It is not my usual practice to preach a sermon on a
single Biblical verse. In seminary, I was taught that
this was unwise at best, and potentially dangerous.
And here’s why: all of scripture exists in context,
and understanding its context is essential to making
sense of the passage. Much of the time, I agree with
and follow this guidance from my professors. Today,
however, as we continue our sermon series on the “I
am” statements of Jesus, I want to center our worship in
one simple phrase.
First, the context. The setting of this passage is the city
of Jerusalem during the Feast of the Tabernacles. The
festival was in celebration of God’s liberation of the
Jewish people from slavery in Egypt. At the Feast of
the Tabernacles, in the courtyard of the temple, there
are lampstands. Picture them. Each one eighteen feet
high, holding four huge bowls filled with oil. During
this festival, at dusk, priests would climb the ladders
eighteen feet high and light those giant bowls of oil.
And when they did, the lampstands would light up all of
Jerusalem. In fact, one ancient writer records the light
was so bright that the glow in the sky could be seen
from fifty miles away.
This is where and when Jesus makes a stunning claim.
“I am the light of the world. Whoever follows me will
never walk in darkness but will have the light of life.”
This is the word of the Lord. Thanks be to God.
From beginning to end, the presence and power of light
radiates through the Gospel of John in the life of Jesus.
At the outset, we are put on notice. “In him was life, and
that life was the light of all people. The light shines in
the darkness, and the darkness did not overcome it.”
The presence of light and the reality of darkness coexist
in John’s gospel, just as they did in the ancient world.
Unlike our ancestors, we have some control over the
amount of literal light in our lives. When our family first
moved from Atlanta in the summer of 2018, I remember
being struck by how late the sun set here. I assure you,
it is not easy to put young children to bed when it still
feels like the middle of the day. And so, heavy, dark
curtains were an early purchase for our new home
and our boys’ bedrooms. Then, winter came, and it felt
like weeks went by with no hint of sunlight. (Can you
relate?) A new purchase for our home: bright lights,
called therapy lamps, meant to imitate the ultraviolet
rays of the forever absent sun. On Friday morning, I
woke in the predawn hours, and I couldn’t get back
to sleep. And so, I counted the sources of light I could
see from my bed. Seven. Chargers and power strips,
watches and phones, nightlights and exterior spots
reflecting through the windows. It is easy for us to
assume that light is something we control.
At the Festival of the Tabernacles, the temple was
literally lit up—light shining in actual darkness. This is
the moment when Jesus stands in the temple courtyard
and says, “I am the light of the world.” The words are
carefully chosen. The Greek word here is cosmos. I am
the light of the universe, the light of the galaxy. Jesus
is not speaking of a flashlight or a lamp. His words
are meant to raise eyebrows and spark reflection.
Jesus speaks of himself as the light shining in a world
of shadows. He promises that all who follow him will
walk in the light of life. It is a promise they—we—need
to hear. It is a promise they—we—want to believe. We
yearn for light. We long for light.
I was reminded this week by a colleague that
Epiphany is not a single day but a season of light.
This comment brought to mind my favorite Epiphany
story from Second Church. It was a couple of weeks
before Christmas. The year was 2020, and I received
a voicemail from Stewart Goodwin, an elder in our
congregation and Executive Director of the Indiana
War Memorial. I called Stewart back. You might know
that Stewart Goodwin is also a retired brigadier general
and so very good at getting straight to the point.
“Pastor,” he said, “I need a religious perspective on a
situation we’re facing.” Well, he had my attention now.
Stewart explained that the downtown Indianapolis
business community had made a request of the War
Memorial that the huge Christmas tree at the center of
Monumental Circle, which is owned and managed by
the War Memorial, would remain illuminated beyond
Christmas, in fact well into the new year, 2021. These
local leaders felt that this would provide a ray of hope
in a time when many were struggling as new waves
and variants of COVID took hold and uncertainty
seized us all.
Stewart’s question for me was simple. Does our faith
tradition have any wisdom to offer or, more to the
point, regulations to follow regarding the lighting of
Christmas trees? After all, it is a Christmas tree. And so,
the concern was: would the symbol lose its meaning,
lose its power, if it was left to shine once the holy
day had ended? We talked for a few moments, and
it occurred to me that what follows Christmas in the
liturgical calendar is Epiphany—the season of light, the
celebration of light. It further occurred to me that the
light of Christ shines in the darkness all year long and
shines best when it is needed most. I called Stewart
back just before Christmas to ask what had been
decided. “Well, Pastor,” he said. “I think you’ll like the
decision we made. The ‘Shining a Light’ production has
been extended for several weeks.” Stewart, it was the
right choice—a witness to the reality that all of us need
a little more light in our lives.
The gospel writer John wants us to know the power
of light shining in darkness. He knows we’re going
to need that power. He knows we’re going to need
that promise. Jesus is preparing his disciples for the
darkness to come. His death and departure from them.
