of the Greek god who brought fire to man. He grabbed his tools, and as he drilled into the great tree, his bore got stuck. Donald desperately needed a sample of Prometheus to complete his study, so he went to the forest service to ask for help. Together, Donald and the forest rangers trekked back to the tree and cut it down, giving Donald a few huge slab cross sections of Prometheus.

With a segment of the tree on his desk, Donald began counting its rings to determine its age. He counts one thousand rings, then two thousand rings. He wasn’t even half way done. Donald counted up to four thousand years old. When it was all said and done, Donald discovered Prometheus was 4,900 years old. Three hundred years older than the oldest known tree on earth. And Donald had just cut it down.

People found out what he’d done. They were wildly angry with him. They wrote letters, hateful letters, because of his mistake. His mistake was this: Not only had Donald Currie killed the oldest tree on earth, Donald Currie killed the oldest known individual living organism in the universe. Huge. Mistake. And he became know as the man who killed Prometheus.

In the 1980s, Donald studied salt formations and was appearing for a television interview. The story goes that the lady interviewing Donald asked him if he was the Donald Currie that cut down that old tree, and even as an old man, he just ran away.

It’s painful to think how we become our mistakes. They begin to define us and shape the way we live. We walk in shame. We read the hate mail, and we receive the criticism. All the while agreeing with the world that “this is what I’m famous for.”

Our pastor at 12 South, Russ, told us this story a few weeks ago. What he said next really got me thinking: Karma says, do more good than bad and everything will work out for you. But an honest human heart knows that’s just bad math. How many trees does Donald have to save to make up for the one he killed and to be right in the eyes of the world? What hope do we have?

In Canaan, Joshua built an altar on Mount Ebel, a sinner’s altar. There, anyone defined by their sin was offered a way out. Through God’s grace and redemption, a substitute-a sacrifice-was accepted in their place. What I need to hear [and, no doubt, what Donald Currie needed to hear] is that on the mount of my curses, God will accept a substitute. I have a new identity in Christ. And I am clean.

We wrote letters to Donald, forgiving him for his mistake:

Dear Donald,

I think I know what you’re expecting this letter to say. People still haven’t forgotten what you did all those years ago. People still write about it, talk about it, argue about it. People born years after Prometheus died are still angry with you. And I’m sure even reading that name makes you uneasy because it reminds you. I’m sure of that because I’ve got things in my past that make me cringe too. I wanted to write you a letter to let you know: you’re off the hook. There is a Hope and a Love that changes all that stuff from the past. Well, He doesn’t make it magically disappear. He’s actually going to take you right back to where it began. You’re going to have to go back to that stump in Nevada. I know you think walking that trail again and seeing it will make you weak, make you want to run away. But He’ll hold your hand the whole time. And while you may fall down on that stump and weep and mourn, He’s going to turn it from an altar of shame to an altar of redemption. And you’ll leave Nevada with a new identity. I know it sounds crazy, but it’s the only way out. I hope this helps.

Lauren C.