A Divine Scavenger Hunt

I want to talk to you about the fire of God that Daniel and others saw in the apocalyptic visions of Scripture. I also want to talk about Christmas—and about a completely fresh look at judgment. But before any of that, I need to tell you a story.

In November, my wife Kelly had an idea that turned into something unforgettable. While she made dinner for guests, she suggested I take our daughters on a scavenger hunt through the woods behind our house. We quickly made a list of items for my youngest, Eden, to find—sticks, leaves, acorns. Then Kelly added one more: “a rock that looks like a gem.”

I hesitated. The trail has nothing but plain granite. But we went with it.

As soon as we stepped into the clearing, my middle daughter Morgan bent down and picked up a random rock. Beneath it lay a small treasure trove—polished quartz, gemlike stones, and one strange white stone covered with intricate patterns. It looked like something out of a dream. We had no idea who put it there or why Morgan felt led to pick up that particular rock.

Even more incredible: the very next day I was scheduled to open our Advance course at the Almond Branch—where I planned to talk about going on a treasure hunt to find the hidden “diamonds” inside people who’ve forgotten who they are. Kelly had no idea. I was stunned.

Morgan tucked the stones into her pocket, including the white one. But on our way home, she lost it somewhere along the trail. Her face fell. I was disappointed too—the stone had felt symbolic, like a gift from heaven. So we retraced our steps, and I prayed.

As I prayed, I saw a picture in my mind: Jesus on the ground, searching for the stone. He was in the spot where we found it. We looked there, but found nothing. There were fallen leaves everywhere, so that made the task seem pretty much impossible. Finally, Morgan sighed, “It’s okay, Dad. We can just go.”

But as I got up from the ground after a thorough look through the area, my disappointment billowing, I decided to pray once more. This time I saw Jesus standing next to us with the stone in His pocket. He took it and held it out to me. When I opened my eyes, there it was—lying right between our feet!

Morgan squealed with joy and hugged me tight. It was a sublime moment.

I had no idea how perfectly this would connect to something else that happened the next day—when my oldest daughter asked to watch a Christmas movie. But first, we need to visit Daniel.

The “Krisis” in Daniel

For months, our church had explored the mysteries of Daniel. At the end, we came to the prophet’s haunting words:

“Many who sleep in the dust of the ground will awake, some to everlasting life, others to shame and everlasting contempt.” (Daniel 12:2)

At first glance this sounds like a terrifying divide. But seen through the finished work of Christ, it unveils something deeper and profoundly redemptive.

Jesus echoes Daniel when He speaks of “a resurrection of life” and “a resurrection of judgment” (John 5:28–29). The Greek word for judgment is krisis—not necessarily condemnation. It can mean a decisive moment, a truth-revealing crisis. In this light, the judgment of God is not rejection—it’s transformation. It is the fire that burns away every counterfeit identity so our true name can shine.

And Revelation connects the dots:

“To him who overcomes, I will give a white stone, and a new name written on the stone that no one knows but he who receives it.” (Revelation 2:17)

Our “new name” is our original name restored—the person God has always known. Judgment, then, is not God throwing people away. It is God removing what was never them to begin with.

This is why Paul says some will be “saved, yet so as through fire” (1 Corinthians 3:15). The fire is not against the person—but against the lie. It is the love of God as purifying flame.

This same flame appears earlier in Daniel:

“A river of fire was flowing and coming out from before Him…the court sat, and the books were opened.”

The books hold human stories traced in Adam. The Book of Life holds the story traced in Christ. Those who cling to a false identity meet a painful krisis as illusion burns away—but even this fire flows from God’s glory.

A Christmas Parable

Back to the white stone God placed on our path. The next day at church, I spoke about searching for diamonds in people—helping them recover the identity written on their white stone.

That evening, after sharing the scavenger-hunt story with our congregation, my oldest daughter Annabelle asked if we could watch a newer version of A Christmas Carol. As we watched, I was startled by all the connections. Dickens had preached my sermon 150 years earlier.

The three spirits—Past, Present, and Future—lead the embittered Ebeneezer Scrooge through a kind of fiery baptism. Flames fill the screen as each revelation exposes what he’s become—and awakens who he really is.

And here’s the stunning part: Ebenezer is the name of a stone the prophet Samuel raised as a memorial to God’s salvation. “Ebenezer,” the stone of remembrance. The Rock of rescue. A pointer to Christ.

And suddenly, the whole thing clicked:

We are each a white stone.

We carry a name known fully only to God.

But we forget that name and live life wearing masks of fear, greed, cynicism—our own version of scrooginess.

Even though Scrooge’s journey takes him into the future, its heartbeat is memory. The Ghost of Christmas Past awakens the tenderness still buried inside him. That remembrance becomes the spark of repentance—his first step back toward love.

His story invites us to trust the fire of revelation, even when it terrifies us. Those who yield to this flame find it to be living water. Those who resist feel its heat. But it is one fire—the presence of Love Himself—received according to the heart’s posture.

The Judgment of Love

This helps us understand judgment throughout Scripture. When David cried, “Blot them out of the book of life” (Psalm 69), he spoke from the shadows of the law. But when Jesus drank the vinegar of that same psalm on the Cross (see verse 21), He prayed instead:

“Father, forgive them.”

That is divine judgment:

mercy on fire.

The Cross reveals a Savior who essentially prayed Moses’ ancient words:

“If they’re blotted out, blot Me out too” (Exodus 32:32).

The resurrection is God’s eternal reply:

No one is blotted out.

Every name is held in His love—though many still need the flame to awaken them to it.

This is the judgment of love: a consuming, cleansing fire that reveals the gold of who we’ve always been in Christ.

Daniel’s final vision, then, isn’t a threat. It’s a promise. A promise that the fire of God will have the final word—and that word will be our true name, shining forever. White stones glistening like stars for all eternity.

And this brings us to Christmas.

Because the Fire has already come—not in wrath, but in a manger.

Love Himself entered our dust

to awaken sleepers, to restore names,

to give us our stone back.

The judgment of God now has a face—

radiant, merciful, smiling in the hay.

And that face calls us to remember

the truth of who we are

and the Love who came looking.

Just like a Father searching for a stone in the woods.