"LET
THERE BE LIGHT"
A
Sermon by the Rev. Bruce Clear
Sunday,
December 21, 2003
All
There is probably no more versatile metaphor in the English language than that
of "light." There is the Light of Knowledge and the Light of Truth
and the Light of Understanding. When you have an idea, we say, "a light
comes on," and cartoon pictures even show the lightbulb.
Many religious traditions speak of humans having an "inner light"
that keeps them centered. The Hanukkah holiday this season is called the
"Festival of Lights" celebrating the story of the ancient
Maccabees whose oil lamps miraculously stayed lit
without refueling during an eight day attack by the Syrians. Lights are central
to the Christmas season - displayed on trees and outside decorations. Ancient
and modern pagan rituals honor the winter solstice as a return of the sun with
its nurturing light. Jesus is known throughout Christendom as "the Light
of the World" because of the hope his message brought to humankind.
Last week I spoke of the not-so-obvious positive images of the darkness, to see how that metaphor can bring worthwhile meaning to this dark season of the year. As I said then, I am not fond of the dualisms that Western thinking has created over the years that divides life into opposing fields of good and evil, right and wrong, body and spirit, and so forth. Light and dark provide another false metaphor, a pseudo-dualism, for neither reflect only the good or only the bad experience of life. Life is not so divided, but is a living whole, and what we may experience as bad always has the seed of good in it. The physical realm and the spiritual realm, for example, are not separate, but two aspects of the same reality.
What I have to say then, this week, concerning the metaphor of light is an aspect of a larger whole, an important part, but only part, of the human experience.
There is so much about this season that emphasizes light. The nativity story
that gave rise to our Christmas celebrations speaks of a great star that guided
the way of the wise men to
Regardless of your theological or metaphysical beliefs, there is something
different about this time of year. Unitarian minister Preston Bradley put it
this way:
"The world does not ask on Christmas morn about miracles and astronomy. It is too occupied by the love light from the glowing eyes of a little child. It is seeing the miracle of love, and is singing its song of joy after a pilgrimage where it followed a star. . .
"It is harder to hate at Christmas. Hearts are softened as the day comes. Forgotten friends are remembered suddenly, and tears spring without shame when old memories are awakened. In the long, long year it is the one time when even the wisest and most inflexible admit the beauty of true sentiment, without fear of becoming merely sentimental.
"A little more of that sentiment unobtrusively permitted to hover over life during the year would make Christmas last longer. It is certain that this old earth needs nothing quite so much as the technique of making Christmas last. Envisage such a world!
"Love, unselfishness, devotion, gladness, music, starlit nights, angel
voices, and shepherd hearts -- all this is Christmas. The world gives all this an unhampered opportunity as the old year wanes. It's efficacy no one doubts. The power and glory of it
spring from the beauty and incomparable splendor of one unselfish Life.
I want to take a few minutes to look a little more closely at what Bradley
calls the "incomparable splendor of one unselfish Life." He refers,
of course, to the life and message of Jesus of Nazareth.
I preface what I say with an observation that warrants repeated mention in Unitarian Universalist circles. There are two very different traditions about the legacy of Jesus. One tradition looks essentially to the teachings of Jesus as the fundamental understanding of his role in history. The other tradition considers that our view of who Jesus was has more importance than our view about his teachings.
There are two traditions in Christianity. First there is the religion of Jesus - the religion he taught. And then there is the religion about Jesus - the religion that makes what we believe about him as a divine being more important than what we believe about his teaching.
I attach myself to the first tradition. What Jesus taught is vastly more important than what we may believe about his metaphysical place in the universe. Jesus' teachings were about how we live and treat one another, and how we find fulfillment in life. He did not speak of his special place in some Trinitarian Godhead. These are concepts taught later by others about who Jesus was; they didn't come from him. Yes, he referred to himself as a Son of God, but he also identified all of us as Children of God.
If the whole of Jesus' ministry were to be reduced to a single principle, it would be love and acceptance of others. Period. In fact, this is not mere speculation. When Jesus was asked what was essential in religion, that was precisely his answer. "Two commandments I give unto you," he said. "Love God and love your neighbor as yourself." There is no creedal requirement here. There is no vast and sophisticated scheme of sin and atonement and redemption. There is nothing resembling a speculative belief system about the nature of the Godhead or the cosmic efficacy of sacraments such as baptism.
Love God and love your neighbor.
Those precepts were often given substantial elaboration by both parable and example. The Good Samaritan Story, the Beatitudes of the Sermon on the Mount, the Prodigal Son: all these told us how to love one another. And Jesus' life itself elaborated on this message: his association with social outcasts, his caring for the poor and lonely, his forgiveness of those who executed him. All those showed us how to love.
Jesus taught in parable and metaphor, and in many ways that may be the best way to understand his own life. At several points in the Bible, he is referred to as "the Light of the World." I would like to consider for a few moments in what ways that phrase could have metaphorical meaning.
In many ways, the point of Jesus' ministry was to bring hope into the world in a troubled time. One might say he brought the light of hope to us. He preached a message of personal transformation. Our individual human souls may be deeply flawed sometimes. We may find it difficult not just to know what is the right thing to do, but also to do it. But as human beings have the power within ourselves to choose and do the right, to overcome our weaknesses.
