Whenever I looked out of my bedroom window in my childhood home I could see him. He was the silent sentinel, an ever-present reminder of the past. Exquisitely carved out of white marble, the Pioneer Memorial was a gold prospector, with a slouch hat on his head, his left hand resting on his pickaxe, and his right hand pointing to the hills. It was an imposing monument, some fourteen feet high, with these words engraved on its base: “Where the vanguard rests today, the rearguard will rest tomorrow.”

My home town, Hokitika, on the West Coast of New Zealand, in the south Pacific Ocean, was settled in 1864 as the result of the discovery of gold in the hills, and the river beds. Prospectors, (known as ‘diggers’), arrived in their hundreds by ship along the coast, or walked hundreds of miles across the mountain passes, and down through the dense bush. They faced fiercely rushing rivers fed by the snow on the mountains, and the heavy rain. The annual rainfall of Hokitika in 1866 was 127 inches! It was hard to keep dry! There were no roads through the swampy, rain forest. When ships failed to arrive with supplies from other towns in the country, they were forced to survive on shellfish and ferns.

They began by panning for gold in the rivers and streams. The search led to the sea beaches where the gold had been washed down from the hills. When the easy gold ran out they started hydraulic sluicing the river terraces with big hoses, or digging shafts to mine the deep leads of payable wash. After many years large companies took over with the construction of dredges that floated on man-made lakes. The search for gold continues to this day. In my lifetime the value of the precious metal has risen astronomically, making it profitable to mine again. I have a cousin who brought dredging equipment from Germany to open up a new claim. The machine was so large that it could not be transported by rail or by road. It had to be landed on the beach and driven up to the site.

Some towns that were begun by the gold rushes did not long survive. When the prospectors moved on the towns slowly withered and died. I can remember visiting some of those old goldfields’ towns, whose only inhabited building was the local hotel. Various dwellings could be seen rotting away, their yards overgrown by the surrounding bush which was returning to claim its own ground again. The cemeteries are full of the graves of prospectors and their families, who lived out their lives in those towns for nearly a century.

I heard stories from old men of the hard life they endured growing up in those parts, trying to make a living. One of them would tell me how they worked on building the railroad through the mountains. The tunnel they had to dig, without the modern equipment we now have, through the heart of the Southern Alps, was one of the longest in the world at that time, over five miles.

Businesses grew up in the towns to supply the goldfields. The first store was set up by two men: Hudson and Price. I knew Mr Hudson’s daughter. Bess Hudson was in her eighties when I was a child. She spent her life as a district nurse, serving the families of farmers scattered up and down the river valleys. She used to sit in the back of the church, and would admonish me to speak up so that the deaf, old lady in the back row would be able to hear. When I asked her why she didn’t sit nearer the front of the church she told me in her matter of fact, nurse’s way, that she had a heart problem. To treat herself she carried a small flask of brandy in her purse. She did not want to embarrass people, if she had to take a swig of brandy during the church service, when she suffered a light heart flutter! I learned to raise my voice so that she could hear!

My father always kept a bottle of gold dust and a big nugget of gold in his safe. Before I left home he gave them to me and I had them turned into a pair of gold cufflinks and a ring. In the old days the gold prospectors would pay for their goods in town with their pay dirt.

My great-grandfather was one of those early pioneers. He had come from County Durham in England to the Australian goldfields. When the easy gold petered out there he shipped across the Tasman Sea to the Otago goldfields, and then onto Hokitika. After making his stake he settled down in the livery business. I have a photograph of my grandfather by the side of a carriage, which was drawn by white horses, and decorated for a wedding.

They came from all over the world drawn by the lure of gold. There were the English, the Scots, the Welsh, the Irish, the Austrians and the Germans. My mother’s family came from England and my fathers from Stettin, in Prussia, now in Poland. They endured much hardship, as they made the long journey in small ships all the way from Europe around the Cape of Good Hope. They did it because they were hoping for a better life in a new country.

