Church Vitality: Light

Here’s a little trivia for you: today marks the first sermon of my second year at Gilfillan Memorial Church.

Hard to believe, isn’t it?

The past year has gone by incredibly fast, and again I have to thank you for your welcome, your hospitality, your patience, and your support during what has been a rather tumultuous time for the Brown family.

You know, whenever I talk to friends from the States these days they inevitably ask, “What do you miss the most from America?”

And I have to say…apart from family and friends…I’m pretty good.

Sure, there are favorite foods I love from America…but in the same way there are favorite things from the UK that if I were back in the States I’d miss just as much.

It all kind of balances out.

Although I do have to say…I miss American sports.

Especially American football.

It’s not surprising…it’s very much ingrained in me for good reason.

I went to university at a school in Ohio with one of the most famous American football programs there is.

I grew up in Western Pennsylvania, where high school football is a really big deal.

And my school was no slouch…we were always competitive when I was growing up.

We made it to a few state championship games when I was a student.

I remember one in particular.

It was a close game and a hard-fought game on a Saturday night, made even tougher by the horrible field conditions caused by a pounding rain.

My dad and I had seats way up high in the bleachers and we sometimes couldn't see through the driving raindrops.

But one thing we could see was off in the distance...an unbelievable lightshow as lightning bolts streaked across the sky.

We were wondering what would happen if that part of the storm reached us, but we never got to find out.

Because just as the second half started, with our team behind but picking up momentum...

...all the lights in the stadium suddenly went dark.

And suddenly it was pitch black, the power in whole neighborhood completely gone.

We stood for a while, wondering what would happen, when finally the word got passed back through the crowd.

Game postponed on account of darkness.

And I remember stumbling back in the dark towards our car, the parking lot a complete sea of blackest night, everyone picking out their cars by the occasional flashes of lightning.

It was quite an adventure.

I've only experienced darkness like that one other time, when my flashlight died on me in the thick of the woods at the summer camp where I was working.

It's pretty scary.

Have you ever experienced darkness like that? Where you can barely see your hand in front of your face?

It can be very disturbing.

No wonder the writers of the Bible found the metaphor of darkness and light a good illustration of spiritual realities.

Like these words, also from the prophet Isaiah:

(SLIDE)

"Justice is far from us,

and righteousness does not reach us.

We look for light, but all is darkness;

for brightness, but we walk in deep shadows.

Like the blind we grope along the wall,

feeling our way like people without eyes.

At midday we stumble as if it were twilight;

among the strong, we are like the dead."

We look for light, but all is darkness.

Barry Lopez, in his book "Arctic Dreams," tells about the Eskimos who live in northern Alaska where darkness can reign for months at a time.

They have a word for the spiritual heaviness that can take over during that long, dark season: perlerorneq.

It's a word that literally means to feel “the weight of life.”

To look ahead to all that must be accomplished and to retreat to the present feeling defeated, weary before starting, a core of anger, a miserable sadness.

I was talking to a friend the other day about how we are processing everything that our world is going through right now.

Economic hardships, political tensions, the lingering effects of a pandemic, uncertainty all around us...

You don't have to live in Alaska to feel the weight of life.

To feel just like those people Isaiah described, "groping along the wall, feeling our way like people without eyes."

We live in dark times.

And people are looking for light.

Where will they find it?

In the Sermon on the Mount, Jesus makes it clear where light is to be found.

Let’s hear it from Matthew’s gospel:

(SLIDE)

13 “You are the salt of the earth. But if the salt loses its saltiness, how can it be made salty again? It is no longer good for anything, except to be thrown out and trampled underfoot.

14 “You are the light of the world. A town built on a hill cannot be hidden. 15 Neither do people light a lamp and put it under a bowl. Instead they put it on its stand, and it gives light to everyone in the house. 16 In the same way, let your light shine before others, that they may see your good deeds and glorify your Father in heaven.

You are the light of the world.

How do you feel when you read those words?

You are the light of the world.

At first you might feel a little confused.

"Hold on a second. Didn't Jesus say He was the light of the world?"

"Which is it?"

Is Jesus the light of the world? Or are we the light of the world?

If that's the question on your mind...here's the answer:

Yes.

Jesus is the light of the world.

We celebrate that truth during the Christmas season, don’t we?

"The people walking in darkness have seen a great light.

On those living in the land of deep darkness a light has dawned."

We talk about Jesus being the manifestation of God's love, the declaration of God's faithfulness, and the revelation of God's plan to reconcile humanity with himself.

Jesus is the light of the world.

But how will people see that light?

They'll see it through his church.

