Part 2-Lessons From Salamander Cave: When Wisdom Says, “Be Still”

When I was younger, I feared very little. I was introduced to wild-cave exploration by an experienced youth leader who knew several of the caves scattered beneath the limestone hills of southern Indiana.

These were not commercial caverns with electric lights, paved walkways and handrails. They were wild caves—dark, cold, muddy and largely unchanged by human hands. Once you crawled beyond the reach of daylight, you were entering a world where preparation, experience and good judgment could mean the difference between an adventure and a tragedy.

One of the caves I came to know was Salamander Cave, also called Crystal Cave or Salamander–Crystal Cave.

Located southwest of Bloomington in Monroe County’s Garrison Chapel karst region, Salamander reportedly contains approximately 4.2 miles of surveyed passage. That makes it one of the longer caves in the county.

The cave was beautiful, but it was also dangerous.

I learned something in Salamander Cave that I have never forgotten: a place can be beautiful and dangerous at the same time. We make a terrible mistake when we assume that because something attracts us, it cannot hurt us.

The Bible says:

“The simple believeth every word: but the prudent man looketh well to his going.”
—Proverbs 14:15, KJV

Entering Through the Stream

The entrance to Salamander was very different from the large opening at Buckner Cave. To enter Salamander, we followed a little stream down to a low opening and passed through the flowing water.

The entrance seemed harmless enough under normal conditions. The stream was small, and the opening was manageable. But a wild cave does not always remain as you found it.

After passing through the restricted entrance, the cave opened into larger walking passages, rooms, stream channels, smaller crawls, mud and piles of fallen rock. It contained beautiful formations and the cave salamanders for which it was appropriately named.

There was also a passage we knew as Motorcycle Alley. That may have been an informal name used by the cavers of my generation rather than one printed on an official map. Yet those who explored Salamander during those years may remember it by that name.

Once inside, the little stream continued flowing through portions of the cave. In dry weather, it looked harmless. But Salamander could change rapidly when heavy rain fell over the surrounding watershed.

That little stream could become a raging flood.

What had been a doorway into the cave could become an underwater barrier preventing anyone inside from escaping. The larger rooms farther underground might remain above water while the small entrance became completely submerged.

A person could be standing on dry ground inside the cave yet still be trapped by water hundreds of feet away.

Life can be like that. The trouble may not always be where we are standing. Sometimes the danger lies between where we are and the way home.

The 1975 Tragedy

On February 22, 1975, three Indianapolis teenagers drowned after torrential rain flooded Salamander Cave’s entrance passage.

The danger was not simply that water rose inside the cave. The current could sweep someone toward a side passage and into an underwater sump—a place where the passage goes entirely beneath the water.

According to later cave-rescue accounts, the three young people attempted to escape through the flooded passage instead of remaining in a higher, dry area until the water receded.

I do not tell that story to criticize those young people. None of us knows precisely what fear might cause us to do when trapped beneath the earth. Panic can overpower reason. When a person believes the way home is closing, every instinct cries out, “Get out now!”

But sometimes the effort to escape becomes more dangerous than waiting.

There are moments when courage means moving forward. There are other moments when courage means remaining where you are, holding your position and refusing to let fear make your decisions.

“He that believeth shall not make haste.”
—Isaiah 28:16, KJV

Fear is always in a hurry. Faith can wait upon the LORD.

When Wisdom Waited

Twenty years after the tragedy, Salamander flooded again.

On April 8, 1995, a localized storm reportedly dropped more than three inches of rain over the area. Two Indiana University students became trapped inside the cave for approximately fifteen hours.

This time, rescuers did not attempt to force their way through the flooded entrance. They understood that sending divers into violent, muddy water could turn two endangered lives into a much larger tragedy.

The students waited in a large room several hundred feet inside the cave. When the water finally receded enough to permit a safe entry, experienced cavers reached them and brought them out alive the following morning.

The cave that claimed three lives in 1975 did not claim two more in 1995.

What made the difference?

The storm was still real. The water was still dangerous. The entrance was still flooded. But the trapped students found higher ground and waited, while the rescuers respected the power of the water and refused to act recklessly.

The Bible says:

“Be still, and know that I am God.”
—Psalm 46:10, KJV

Being still does not mean pretending the danger is not real. It does not mean refusing to prepare, ignoring warnings or sitting carelessly in the path of destruction.

Biblical stillness is not helplessness. It is the refusal to surrender our judgment to panic.

