Of Light
Last week, I printed a homily by Lisa Kelly on the beatitudes.
She made the point that usually when we read the beatitudes, we identify as one of the crowd on the mountain listening to Jesus rattle off all the “Blessed be’s”. Blessed are the peacemakers, (not Blessed are the cheesemakers as some dubious scholars have suggested), blessed are those who mourn, etc. And as we sit there listening, there is a part in all of us that wants to shout, ‘ Pick me! Pick me! I want to be pure in heart and see God. I, too, am mourning and long to be comforted.
But what if we are actually Jesus in the story and we are looking at others and seeing in them their ‘Blessedness?’ I know that you are mourning, I know that you are a peacemaker, I can see that you hunger and thirst for righteousness.’
Today, I would like to use a similar technique with the verse from the gospel ‘You are the light of the world.’
Over the course of my little life and a few flimsy decades of ministry, I have had the privilege of enjoying many ‘lights’. They have inspired, guided, nudged, goaded and lit the rocky path that needs to be trodden but which has more potholes than some of our roads. These people have lit up my world, and I shall always be grateful to them, for them. I am also beholden to the Master who first called them and sent them to me because He knew that I needed them. It still didn’t stop me from making some spectacular blunders, but I probably didn’t make nearly as many if they had not been there for me. Many of them caught me, dusted me off and wiped away the dust and the tears.
Most have been uncomplicated parish clergy. Priests who just simply said their prayers, got on with it, failed in dazzling ways, laughed, ate and drank. They were captivating and inspiring precisely because they weren’t glitzy, smooth, polished, glib and suave. They were refreshingly snotty, grotty, knotty, gnarly and lined. Most of the time their hopes and dreams were not realised, but they understood that the darkness of despair and despondency are the weapons of hairy legs, not the One who is the light Himself. They were and are lights to me because I figured that if they could do it, then maybe, just maybe…
Many more lights were and are folk exactly like you. Folks who fronted up to hear dud sermons and read crazy quizzes in the pew sheet. Brave, courageous, faithful souls who understood long before I did that it was never about the person in the collar, it was always about Him. And that’s why they came, and that’s why they continue to come.
Some of my laity lights became clergy, and their ministry was recognised and celebrated. When they were ordained, the whole world lit up with triumph and such indescribable, limitless joy that tears of bliss were the only correct liturgical response.
My hope for your brothers and sisters is that you, too, have such lights in your world. That you might know clergy and laity who have shone brightly, sometimes at least, to show you something of Him who is THE light of the world.
There are traps, though. One of them that Our lord alludes to in today’s gospel.
“ No one after lighting a lamp puts it under the bushel basket, but on the lamp stand, and it gives light to all in the house. In the same way, let your light shine before others, so that they may see your good works and give glory to your Father in heaven.”
Those who have been and are lights for me, and possibly you, have a disarming way of not seeing how much light they give off. And when it is pointed out to them, they can be self-defacing and modest.
I think that it is this abashment that Our Lord is referring to in his line about hiding our light under a lamp stand, or a bushel or whatever translation you happen to have to hand.
Wouldn’t it be better to simply accept graciously and let the light shine for the whole household of God to see and enjoy?
The other trap is to be so dazzled by someone else that you find yourself asking, ‘Why can’t I do that? How come I can’t leap tall buildings in a single bound, wear my inner garments on the outside and save the universe? And thus we find ourselves again covering up with the sack of envy the beautiful light that we all carry and are called to share.
It’s right to read the gospel and to give thanks and rejoice in the lights that have shone around us over the years, but watch what happens when we use Lisa Kelly’s trick and flip it over. What if the person in the mirror, you, your very self are a light for others?
What might happen if you claimed the Messiah’s words for yourself and simply, convincingly and with affirmation said.
I am the light of the world…. I am the light of the world.