“Let It Shine,”

a sermon given by the Rev. Frank Clarkson

at South Church in Portsmouth, NH

on August 2, 2009

Podcast

 

Readings:

 

Matthew 5:14-15:

 

‘You are the light of the world. A city built on a hill cannot be hidden. No one after lighting a lamp puts it under the bushel basket, but on the lampstand, 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.

 

from John Murray, Universalist minister of the late18^th and early 19^th centuries:

 

Go out into the highways and by-ways of America, your new country. Give the people… something of your new vision. You may possess only a small light but uncover it, let it shine, use it in order to bring more light and understanding to the hearts and minds of men and women. Give them, not Hell, but hope and courage. Do not push them deeper into their theological despair, but preach the kindness and everlasting love of God.

 

Sermon:

 

I love these long summer days, when the sun comes up early and sets late. The days somehow seem more spacious when they are so long. But it’s already August, and whether you’ve noticed it yet or not, the days are getting shorter—our northern end of the earth is tilting back away from the sun, and it will continue to do until the winter solstice in December. But it’s summer right now, and in these long days it seems like a good time to say something about light.

 

As one who used to work as a photographer, I pay attention to light. When I first started as a newspaper photographer, I was primarily concerned about the quantity of light—was there enough available light to take a picture, or would I need to use a flash? Later on I became more interested in the quality of light—was it hard or soft, warm or cool? Once, when I was at a photography workshop, someone looking at my pictures said it seemed that I was in love with light.

 

In love with light—not a bad thing for a photographer, and perhaps not a bad thing for a minister either. Light is a powerful symbol in the religious life. Worship in UU congregations usually begins with lighting a chalice, and that flame burns throughout the service. At the church I serve in Haverhill, every Sunday people light candles and share their joys and sorrows, and after that many of the people there---I’m always struck by how many—come forward and light candles silently. And I love that we do this—it is a beautiful and powerful ritual. You do that here, on Thursday nights, at vespers.

 

Imagining those vespers candles burning, I think of words from the Gospel of John: “The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness did not overcome it” (John 1:5). John’s gospel is not talking about candles, but about Jesus, and we could spend a lot of time talking about the different ways Jesus was understood by the early Christians, and even how differently the various gospels portray him. But for now I’d say that light is a powerful symbol for the spirit; for the human spirit, and for the force that some of us call God. I sense the presence of God as both in here, and out there, and in the spaces between us. I trust that we each have sparks of the divine within us, and our job is to discover that light, and as the song says, “let it shine.”

 

Anyone who’s ever lit a candle in a dark room knows that one little candle can cast a lot of light, and that darkness cannot overcome even a little bit of light. I worry about how you might hear the word darkness, though. In a culture that has long been dominated by light-skinned people, thought that is changing, light has usually been portrayed as good, and darkness has been seen as something to be feared or avoided. Words and images are important. So please don’t assume that my focus today on light implies that I think we should be afraid of the dark, or that one is good and the other bad. No, we would do well to embrace both the light and the dark. Paradoxically, it’s sometimes the dark that allows us to see. The poet Wendell Berry writes about “the day-blind stars.” The stars are always up there, we just can’t see them when the sun is out, or when there are too many city lights shining. We need the dark to see them. As a fisherman, I love dark and rainy days, when the fish seem more willing to rise to the surface, and of course I love a sunny day too, for different reasons. Light and shadow belong to one another, like yin and yang, they are part of the whole. Wendell Berry says something about this too. These words of his are a favorite little prayer of mine: “At night make me one with the darkness, in the morning make me one with the light.”

 

In our first reading this morning, from the gospel according to Matthew (Matt 5:15-15), we heard familiar words from what’s called “the Sermon on the Mount.” It’s a collection of Jesus’ teachings, given to the disciples and others who followed Jesus up that mountain. In the Sermon on the Mount, Jesus repeatedly says, “you have heard that…” and follows with, “But I say…” Doing this, he presents a new way of interpreting the law, one that challenges his followers to not only obey the letter of the law, but its spirit as well, and particularly to love and care for one another. In our reading this morning, Jesus does not claim that he is the light of the world. No, he tells this ragtag group of followers, common working people mostly, “You are the light of the world.” If he could speak to us today, I think he’d say the same thing: “You are the light of the world.” Listen to this more contemporary translation:

 

"You're here to be light, bringing out the God-colors in the world. God is not a secret to be kept. We're going public with this, as public as a city on a hill. If I make you light-bearers, you don't think I'm going to hide you under a bucket, do you? I'm putting you on a light stand. Now that I've put you there on a hilltop, on a light stand—shine! Keep open house; be generous with your lives. By opening up to others, you'll prompt people to open up with God, this generous One in heaven.” [1]

 

I wonder how you hear this. Recently I read a book about the Amish people, and one of the things I found attractive about their approach to religion is that they take seriously another of Jesus’ admonitions, which comes later in the Sermon on the Mount, to not make a show of praying in public, but rather, to be simple and private in your prayer (Matthew 6:5-6). That’s something I think most of us in this tradition are naturally inclined to do—you won’t see me out in front of the church will a bullhorn anytime soon! What Jesus says is that your life should be your prayer—that your life should preach your beliefs more loudly than your lips. There’s a great quote that’s attributed to St. Francis: “Preach the Gospel at all times. Use words if necessary.”[2] Every Sunday in Haverhill we say a unison affirmation that begins, “love is the doctrine of this church, the quest for truth is its sacrament, and service is its prayer.” I believe in prayer. I believe in praying with words, and I believe that what we do, how we live, how we serve, that is our prayer too. We won’t all do the same thing, but we should each be asking ourselves, “How can I serve? How can I bring a little light into this world?”