Fear says, “Do something—anything—right now!”

Wisdom says, “Find solid ground. Stay together. Do not make the danger worse. Wait until the way is safe.”

There have been times in my life when I wanted God to open the passage immediately. I wanted the flood to fall, the darkness to lift and the way home to become clear. But the LORD did not always remove the water as quickly as I wanted.

Sometimes He said, “Wait.”

“Wait on the LORD: be of good courage, and he shall strengthen thine heart: wait, I say, on the LORD.”
—Psalm 27:14, KJV

Waiting is not always a lack of faith. Sometimes waiting is faith at its strongest.

The Clay Hill

I remember one particular obstacle inside Salamander Cave.

After entering through the small stream, we came to a large clay hill that had to be crossed. Even when the clay was relatively dry, climbing it could be difficult. When it became wet, the hill turned slick and provided almost no secure footing.

Below the trail, the cave stream flowed beneath a rock formation.

During one trip, another young person and I slipped from the trail and fell into the water. The stream came to just below our waists. Our clothing became soaked, and the mud made it nearly impossible to regain our footing.

We were not in deep water, but depth was not the only danger. The slick clay prevented us from climbing out. Every time we tried to pull ourselves upward, our hands or feet would slide.

We could see the trail. We knew where we needed to go. We simply could not reach it without help.

That is an important truth. Knowing where safety is does not always mean we can reach it by ourselves.

There are people who know they need to escape an addiction, an abusive relationship, a life of sin or a season of despair. They can see higher ground, but every attempt to climb ends with them sliding back into the mud.

They do not need someone standing above them shouting, “Try harder!”

They need a hand.

“For if they fall, the one will lift up his fellow: but woe to him that is alone when he falleth.”
—Ecclesiastes 4:10, KJV

The Human Chain

The others in our group quickly understood that we could not climb out by ourselves. They formed a human chain.

One person held on to another. That person reached for the next. Someone anchored the chain while someone else stretched toward us. After several attempts, they pulled us out of the water and returned us safely to the trail.

No single person accomplished that rescue.

The person reaching for us could not have done it without someone holding him. The one in the middle provided strength and balance. The person farthest from the water may have appeared least involved, but without that anchor, the entire chain could have fallen.

Every hand mattered.

When the rescue was finished, everyone felt like a hero. In a very real sense, they were. Each person had taken a place in the rescue line, and because everyone held on, two people were lifted from the water.

Paul wrote:

“For the body is not one member, but many.”
—1 Corinthians 12:14, KJV

He continued:

“But now hath God set the members every one of them in the body, as it hath pleased him.”
—1 Corinthians 12:18, KJV

That muddy hill in Salamander Cave taught those young people something many churches have forgotten: no member of the body is unimportant.

The person reaching into the water may be the one everyone notices, but he cannot do his work unless somebody stands behind him and holds on.

The preacher needs the prayer warrior.

The teacher needs the encourager.

The missionary needs the faithful supporter back home.

The grieving need someone willing to sit beside them.

The fallen need someone who will reach down without acting superior.

The person at the back of the rescue line may never receive public recognition, but God sees the hand that held the whole chain together.

“And the eye cannot say unto the hand, I have no need of thee.”
—1 Corinthians 12:21, KJV

The church is not supposed to be a crowd of spectators watching one gifted person perform. We are a body. We are a rescue team. We are a human chain reaching down into the mud and darkness to lift those who have fallen.

There are no unimportant positions in God’s rescue line.

The Difference Between Judgment and Rescue

When someone falls into the mud, it is easy for those standing on higher ground to explain what the fallen person did wrong.

“You should have watched where you were walking.”

“You should have been more careful.”

“You should never have gotten that close to the edge.”

Some of those statements may even be true. But when somebody is trapped in the water, that is not the time for a lecture. Rescue comes first.

Jesus did not approve of sin, but He reached for sinners.

The woman taken in adultery needed truth, but she also needed mercy. Peter sinking beneath the waves had allowed fear to overcome his faith, but Jesus reached for him before correcting him.

“And immediately Jesus stretched forth his hand, and caught him.”
—Matthew 14:31, KJV

Immediately.

Jesus did not stand in the boat and wait for Peter to prove that he had learned his lesson. He stretched forth His hand.

There is a time for instruction and a time for correction. But when a soul is drowning, reach first.

The Value of a Guide

Wild caves also taught me the importance of following someone who knew the way.

