You Are a Mist

You Are a Mist.  The Bible, often in concert with our own hearts, assigns humanity a full spectrum of names, stretching from debasement to exaltation. “I am a worm” (Psa. 22:6). “Wretched man that I am” (Rom. 7:24). “You have … crowned him with glory and honor” (Psa. 8:5). “See what kind of love the Father has given to us, that we should be called children of God; and so we are” (1 John 3:1).

Yet, somewhere in the middle zone of those extremely negative or positive names rests another description that could be negative and positive at the same time. “Come now, you who say, ‘Today or tomorrow we will go into such and such a town and spend a year there and trade and make a profit’—yet you do not know what tomorrow will bring. What is your life? For you are a mist that appears for a little time and then vanishes” (James 4:13-14). You are a mist, is hardly the punchline in any valedictorian’s speech or slick advertisement campaign. It is the advice of wisdom to youth: Don’t blink! It’s gone before you know it!

Smoke, vapor, breath, mist—the imagery is vivid. Whichever translation is used, the point is clear: transience. Saying to humankind, You are a mist, is a great equalizer. Men, women, rich, poor, high, low, You are more than nothing yet less than something. A brief fog rolled off the river yesterday morning at dawn, filling the low-lying areas with a wispy veil. It was beautiful. It gave the thirsty forest a taste of moisture. It caused motorists to turn on their low beam headlights and ease off the accelerator. A few minutes later, the sun burned through the fog and the temperature started rising through the 70s and 80s into the 90s by 2:00 pm. The mist was not nothing, but it was not something. It was briefly undeniable and unavoidable, but inconsequential outside the narrow task that God designed it to complete, whether it was meant for brief beauty, slight alleviation of drought, or forcing hurried people to slow down and pay closer attention at the junction where Pecan Road meets Arrington Bridge Road.

James makes a solid point for all humans considering the transience of all humans, but he wasn’t the first. Job knew it, “My life is a breath” (Job 7:7). Moses knew it, “So teach us to number our days that we may get a heart of wisdom” (Psa. 90:12). David knew it, “O Lord, make me know my end and what is the measure of my days; let me know how fleeting I am!” (Psa. 39:4). Jesus knew it, “One's life does not consist in the abundance of his possessions. (Luke 12:15). James gleans practical advice from accepting his limits. Instead of making firm plans as if the future depended solely upon a master plan or work ethic, wisdom should leave margin for what is unknown. “Instead you ought to say, ‘If the Lord wills, we will live and do this or that’” (James 4:15). This instruction is not meant to be a mantra, that if we say these words formulaically, then we are in the clear. This instruction is meant to be a worldview that makes plans with baked-in reverence and pre-planned flexibility to defer to God’s pleasure.