H. Michael Brewer
Crescent Springs Presbyterian
7 August 2005
LIVING ON THE TIP OF THE ICEBERG
2 Kings 6:8-17
We live on the tip of the iceberg. We strut around on a tiny island and we say, “Here! This is the
world. This is reality.” And all the while we are oblivious to the vast bulk of the iceberg that is
submerged just out of sight, barely out of reach. We think we know reality, but we don’t know the half
of it. We don’t know the tenth of it. We are surrounded by realities we can neither see nor hear nor
touch.
For instance, down on the lower edge of the rainbow is an invisible color. We call it ultra-violet.
Honey bees can see it, but we can’t. It’s there. It’s real, but it’s inaccessible to human eyes.
We miss other things, as well. The earth is blanketed in a complex web of magnetism, spanning
every part of the globe. Many birds “read” those magnetic fields, mapping thousand-mile migrations
along magnetic lines that we humans never feel, never experience.
Ever watch a robin land in your back yard and cock his head? He’s listening for worms slithering
under the turf. For a robin the wriggling of an earthworm rings like a dinner bell. I’ve spent a bit of time
lying in the grass and I’ve never once heard a worm.
There must be a lot I’m not hearing…and seeing…and experiencing. That’s what I mean about our
living on the tip of the iceberg. Most of reality is hidden under the surface, out of sight and out of mind.
And if we overlook so much of the physical world, how much of the spiritual world are we missing?
The king of Aram sends an army to capture Elisha the prophet. Elisha is an obstacle to the plans of
the Aramean king, so he decides to get the prophet out of the way. During the night, Aramean troops
surround the city where Elisha is staying. In the morning, Elisha’s servant comes out of the house to
fetch water and he is distraught to discover that the city is completely hemmed in by Aramean soldiers,
cavalry, and chariots. The city is under siege by a formidable army. There’s no way in, now out, and no
escape.
The servant rushes in to tell Elisha the bad news. Elisha merely yawns, stretches, and says, “Don’t
worry. Our army is bigger than theirs.”
The servant says, “Master, I hate to break it to you, but we don’t have an army. In fact, we don’t
have a prayer.”
“Oh, I’ve got a prayer right here,” says Elisha. “O Lord, please open the eyes of my servant so he
can see what’s really going on.”
And for just a moment, the servant gets to peek at what lies under the tip of the iceberg. He gets to
see what’s really real. His eyes are opened to the power that runs the world. What he sees is this: the
Aramean soldiers may surround the city, but unknown to the would-be conquerors, they themselves are
surrounded by the heavenly host of God, vast legions of angelic warriors blazing with glory.
So the Aramean army seemed invincible, but in reality they were outnumbered and outflanked.
Elisha seemed to be at the mercy of his enemies, but in reality he was encircled by guardian angels all
around. The situation seemed hopeless, but in reality the word “hopeless” has been scratched out of
God’s dictionary.
What was true for Elisha is true for you and for me. Our problems appear insurmountable. Our
enemies—within and without— appear invincible. Our resources appear to have run out. Every door of
opportunity appears slammed shut and double-bolted. It appears utterly impossible that we should ever
recover from guilt, despair, grief, and fear. Life appears to be a dead-end.
But that’s only appearances. The unseen reality is altogether different. We are surrounded by angels
on every hand. The world is on fire with the glorious omnipotence of God. Our Lord rules the universe.
That means our Lord rules your workplace, rules your classroom, rules your household, rules your daily
commute, rules your finances, rules your health, rules your future. Every hair on your head is numbered.
Nothing can happen to you that is beyond the power of God or outside the providence of God.
We cannot see that in the worst of times, we rest secure in God’s hand—but it’s true. We cannot
see that Christ has already conquered every rebel power and vanquished every threat—but it’s true.
We cannot see that Christ has sealed us for eternal salvation and after a few heartbeats in this world,
after a few breaths in this life, we will enter forever into the joy prepared for us—but it’s true.
We see a little bit of life, often a hard life, but we cannot see all that God is doing or glimpse all that
God has planned for us. We see the grit of daily existence, but there’s glory there, too, even when we
can’t bring it into focus. That’s why we walk by faith. Not by sight, but by faith.
Alexander Solzhenitsyn, the Russian author, spent many years in the gulag of Siberia. After long
suffering in the work camp, he fell into despair. Like other prisoners, he had worked in the fields day
after day, in rain and sun, during blazing summer and deadly winter. The days ran together in a haze of
backbreaking labor and slow starvation. One day, the hopelessness of his situation became too much.
Solzhenitsyn saw no reason to continue living since the rest of his life would probably be spent in this
Siberian prison.
So he gave up. Laying his shovel on the ground, he slowly walked to a crude work-site bench and
sat down. At any moment a guard would order him to stand up, and when he failed to respond, the
guard would beat him to death, probably with his own shovel. He had seen it happen to many other
prisoners.
As he waited, head slumped, he felt a presence. He lifted his eyes and saw a skinny, old prisoner
squat down next to him. The man said nothing. Instead, he drew a stick over the ground at
Solzhenitsyn's feet, tracing the sign of the cross. The man then got back up and returned to his work.
As Solzhenitsyn stared at the cross, his entire perspective changed. In that moment, he recognized
something more powerful than the Soviet Empire, something more enduring than evil, some greater
reality than the bleak misery of his suffering. With his eyes he stared at the cross, just two lines in the
dirt, but with his heart he saw something more: an unquenchable hope, an unbreakable promise, and the
redemptive power that runs the universe from behind the scenes.
He slowly got up, picked up his shovel, and went back to work. Nothing in his world had changed,
but for a moment Alexander Solzhenitsyn saw the true reality of a world in which human suffering
passes and God’s grace remains.
We think we know reality, but what we cannot see is often far more real than what we can see. We
can see the bread laid out on the table, but we can’t see the banquet of grace that Christ spreads for us.
We can see the juice in the cup, but we can’t see the Spirit poured out on us in this moment of eating
and drinking with our Savior. We can’t see the great cloud of witnesses that surrounds us, the
communion of saints, the loved ones in heaven who pray for us and cheer for us. We can sing about
there being angels all around, but we can’t see God’s protective hand, God’s shielding love.
But we come to the table anyway. We walk through our days by faith, and not by sight, because
although the world claims that seeing is believing, we know better. We know that believing is much
more important than seeing.
Soli Deo Gloria!