Lawrence Wood, a pastor and author who lived in Michigan for many years, has written about ice. Lots of ice. To be precise, one hundred tons of the stuff.

     He describes the typical Northern attitude toward ice like this. “It’s the least valuable thing up north. We have to pay people to move it out of the way. It’s a nuisance. We salt it down, break it up, shovel it out. Some folks don’t even like ice in their tea, they see so much of it in the winter.” But, he says, one man saw an opportunity where others saw only ice.

     The man was Frederick Tudor, who became known as the Ice King. He was a Boston merchant in the early 1800’s who suddenly got an idea during a family gathering when his brother idly mused that Massachusetts ice might be a very valuable commodity in the tropics. He teamed up with a supplier who supplied nearly pure ice cut in uniform blocks and soon he was shipping ice, insulated with straw, to the Caribbean. Tudor perfected his method for packing ice and was able to reduce melting losses from two-thirds to almost nothing. It was then that he turned his eye to another place, the most remote and sweltering place he could think of: Calcutta, India.

     In May of 1833, Tudor supervised the loading of one hundred and eighty tons of ice on the ship Tuscany, expecting to lose at least a third of it on the long journey. Four months later, the Tuscany arrived in Calcutta with one hundred tons of ice intact, and it set the city into a frenzy. All business was suspended until noon, as people ran to and fro telling tales of cool drinks and cold butter. But the arrival of ice in Calcutta benefited far more than simply those in the finer houses. Food was now able to be kept fresh for weeks, doctors used ice as a treatment for fevers, and other uses were found as well.

Frederick Tudor saw that something that was useless in New England would be of great value in Calcutta. He became a
wealthy man because he figured out what to do with one hundred tons of ice.

     And Wood comments that it’s much like this with God and us. We discover real worth, discover the wealth of who we are, as we offer to God what we might consider to be useless and discover the wonders it can do.

     Jesus called everyday, ordinary people to follow him, and he said they were to be the light of the world — they were to glorify God with what they did and be a light that led others to find life and hope in the darkness of the world and to glorify God themselves. But chances are, those very people Jesus called didn’t see themselves as being of much use to God. Jesus saw them differently: he knew their great worth and how useful they could be. And God did wonders through them.

     As Wood puts it, it’s a “gospel truth: that every one of us, and everything, is useful to God.” We each of us can be a light for the world, witnessing to a different, hope-filled way of living. Useless old clothes, a few items of food, a couple hours of our time, a joyful attitude, a card, a telephone call, a kind word, and on and on: what seems of little worth or use can, if offered, be used by God to work wonders of hope and healing. Even our doubts and pain. Our doubts can enliven a Sunday School class and serve to increase faith because, as somebody else has put it: “Doubts are the ants in the pants of faith. They keep it alive and moving.” And our struggles and painful experiences can help others with what they are going through. Every one, and everything, is useful to God.

     So, in the middle of July with the thermometer hovering near 100º, as you sip your ice-laden, refreshing, cooling drink, remember Frederick Tudor and how he saw great value where others didn’t. But most of all, remember that we each of us carry within ourselves a very precious commodity which, if we would allow it to be used, would glitter like ice in the sun and help bring a little more life and hope and joy to this world.

                                                                                                                                                          God be with you,
                                                                                                                                                                      Jeff