Inside a cave, one passage can look much like another. Enthusiasm is no substitute for experience. Confidence is not the same as knowledge. A person can be entirely sincere and still be sincerely lost.

The book of Proverbs says:

“Where no counsel is, the people fall: but in the multitude of counsellors there is safety.”
—Proverbs 11:14, KJV

Our experienced leader understood the cave. He knew the dangerous turns, the obstacles and the route home. We did not lose our freedom by following him; his guidance made it possible for us to explore without becoming hopelessly lost.

In the same way, following Jesus does not take away our freedom. He guides us through places we do not understand because He knows the beginning and the end.

Jesus said:

“I am the way, the truth, and the life.”
—John 14:6, KJV

He did not merely say that He knew the way. He said, “I am the way.”

Preparation Matters

Wild caves taught me that one flashlight is not enough. Batteries die. Bulbs fail. Equipment gets wet. A pleasant adventure can become an emergency in a moment.

Experienced cavers carry backup lights because they know better than to place their lives in the hands of one battery.

The same principle applies spiritually. We cannot wait until the storm arrives to begin preparing our souls.

In Matthew 25, the foolish virgins had lamps, but they had not prepared enough oil for the delay.

“And the foolish said unto the wise, Give us of your oil; for our lamps are gone out.”
—Matthew 25:8, KJV

There are some things we cannot borrow at the last moment. We cannot borrow another person’s salvation. We cannot live on the preacher’s prayer life. We cannot depend forever upon the faith of our parents.

We must know Christ for ourselves.

God’s Glory Beneath Our Feet

Most people look upward when they think about the majesty of God. We look at the stars, mountains, clouds and endless reaches of the sky.

David wrote:

“The heavens declare the glory of God; and the firmament sheweth his handywork.”
—Psalm 19:1, KJV

But the glory of God is not written only above our heads. It is also carved beneath our feet.

Deep below the limestone hills of southern Indiana are rooms most people will never enter, streams they will never hear and formations they will never see. No human architect designed those passages. No construction crew carved those chambers. Water moved through cracks in the limestone, shaping the underground landscape little by little.

Some passages are broad enough to walk through. Others require a person to crawl. Some rooms contain beautiful formations. Others contain mud, loose stone and flowing water.

All of it exists beneath the sight of most of humanity.

“In his hand are the deep places of the earth: the strength of the hills is his also.”
—Psalm 95:4, KJV

What man never sees, God still knows.

What man never applauds, God still values.

What develops in darkness is not hidden from the Creator.

That truth also applies to people. Some of God’s finest work takes place in hidden lives. Not every faithful servant stands behind a pulpit. Not every prayer warrior is known beyond a little country church. Not every act of kindness is announced publicly.

But God sees.

Memories From Beneath the Earth

My caving days are now behind me. I can no longer crawl hundreds of feet through cold mud and narrow passages. I cannot climb Salamander’s clay hill, jump across its underground stream or spend an entire night in a fifty-five-degree cave.

But I can remember.

I remember the darkness so complete that my eyes could find no light.

I remember the cold, the mud and the sound of water flowing where the sun had never shone.

I remember the clay hill and the sudden slip into the stream.

I remember the hands reaching down.

I remember the human chain.

I remember how everyone held on until everyone was safe.

Age may take away our ability to repeat certain adventures, but it cannot take away the lessons God taught us through them.

The caves were more than holes beneath the ground. They became classrooms.

The maze taught me the value of guidance.

The darkness taught me the power of light.

The flood taught me that wisdom sometimes waits.

The fall taught me that no one is beyond needing help.

The human chain taught me the meaning of the church.

The hidden rooms taught me about the greatness of the Creator.

Somewhere beneath those southern Indiana hills, water is still moving through the darkness. The rocks are still wet. The passages are still cold. The formations continue to be shaped by water and time.

Most people will never see them.

But God does.

And He sees you.

Perhaps you have fallen from the trail and cannot regain your footing. Perhaps you are standing on higher ground, but the way home has been blocked by a flood. Perhaps you are frightened by darkness so complete that you cannot see the next step.

Do not panic.

Find the Rock. Hold on to the LORD. Take the hand He sends your way. And if you are standing safely today, reach back for somebody who is still struggling in the mud.

The darkness is not greater than His light. The flood is not stronger than His hand. The passage is not so hidden that He cannot find you.

“For thou wilt light my candle: the LORD my God will enlighten my darkness.”
—Psalm 18:28, KJV