At my father’s funeral I read from Hebrews chapter eleven about how Abraham did not know where he was going. Like all the pilgrims of old who were looking for a country of their own, they were longing for a better country – a heavenly one. The end of the rainbow for the pioneers was, literally, a pot of gold. The gold turned into business, sheep farming, cattle ranching, or timber milling.

The same longing is in me. I left Hokitika looking for a country of my own, following my rainbow, looking for my pot of gold. In that sense we are all pioneers, pilgrims, drawn by the lure of striking pay dirt. We don’t have to leave our geographical home to find our heavenly country. I had to. I had to learn that the journey entailed leaving physically and emotionally. It has taken a lifetime to do that. In order for me to leave the lure of the better country had to be strong. I had to believe that there was gold at the end of the rainbow. I was giving up family, security, a beautiful environment, a business I could inherit. What made me able to sail away from all of that and traverse the globe to the other side of the world?

One answer is genes. Perhaps I just inherited pioneer stock that freed me to travel. To date I have lived in New Zealand, England, Massachusetts, Florida and Texas. Certainly, growing up with the Pioneer Memorial in front of my bedroom window, I couldn’t help but absorb its message – travel on, find your destiny, life is on the march, there is gold to be found in the mountains. But the gold that drew me, attracted me was not the yellow stuff of which jewellery was made.

The Psalmist writes: “The ordinances of the Lord are sure and altogether righteous. They are much more precious than gold, than much pure gold.” (Ps.19:10)

Solomon writes: “How much better to get wisdom than gold.” (Prov.16:16) “Whoever loves money never has money enough; whoever loves wealth is never satisfied with his income.” (Eccl.5:10)

Job says, “Where can wisdom be found? Where does understanding dwell? It cannot be bought with the finest gold. Neither can gold or crystal compare with it, nor can it be had for jewels of gold.” (Job 28:15,17)

St. John writes: “The Holy City, the new Jerusalem, was a city of pure gold, as pure as glass. The great street of the city was of pure gold, like transparent glass.” (Revelation 21:18,21)

The Magi, or wise men, of ancient Persia, were skilled in the sciences of their day. They followed their star to Bethlehem and worshipped the child born to be king. They gave their treasures to Jesus, which included the gift of gold. God puts within us a desire “to seek him and perhaps reach out for him and find him, though he is not far from each one of us. For in him we live and move and have our being.” (Acts 17:27f.) It is the most exciting of adventures. It leads from the place of our birth to the heavenly city. We are given gifts at birth, and strike even more pay dirt along the way, if our eyes are open to see the flakes of gold amongst the sand.

I can remember taking my two daughters, Carrie and Amelia, to a gold claim where they could pan for gold. They were given a pan with some dirt in it. They had to wash it around, and around until the dirt was slowly and carefully washed away and the flakes of gold were left shining in the bottom of the pan. Their excitement increased as the gold appeared and was captured for them in a small bottle.

Our pulse beats quicker and our step becomes lighter as we learn to see the unsearchable riches of Christ. In him the gold never gives out. The mother lode is deep beyond our imagining. We can pray that we may “grasp how wide and long and high and deep is the love of Christ, and to know this love that surpasses knowledge” (Eph.3:18f.). For in the last analysis are we not all seeking love? Are we not all seeking to become lovers? Do we not want to love God and our neighbor as ourselves? Then surely the gold of life is the love of God, made present to us in Jesus. No wonder he said, “when I am lifted up from the earth, I will draw all men to myself.” (John 12:32) The lure of the gold is strong.

To find meaning and purpose in life we have to be motivated, we need a goal. We need to be lured by something greater than ourselves. The reason many gold-diggers are dissatisfied when they have found their pot of gold, is that their goal was too small, it was confined to mortal and natural life, it had no transcendent dimension. Our definition of what constitutes gold has to be infinitely precious to fulfil our longings.