Bearing a Torch

Nor do people light a lamp and put it under a basket, but on a stand, and it gives light to all in the house. -- Matthew 5:15

Why do we turn on the lights?  Do we light a candle because the candle can’t be self-actualized unless it burns?  A lamp does not burn for itself, but for the one who lights it.  As the Gospel of John opens with its description of Jesus, the Apostle says, “In him was life, and the life was the light of men (John 1:4).”  The light in us is the light of Christ.  God wants to light the world.  We are it.

I am sure some people really are called to stand on a street corner with a bullhorn, hold up “John 3:16” banners at football games, hand out tracts in the mall, and knock on doors.  I’m not.  I have an acquaintance, a lady who does face-painting.  She goes down to New Orleans for Mardi Gras, sets up on the street, and paints people’s faces. When someone asks her how much she charges, she replies, “I just want a chance to tell you that Jesus loves you, and, since I’ve done that, the painting is free.”  In a way, I kind of like that. 

Nevertheless, I hate to be “guilted” into anything.  It’s too close to gelded.  Thus that “do unto others” thing precludes me from using guilt to get my way.  I figure most people feel bad enough at least part of the time or in flashes about their lives.  I don’t have the heart to add to it.

My plan comes in part from George MacDonald who said in one of his sermons that “to let our light shine is to be just, honourable, true, courteous, more careful over the claim of our neighbour than our own, as knowing ourselves in danger of overlooking it, and not bound to insist on every claim of our own.”  Live right.  Treat other people well.  Try not to express my irritability. 

I suspect most of us get plenty of opportunities to “witness” for Christ.  People pay more attention than we are apt to think.  We aren’t invisible.  We aren’t on mute.  The Lord knows I’m not.  As my wife says, my voice “carries”, especially when I get agitated. 

We have to remember, too, that it is not our light.  When we read about Gideon, back in Judges 7, we learn that he had his three hundred men put torches into clay jars.  They surrounded the camp of the Midianites, and, all at once, broke the jars so that the torches suddenly blazed out.  Paul says that … we have this treasure in jars of clay, to show that the surpassing power belongs to God and not to us … so that the life of Jesus also may be manifested in our mortal flesh (2 Corinthians 4:7-11).

The light I am supposed to give is not a function of my ability, my own brilliance, or my intellect.  Sometimes it is in my brokenness that the light shines brightest.

Life Verses Versus

Our friend, the lovely Sal from our old stompin' grounds down in Texas, is Catholic.  She said that Catholics aren't supposed to have "life verses", but if she did, this would be hers:  So you also, when you have done all that you were commanded, say, We are unworthy servants; we have only done what was our duty (Luke 17:10).

That is a good verse — like there are bad ones, though some are ugly — and it seems very much in keeping with Sal's humility and her love of the Good.  What we should gain from this statement by Jesus is that our best efforts, especially our best human efforts, are really not giving anything to God.  Our Father does not keep us around, bless us or reward us because we are "profitable" (the KJV uses the phrase "unprofitable servants").  I could say there are a lot of preachers and ministers who need to recognize the truth of that passage in Luke 17, and that would be true, but perhaps I should just say, "Oh, me."  The first rule of humility is not to believe your own press releases.  None of us are "all that". 

Back when I was teaching a lot, my wife suggested Isaiah 50:4 as my "ministry" verse:  The Lord God has given me the tongue of those who are taught, that I may know how to sustain with a word him who is weary.  Morning by morning he awakens; he awakens my ear to hear as those who are taught.

To sustain the weary with a word is indeed a noble pursuit.  I'm not sure it is strictly legal for somebody else, even the better half, to give you your life verse, but it did seem to resonant at the time.  There are so many of  us that get embattled and hemmed in and worn down.  We need somebody to say the right thing and encourage us to keep going and keep fighting.  It reminds me of the old song "Radar Love" — "I feel the comfort comin' in from above."  That's what the Holy Spirit, the Comforter, does.   As the Firefly theme says, "They can't take the sky from me."  No matter what kind of walls and fortresses and bars the devil has thrown up to imprison and isolate us, he can't seal us off from heaven. The Comforter takes that timely word that somebody delivers, and He brings it to us from above making it a message that will comfort and sustain us, a little bit of light shining down on our darkness. 

While I do not reject Isaiah 50:4, I have always had a little trouble embracing it as something specific to me.  A life verse, except it be another clever religious game of the evangelicals, must be what we fall back upon as indicative of our destiny as an individual.  This is not to say that others cannot recognize the truth we see in it, but it will not have the same sharpness for them as it does for us — unless it has been so given to them as well.

Now here is a passage that I have fallen back upon and stood upon and taught many times:

But we have this treasure in jars of clay, to show that the surpassing power belongs to God and not to us.  We are afflicted in every way, but not crushed; perplexed, but not driven to despair; persecuted, but not forsaken; struck down, but not destroyed; always carrying in the body the death of Jesus, so that the life of Jesus may also be manifested in our bodies.  For we who live are always being given over to death for Jesus' sake, so that the life of Jesus also may be manifested in our mortal flesh.  — 2 Corinthians 4:7-11

And specifically, the middle two verses, 8 and 9:  We are afflicted in every way, but not crushed; perplexed, but not driven to despair; persecuted, but not forsaken; struck down, but not destroyed.  This is strong medicine.  Who can read this and not see that life is so much more than the sometimes pitiable existence of mortal clay?  Who can help being inspired by the thought that getting knocked down is not the end?  How often we find ourselves struggling to explain the inexplicable.  We are perplexed, yet somehow God steps in to lift us from despair.  We may not understand the trial, but we will not surrender to hopelessness. 

I could do worse, and perhaps I have.  Many years ago I memorized the New American Standard Version of Romans chapter 12.  It is probably my favorite single chapter in the entire Bible.  There is simply nothing in it that does not hit me.  The very last verse, the 21st,  is one that I quote with great frequency:  Do not be overcome by evil, but overcome evil with good.

Though it is only a few words, the meaning for me is both broad and deep.  Yet, like the keen leading edge of a wedge, it opens me up rather than me opening it. 

The battle I have with evil begins in my our heart.  Here is the first place that good must conquer evil.  Self must be driven from the throne as the usurper that it is.  Once my soul is ruled by good, I must still battle evil.  I cannot, though, use the weapons of evil to confront or defeat it.  I can never resort to evil in order to win.  Nevertheless, I cannot surrender or submit to wickedness or unrighteousness.  To overcome evil with evil is — what do you think?  — evil.  To passively submit to evil, to stand aside for it and allow it to rule is evil.  No, the only path that is permitted to me is to go face-to-face against evil with good and to conquer it, first by being good then by doing good. 

Even when my best efforts at overcoming evil appear to fail, I cannot give up my resistance.  I may be afflicted in every way, but I will not be conquered.  I will certainly be confused but I will not be without hope.  I can know that even in death, I am not destroyed.   In spite of shackles and pits, light will shine down from above to comfort and sustain me when I am most weary.  Finally, when I have done all to stand, when evil has been resisted to the utmost, and I have overcome, and I am delivered in life, or by death, may I have sense enough to bow and say, "It is all grace.  I have only done my duty."