When You Pass Through the Fire
Today’s brush fire in Ramona — the Rancho Fire — sent me right back to 2007, when wildfires raged across San Diego County faster than firefighters could respond. Each time the phone rang that October, it was news of yet another blaze: Witch Creek, Harris, Rice Canyon, and on it went. Those of us working for the Episcopal Diocese of San Diego gathered twice a day on conference calls with Bishop Mathes, trying to track which churches and families were evacuating, which had lost homes, and where help was needed next. I remember updating the diocesan website hourly with lists of evacuation sites, needs, and prayers.
St. Mary’s in-the-Valley was among the communities directly affected. Our then-priest, the Rev. Leland Jones, lost his home in the fires. The destruction was staggering: more than 197,000 acres burned in the county, over 1,100 homes destroyed, two lives lost, and the largest evacuation in San Diego’s history.
The fire conditions were the perfect, terrifying storm — drought-stricken brush, 90-degree heat, and Santa Ana winds gusting up to 112 miles per hour. Water drops evaporated before reaching the ground. The wind itself seemed to have a mind of its own, twisting and swirling, pushing flames into new neighborhoods faster than anyone could predict.
Into the Flames
Sunday, October 21, 2007, began as an ordinary warm day in Ramona. By noon, smoke hung in the air, and by night, the Witch Creek Fire had jumped containment lines. The city’s emergency operations center activated in the dark of early morning as 80-mile-per-hour winds howled outside. Within hours, officials ordered the evacuation of 7,000 homes.
There was little outside help at first — too many fires were burning across Southern California. Firefighters and sheriff’s deputies worked tirelessly to save lives and homes with limited resources and no air support. By Tuesday, when the winds finally calmed, dozens of homes were gone. Yet no lives were lost in Ramona, thanks to extraordinary coordination and courage.
When helicopters finally took to the sky and reinforcements arrived, the tide turned. Within days, residents began returning, surveying what was left and starting the long work of rebuilding.
What We Learned
Looking back now, the 2007 fires changed the way our region prepares for disaster. Ramona and other communities rewrote emergency plans, strengthened building codes in high-risk zones, cleared brush, and trained residents to respond. We learned that emergency operations centers need to be practiced and ready, that communication is everything, and that recovery starts even before the fire is out.
We learned the value of relationships — between churches, civic leaders, neighbors, and strangers. In those chaotic days, people opened their homes to evacuees, cared for animals, cooked meals, donated supplies, and checked on one another. Those acts of love became the steady rhythm beneath the sirens and smoke.
A Changing Landscape
Back then, we still spoke of “fire season” as something with a beginning and an end. That’s no longer true. Drought, rising temperatures, and development in canyons and hillsides mean that fire danger in Southern California now extends through every month of the year. We live with this awareness — and with it, a call to resilience.
When the hills around Ramona burn, we remember that we live in a fragile, beautiful place. The chaparral, when blackened, sprouts back green within months. Life insists on returning. The same is true of our communities: faith, compassion, and preparation help us rise from ashes again and again.
Through the Fire
The prophet Isaiah wrote, “When you pass through fire, you will not be burned, and the flames will not scorch you.” Those words don’t promise that fire won’t come — they promise that God will be present when it does. I think of those exhausted firefighters, of volunteers at evacuation centers, of clergy and neighbors praying together in smoky sanctuaries. I think of the Rev. Leland Jones, who lost his home but not his hope, and of the people who surrounded him with care.
Fire teaches us humility and interdependence. It reminds us that safety is never guaranteed, but love endures. Each generation learns anew how to prepare, how to rebuild, and how to help one another stand in the face of disaster.
So today, as smoke once again rose over Ramona, I found myself praying that we remember what we learned in 2007 — to be ready, to stay connected, to choose hope. The hills will green again. The air will clear. And we, too, will rise — steadied by faith, strengthened by community, and held in the hands of the One who walks with us through the fire.