 

“You are the light of the world,” How do you hear that? My spiritual director thinks that we church people are often more at home with our struggles, with our pain and sorrow, than we are with seeing ourselves as bearers of light. Of course there are times to be sad, to grieve and mourn, and we need to give the shadow its due, but I think she’s right. There can be something safe about hanging back in the shadows. Some of us need to practice leaning toward the light, and letting our light shine. Yes?

 

Our other reading this morning, from John Murray, echoes those words from the Sermon on the Mount: “Go out into the highways and by-ways …Give the people … something of your new vision. You may possess only a small light but uncover it, let it shine, use it in order to bring more light and understanding to the hearts and minds of men and women.”

 

I wonder, are you familiar with your own light? Are you aware of your own gifts and talents? If not, I hope you will begin to work to name them and claim them, so you can set about developing them, letting your light shine, so you can share it with others. And if you already have some awareness of your own light, how do you understand that? Do you think you have created it yourself, or earned it, or do you see it as a gift? Do you know how to share your light, both as an individual, and as a community?

 

I became a UU because of this church. And it was here that I first sensed a call to ordained ministry, and it was this congregation that helped nurture and support me in responding to that call. Whenever I come back, I’m struck by the energy and vitality and spirit here. I hope you know that this is a good church you’ve got here, and one with a lot of potential. Do any of you remember the service, back in 1997, when we installed Will Saunders and Marta Flanagan as co-ministers here? The preacher that day challenged us to become, in his words, a “cathedral of love,” a beacon of hope for the wider community. That was almost 12 years ago. Have you gotten there yet? Would you call South Church a cathedral of love? And if not, why? Are you dreaming big dreams here? Are you building the beloved community, or spending your time and energy on more trivial matters?

 

Compared to the churches I’ve served, South Church is younger and its membership seems more transient. This is both a blessing and a curse. You are a lively and vital congregation. There are great people and great things happening here. But light always casts a shadow. And from my perspective, the shadow of the energy and vitality here is a tendency toward rootlessness, and a tendency to put the individual before the community. Too often I’ve heard about people who decided to leave because, as they’d say, “the church isn’t really working for me.” I understand that you need to find the church that’s right for you, but the fact is, the church isn’t supposed to work for you—you are supposed to work for the church! The church exists to call you and me to join together in order to do and be what we can’t do and be on our own--to love and serve one another, and to build the common good. You join a church to be part of something larger than yourself, and it is in doing this, in giving of yourself, that you receive, that you find transformation and liberation. If the church isn’t working for you, then try getting more involved.

 

Too often our UU congregations forget this—we tilt toward the individual and away from community. In our desire to be inclusive, too often we are reluctant to ask people to do their share, and we hesitate to call to account those who are undermining the community. Too often, I’m afraid, we hang back in the shadows, we play it safe, rather than taking the risk of leaning into, and living in, the light.

 

One of my heroes in ministry is the Rev. Burton Carley, who serves the Church of the River in Memphis, Tennessee. Several years ago I heard him give a sermon at UU General Assembly called “The Way Home.” He spoke to the challenges facing us as people of faith, and how we, as individuals and as a community, might find our way home. I commend it to you.[3]

 

Rev. Carley knows something about the faith journey and how we might live more open-hearted and generous and satisfying lives. Lives that are about serving something larger than our own desires. He says, “the abundant life is not a solitary and selfish life but is made abundant by the appreciative awareness of the gifts and resources not of one’s own making that are a grace and a blessing. The way home is a journey toward that light which is a different light than this little light of mine.”

 

There’s a different light than this little light of mine? I’m not the center of the universe? My mom used to tell us “the world doesn’t revolve around you.” As a child, I didn’t like to hear that. But she was right. Part of becoming an adult, and putting away childish things, is realizing your proper place in the order of things. Yes, we each have a little light. And we ought to let it shine. But it’s not all about us. Ours is a little light. “There is a light in this world,” Mother Teresa said, “a healing spirit more powerful than any darkness we may encounter.” Whatever you call it, I’d say the spiritual life is about apprehending that larger light, learning how to open to it and bask in it.

 

I could not do the work of ministry if I thought it was all up to me. I need to remember to lean toward that larger light, to open myself to the presence of God, to ask for God’s help, if I’m going to be of use to anyone else.                    

 

We let our own light shine, not to bring glory to our selves, but in order to serve others. We let our own light shine not to call attention to ourselves, but to help build the beloved community here on earth. To journey toward that light, and to find our way home.

 

Listen once more to these words spoken by Jesus on a dusty hillside two thousand years ago. But hear them speaking to you, here in this place, in this time. “You are the light of the world. A city built on a hill cannot be hidden. No one after lighting a lamp puts it under the bushel basket, but on the lampstand, 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 the one who is in heaven.”

 

Amen.