This little light of
mine; I’m gonna let it shine;
This little light of
mine; I’m gonna let it shine;
This little light of
mine; I’m gonna let it shine;
let it shine, let it
shine, let it shine.
You know that song, don’t you?
It’s an old Sunday School song. Maybe you learned it as a child.
Maybe you learned it from the news. It became part of the civil rights movement
half a century ago, sung by people determined not to let their light be darkened
by unjust systems or divided culture. Or
maybe you learned it a minute ago.
In every case, it’s a song of the disciples. A song that has its roots in Jesus’ own preaching, as we heard today.
In every case, it’s a song of the disciples. A song that has its roots in Jesus’ own preaching, as we heard today.
“You are the light
of the world,’ Jesus said. “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.”
“You are the salt
of the earth.”
Salt and light: The good people. The solid people. The
brilliant people, glowing with faith and sharing that light.
Light and salt, to have an effect on the world – enhancing
and illuminating, so everyone can see God at work.
I love that picture of discipleship – so bright and
flavorful. Perhaps Jesus’ first hearers loved it too. It motivates me to get
out and do something good. But what, exactly?
It’s not like there aren’t a lot of choices for doing good. We’re
spoiled for choice, with many good deeds within easy reach.
But just after Jesus tells us we are salt and light, he says
that our righteousness – our generosity, our shaping ourselves to God’s will –
must exceed that of the scribes and the Pharisees – exceed the righteousness of
those in our world that we know to be
most righteous and holy.
Being more righteous than the saints - that’s a tall order.
But Isaiah has described for us what that could mean – the religious
observance that delights God; the prayer God wants from us. It is “to loose the bonds of injustice, to undo the
thongs of the yoke, to let the oppressed go free… to share your bread with the
hungry, and bring the homeless poor into your house…” And when we do those things, God says, then your light will break
forth like the dawn.
Well then. We know what to do.
Sharing your bread with the hungry is easy enough, especially if you generally have enough to eat and are equipped with one of Deacon Leslie’s shopping lists for our food pantry.
Sharing your bread with the hungry is easy enough, especially if you generally have enough to eat and are equipped with one of Deacon Leslie’s shopping lists for our food pantry.
If you want to step that up, want to work to make sure there
are fewer hungry people period, there are all kinds of local and international
actions you can take. Ask me, or members of our outreach team.
Freeing the oppressed, breaking the bonds of injustice is
more complicated.
That might involve traveling on mission work; calling your
Congressperson and organizing your neighbors; joining a coalition to support victims
of sex trafficking and illegal labor; taking whatever risks are entailed in opening
the refugee floodgates; careful study and change of our shopping habits…
It’s complicated and time-consuming to free the oppressed
and untangle injustice. But there are lots of resources and history to guide
you.
Bringing the homeless into your own house… that’s when it
gets personal.
Last weekend I ran across an article shared on Facebook.
The author reflected on what it would mean if anti-abortion
activists achieved their goals, and there were no more abortions in the United States. Maybe a million more
children would be born each year, and they and their parents would need care
and support and love and nurture. Not just at birth, but life-long; decade
after decade.
She
tells the story of how this insight came to her in prayer – and how she and her
husband have decided not to wait for their goals to be achieved, for the “end
of abortion” before they “turn on the light” of their home for children or
mothers who need that love.
“This personally challenges me when I look
around at my life, at my house even,” she wrote. “We have an extra bedroom. It
was originally intended for guests…. But guess what? If the end of abortion
ever comes, then I’d better be ready to have that room permanently filled with
a mom in crisis or an adopted child….”
Maybe many moms or children, she reflects. And
she challenges her fellow Christians to do the same.
She
warns: “Our wallets will be strained, our comfort zones will be obliterated,
our racial IQ will have to go up, our schedules wrecked for the better, our
lifestyle will be seriously cramped, and our homes will have new children in
them who will change our whole view of family.”
And that’s a good thing, she concludes.
Because it’s a gospel thing.
And that’s a good thing, she concludes.
Because it’s a gospel thing.
I knew
before I opened the article that I don’t agree politically with this author.
I’d prefer to be able to think of her – and others whose views differ from mine
– as Pharisees, whom Jesus elsewhere accuses of burdening others with their
definitions of righteousness.
But
instead, she models for me what it’s like to be more righteous than the Pharisees.
To take
the convictions of our faith even more seriously when they inconvenience or challenge
us than when they are simple. To be turned inside out and upside down by the
work of feeding the hungry, freeing the oppressed, untangling injustice, opening
our own homes and comfort zones in radical welcome.
Half a
century ago – and again in this century – for some disciples this has meant
marching, sitting: risking bodies and livelihood for equality and justice. For
some disciples, it means moving across the world. For some disciples, it means
opening our own homes; giving more than we can afford; loving at the risk of
great loss; risking our careers for what we believe.
This is the
light – and the salt, with it’s rough sharpness – that we are to be in the
world.
We are
to be disciples who free, welcome, nurture, unbind, love, at any cost to ourselves, because we have ourselves been
freed, welcomed, fed, loved by God and by the Body of Christ.
Mother
Teresa – famous for the self-giving generosity with which she fed, freed,
nurtured, and loved – once said:
“I used to pray that God would feed the hungry, or do this or that, but now I pray that he will guide me to do whatever I’m supposed to do, what I can do. …
“I used to pray that God would feed the hungry, or do this or that, but now I pray that he will guide me to do whatever I’m supposed to do, what I can do. …
I used
to believe that prayer changes things, but now I know that prayer changes us and
we change things.”
You – we – are the light of the world.
Jesus said so.
And that old song, that song you know,
is a song of discipleship
and a prayer.
So let’s pray it.Not just in church, but day in and day out.
Sing it at home, at work, at play, on your errands.
Sing it, so that this prayer can change us: turn us inside
out in generosity and hope and the kind of love that cannot bear to keep still
when there is action to be taken and suffering to relieve;
so that we can change the world.
Let’s pray:
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