The Hidden Theology of Fireworks
And you thought fireworks were just candy for the eyes and ears
The second day of July 1776, will be the most memorable epoch in the history of America. I am apt to believe that it will be celebrated by succeeding generations as the great anniversary festival. It out to be commemorated as the day of deliverance, by solemn acts of devotion to God Almighty. It out to be solemnized with pomp and parade, with shows, games, sports, guns, bells, bonfires, and illuminations, from one end of this continent to the other, from this time forward forever more.
JOHN ADAMS | FOUNDING FATHER, 2ND PRESIDENT OF THE UNITED STATES
John Adams was two days off.
Adams believed July 2, 1776, would be recorded as the date of independence, for on that day the Continental Congress voted to break from the crown and to found, in the words of Lincoln four-score and seven years hence, “a new nation, conceived in liberty and dedicated to the proposition that all men are created equal.”
We, the people, chose, instead, to celebrate the day on which the notification to King George was signed: 4 July 1776. I believe 4 July won out over 2 July because, in our wisdom, the people celebrated the execution of the legislative act rather than the mere promise of action. Even our colonial ancestors knew better than to take politicians at their word.
Notice, though, that Adams prescribed how we should celebrate the events and their order of importance:
Solemn acts of devotion to God Amighty.
Pomp and parade.
Shows, games, sports, guns, bells, bonfires, and illuminations.
“Illuminations” being the popular term for “fireworks,” or, as the academic classes call them, “pyrotechnics.” Thus, Adams would have the celebrations bookended by God at one end and fireworks at the other.
I argue that fireworks are, in fact, a God-given tool to understand the awe and majesty of God himself, which is why, of all the means of celebrating great events, fireworks displays have proven the most durable, most anticipated, and most indespensible to the general public, even in a purely secular society.
This morning on X.com, I posted (emphasis added):
Independence Day is a Christian Holiday
Over an hour of private fireworks last night at home. “For the grandkid” was the supposed purpose, but I suspect the grownups enjoyed it most. Especially the two young men who did the choreography and ignition, taking turns setting off rockets and mortars in a quickly planned sequence to mimic the effects of a professional display, much to the delight of four generations gathered for barbecue and aerial bombs. They practiced reasonable safety measures without allowing safety to turn into paranoia which spoils the fun and mystery of a fireworks show.
And it is the mystery and awe that tells us fireworks were inspired by the Holy Ghost to give man the means to remind himself of the Holy Trinity and the economy of salvation under the veil of a temporal holiday celebration.
I am old enough to allow younger folks the thrill of executing a fireworks display while I sit on the deck, sipping a Mojito made with mint leaves from our herb garden and dropping sarcastic one-liners, as men my age should. Until the fireworks, the gather of about a dozen people was split between the deck, the kitchen, and the woods, as small cliques formed, conversed, broke apart, and reformed with different members and topics as is common at parties.
But once the first booms of the rockets’ reports shook the house as the last glow of twilight descended below the treetops, everyone merged onto the deck or the ground below the deck, and all conversation turned to the day’s culminating event—the reason for the gathering: the illuminations.
Why are we drawn to these displays?
First, because they are dangerous in the same way Aslan is “not safe” to the residents of Narnia. C.S. Lewis relays a conversation between young Lucy and Mr. and Mrs. Beaver regarding the lion Aslan:
“Is he—quite safe? I shall feel rather nervous about meeting a lion.”
“That you will, dearie, and no mistake,” said Mrs Beaver. “If there’s anyone who can appear before Aslan without their knees knocking, they’re either braver than most or else just silly.”
“Then he isn’t safe?” said Lucy.
“Safe?” said Mr Beaver; “don’t you hear what Mrs Beaver tells you? Who said anything about safe? ‘Course he isn’t safe. But he’s good. He’s the King, I tell you.”
What can be said about Aslan, who was a metaphor of Christ, can be said about fireworks. We fear fireworks because they are, after all, munitions. They burn at ridiculously high temperatures. They are delivered to a great altitude by rockets. They are known to explode at the wrong time. Carelessness in handling them has caused countless injuries, especially to the soft tissue of young children for whom fireworks are exceptionally attractive. Who say anything about safe?
And, yet, we know that minimum caution and responsibility render fireworks safer than operating an automobile. We can safely enjoy the shows without destroying the fun through over-the-top measures, constant nannyish warnings, and hysteria. But the do-gooders wish to abolish them altogether, just as the atheists wish to drive Jesus out of the public square. “Leave the fireworks displays to professionals,” they tell us. Yet, a commercial fireworks display disaster in Indiana some years ago propelled the killjoys of the Illinois legislature to ban fireworks altogether. (This is the same legislature that honors Satan with a statue of archdemon Baphomet every legislative session, by the way.)
So, like Aslan, fireworks are not safe, but they are good. They are good because of their awe-inspiration and their multi-sensory thrill (we hear them, we see them, we smell them, and we feel their concussive force in our chests.) We anticipate them without knowing exactly the pattern or length of the show, thus, what we love most is the mystery of the event, the mystery’s revelation as we watch and listen and feel and smell, and the lingering mystery of how they work and when we’ll see them again. Last night, my stepson and son-in-law, who orchestrated the display, began planning next year’s event immediately upon launching the last rocket. “We’ll need a big sheet of plywood or two, and more PVC pipes for the rockets.”
Danger, mystery, awe, satisfaction, and anticipation. Like the revealed mystery of salvation: God made us out of love, rescued us from sin by sending His own Son to teach us and suffer and die for us, rise again in victory over death, and promise to come again to shepherd us to an eternal life that will make the most awesome fireworks display seem incomprehensibly dull and stupid by comparison.
The ultimate mystery of fireworks seems, then, the hidden hand of God that, despite the danger, we reach for with “knees knocking” because “He is good.” “He’s the King, I tell you.”
Approached this way, fireworks become a form of prayer. So, the next fireworks display you attend or host, remember, those booms are the voice of God saying, “Behold, these rockets are nothing compared to the wonders I have prepared for you.”