We are called to shine, not with our own light, but with the light of Christ dwelling within us.

In that sense we are the light of the world.

We're not the source of light, but we are the vessels through which his light shines.

That’s a good theme for us to think about during this series on church vitality, because what we’re essentially asking is, “How can we bear the light of God more and more in our dark world?”

We are seeking to be vessels of light.

And did you notice from our passage what Jesus says will call attention to that light?

"...let your light shine before others, that they may see your good deeds and glorify your Father in heaven."

Ooh...that's a tricky one for us Protestants, isn't it?

We don't like to talk about good deeds, we don't like anything that might smack of a works righteousness.

Because as good Protestants we know that we are saved by grace alone through faith alone.

True.

Our works don't save us.

That reality rests on Christ's work, not ours.

But...

I fear sometimes that we in the Protestant church have tried so hard to avoid anything that sounds like works righteousness, that we ignore the very clear call to good works.

Not as a way of earning salvation, but as a way of bringing glory to God, and pointing others to Him.

"... let your light shine before others, that they may see your good deeds and glorify your Father in heaven."

Isaiah echoes this thought when he writes in chapter 58:

(SLIDE)

Is not this the kind of fasting I have chosen:

to loose the chains of injustice

and untie the cords of the yoke,

to set the oppressed free

and break every yoke?

Is it not to share your food with the hungry

and to provide the poor wanderer with shelter—

when you see the naked, to clothe them,

and not to turn away from your own flesh and blood?

Then...what?

Then your light will break forth like the dawn.

The call of Scripture is clear: if we want to see light break through the darkness of this world, the responsibility is ours.

We have a call on our lives.

To battle injustice and oppression, to share what we've been given with those in need.

To be light.

And yet for whatever reason, churches seem to easily lose sight of this calling.

Maybe we just feel overwhelmed by the forces we're up against.

It's tempting, isn't it, to throw our hands up and just give in?

After all...what difference can we possibly make in a world as messed up as this?

That's an important question for the church of Jesus Christ these days.

Can we really make a difference?

Wouldn't it be better to hole up and look after ourselves, protect ourselves from the swirling eddies of despair and the violent cultural forces that would threaten our very survival?

That's the question one pastor addressed many years ago, as he saw the church struggling with its call during a time of national struggle.

Some wanted to go underground...to wait out the storm and not make any waves. Self-preservation was the key.

But as this pastor read the words of Christ in the Sermon on the Mount, he realized this wasn't an option.

And so Dietrich Bonhoeffer penned these words in the face of Nazi tyranny:

(SLIDE)

"Flight into the invisible is a denial of the call. A community of Jesus which seeks to hide itself has ceased to follow him."

A community of Jesus which seeks to hide itself has ceased to follow him.

"A town built on a hill cannot be hidden. Neither do people light a lamp and put it under a bowl. Instead they put it on its stand, and it gives light to everyone in the house."

And remember who Jesus is preaching to here.

It's not the elite. The powerful. The movers and shakers of 1st century Palestine.

It's ordinary folks...fishermen and merchants, taxpayers and tax collectors.

People who faced a world seemingly set against them, and yet Jesus says they are the ones who will light up the world to the glory of God.

You might think you have little to offer.

You might feel overwhelmed by the amount of darkness in the world, and you might wonder what in the world you can do about it.

You might think, "I don't have a lot of light to share."

There is a mere strip of sand, called Castle Island, near the eastern end of the Bahamas archipelago! Few people are aware of it - and, as tiny and isolated as it is, Castle Island is important for the lighthouse that is its sole source of humanity! One day, a young man was sailing in the area. He anchored his sailboat off of the lighthouse and swam to shore to exercise his legs on the beach. The lighthouse keeper, Cedric Hanna, was surprised and delighted to have company; and, he invited the young man to join him for some fresh-caught lobster and a tour of the lighthouse.

The young man climbed the winding staircase to the lantern room at the top of the stairs; and, he was astonished at the size of the light that signaled safe passage through the maze of shoals and reefs! The light was a tiny kerosene flame - barely bright enough to read by - yet, with the aid of mirrors and reflectors, it was visible twenty-five miles out to sea.

My friends, God can take the smallest flame and use it to dispel a lot of darkness.

Don't limit his work in your life by assuming he can't do that much with someone like you.

You are the light of the world.

Jesus spoke those words to the same crowd to whom he had just commended values of meekness, humility...

The same crowd he warned would face persecution and hardship.

Our ability to be light is not dependent on our circumstances.

It's not controlled by our finances, our social status, or our education.

It's dependent on our willingness to be used by God.