He promises that the light they find in him will never be
extinguished even when his life is ended.
Over in Matthew’s gospel, in the Sermon on the Mount,
Jesus turns the image around in words to his disciples.
“You are the light of the world. Let your light so shine
that others will take notice of your good deeds and give
glory to God.” It is a profound responsibility placed on
the shoulders of disciples. It belongs to us.
You see, from the beginning of our movement,
followers of Jesus were not asked to blend in but to
stand out. Members of our confirmation class, you are
called to be children of light who shine like stars in
the night sky. You were not meant to blend in. You are
called to stand out.
I feel an urgency in that command—perhaps you
noticed—as I consider our context. Yes, we have many
sources of artificial light, but few signs of the light of
life. The question is: how can we, people of Christian
faith, reflect the light of Christ and shine our light in
the world? I have found that we do it best when we do
it together.
Eight days ago, on a very gloomy and gray winter
Saturday morning, I stopped by the church between
our boys’ basketball games. And what I found here
were bursts of light as bright as lampstands filled with
gallons of oil. I walked into the sanctuary, where our
handbell ensemble was preparing to play in worship
the next day and would soon be followed by rehearsal
for the brass and organ concert. I then walked down
the hall, where a family was gathering in prayer to
celebrate the faithful life of a saint who has joined the
church triumphant in death. In one room around the
corner, a group of women were gathered for Bible
study. And then I walked down the stairs, and on the
second floor, a large group of men had gathered for the
second day of a retreat focused on living their lives with
intention. Just above them, volunteers were learning
from our Children and Family Ministries staff about the
beautifully tangible practice of Godly Play and teaching
the faith to our children. And downstairs around the
corner, in the hallway, and all the way wrapped around
a second corner, folks were waiting to be welcomed
and served in our food pantry. There was a team of a
dozen volunteers ranging in age from teenagers to folks
in their eighties. They were busy inside, serving and
preparing. As they waited, neighbors outside shared
stories. I watched as children played together on the
floor. Signs of support and solidarity flowed from these
encounters. I witnessed words of encouragement,
prayers said aloud, nods of understanding, laughter,
and tears. When I walked back outside, the day had
not changed at all, but I was filled with light because I
received it here, filled with gratitude for what happens
in this place on a single Saturday. In a few moments,
we’ll begin our annual meeting of the congregation. You
will hear and read stories of the impact and ministry
of Second in 2023 and some of our aspirations and
prayers for the year that has already begun.
Here’s what I hope. I hope you see flickers of light as
you look across this space and listen to those stories.
I hope you get some understanding, some grasp of
just how important your light is to this witness and this
work. Yesterday afternoon, in this space, we celebrated
the life of a saint of our church, Sally Anderson, who
was a member of this congregation for eighty years.
She shined God’s light with beauty and with grace, and
that is your call too.
Now I know it’s no secret and should come as no
surprise that many see dark clouds on the horizon as
they look to the months and years ahead. It might feel
difficult to see anything beyond a swirling chaos, the
growing despair, the fog in which we often live. And
I confess that some days I give into it. I confess that
some days I feel that way too. But then, often enough,
some encounter, some experience of grace, reminds
me that the promise is true, the light will never be
extinguished. Hope sees best in the dark.
Back in November, when the email arrived inviting
children to sign up for the Christmas Eve service, Sara
and I talked to our boys about what role they might like
to fill. Samuel is our fourth grader, and he was eager for
a speaking part. The boy likes a microphone and a stage
(and I don’t know where that comes from). The surprise
came when Benjamin, first grade, asked if maybe he
could be an usher. We asked the service leaders. Of
course he can. That morning, trained by the very best,
our own Brad Yarger, Ben dressed in his very best
church clothes. He came early to prepare. He handed
every worshiper who came through his line a bulletin
and a candle. He offered them sheep’s ears or an angel
halo. And as each one walked into the sanctuary, he
said, “Merry Christmas.” And then, the service began,
and into the service, his big moment came.
Ben, with just a little help and on his tip toes, lit his
candle from the Christ candle at the center of the
Advent wreath, and he began walking down the aisle
to share the light of Christ with his church. Someone
snapped a picture that became my enduring image of
Christmas this year…and Epiphany…and our call in the
months ahead.
You see, the light that we welcomed that Christmas
morning, the light that filled this sanctuary on
Christmas Eve, it has not gone out, but it has gone on.
If you want to be people who follow Christ, you’re going
to have to follow his light into the uncertainty of an
unknown future. We’re going to have to trust to the tips
of our toes that the promise is true. We’re going to need
to remind each other that hope sees best in the dark.
So, my pastoral advice: keep those lights up in your
yards, in your homes, in your hearts. Keep those
candles lit, for Jesus Christ is the Light of the World,
and you are meant to shine. Amen.