To say Jesus taught hope is to say he did not give up on anyone, and felt that no one should give up on themselves. We have within us the strength and resources to be better people. This is one way in which we may, by metaphor, call Jesus the Light of the World.
But he also taught a different kind of hope. Many of his parables were about helping others in need. Over the centuries his followers have built hospitals and schools. The stories of Jesus healing the sick and feeding the poor were an inspiration to so many who took his teachings seriously, and continue giving hope to those who need it. This is another sense in which Jesus became "The Light of the World."
Let me turn to another metaphor of light. A central part of the Quaker tradition is a concept they call the "inner light." According to this idea, everyone, by virtue of being human, possesses an "inner light." This inner light is a metaphor for an actual belief that every person has within them a part of God's spirit or energy. Everyone. That inner light functions several ways. It functions as a conscience, that which allows us to choose between right and wrong. It functions as link and bond between one person and everyone else, making us conscious of our unity with all human kind. It functions as insight by guiding us in recognizing true from false. Some people may be more finely tuned into their inner light than others, and some people may choose to repress or deny theirs, but everyone is born with it. It is the counterpoint to the traditional doctrine of original sin. Everyone is born with some divine spirit or energy within their soul.
This, also, was a theme in Jesus' teaching. He taught the inherent worth and dignity of every person, and believed that all people have within themselves the inborn capacity for making right judgments and overcoming failure. In calling people "children of God" he suggested that there is some direct link between the human soul and the divine scheme of things. In speaking of God in the metaphor of "Father" - and not just his, but "Our Father" - he seemed again to honor our inherent connection with, a sort of "inner light" reflected from, the divine energy he knew as God.
The Quaker concept, and the teachings of Jesus, are
echoed, by the way, in the central writings of the American Unitarian founder
William Ellery Channing. Channing's voice in
One of the best known and most frequently published of Channing's
sermons was entitled "Likeness to God," in which he argued that the
true nature of the human soul, because of our power of reason, because of our
ability to love and because of our capacity for compassion and service to
others, is God-like. The true nature of the human soul is God-like. He said the
task of a human being is to take that part of our nature that is most God-like
and help it nurture and grow into maturity. He claimed that there was a
"spark of divinity" in every person, and that phrase is sculptured
into his statue that stands today on the Boston Common across from the church
he served 200 years ago. "Likeness to God," and
"spark of divinity" sound curiously close to the Quaker
concept of "inner light" or the message of Jesus about the children
of God. "The
In this season of light we focus our thoughts on the legacy of Jesus, the one who is said to have brought the light of hope into the world. Jesus became the light of the world in the Christian tradition, but the real light is found, not so much in the person of Jesus, but in the simple insight he taught that divinity is within humanity. God is not "out there" somewhere. God is not some separate or alien Being that rules us independently or distantly, like a King secluded in a castle. Rather, divinity, if it is to be found at all, is found within us, within you and me. We are the "image of God."
There is a spark of divinity in every person. Divinity is within humanity. These insights from Channing's time come down to us in many ways, though different language is sometimes used. Today in Unitarian Universalist circles we honor "the inherent worth and dignity of every person."
Jesus often spoke in parables, using stories to illustrate a principle. The
use of story was a common way to explain things. Classic myths of antiquity
used stories. Greek and Roman myths were parables used to explain their
particular view of the world. The thought occurs to me that if I were trying to
make up a story to illustrate the belief that all people were born with a spark
of divinity, with inherent worth and dignity, it might go something like this:
Once upon a time, many centuries ago, God decided he wanted to experience
life as human beings did. So one day, in a far-off land, God appeared on earth
in human form. God chose to do so in a most humble way. God came to earth as an
infant child, having been born to a peasant family in an undistinguished
village in the
The place of God's appearance was a dirty, smelly stable, with noisy donkeys and chickens and pigs all around. God did not come to earth as an emperor or a monarch, but rather just as you and I came into the world: as a delicate, whining, helpless, fragile baby. When hungry or lonely, God cried. When pleased, God gurgled and giggled.
God came into the world to experience the entire range of life's events that
you and I experience. As God grew in wisdom and stature, he felt all the human
emotions. God knew what it meant to fear. God felt both love and hate, both anger and compassion, both approval and rejection. God
knew what it meant to be loved, and to be persecuted, to suffer, and eventually
to face death. All these things God experienced because of that decision long
ago to come to earth in the form of an infant child.
I confess it is not a very original story, but it is one that makes the point. The divine is to be found in even the most humble of all births. Even a child born in the most pitiful of circumstances has an inner light that reflects divine energy.
This may be the central theological thread that holds it all together. The
light of the world is in us. Let there be light.
If we can believe, not just on Christmas day, but every day, that each human being is endowed with his or her own divinity, the mythic power of Christmas will fill our lives throughout the year. If we approach this story not as an event that took place some 2,000 years ago, but as a mechanism to explain a belief about human worth and dignity, then it informs us of important values, not just on or approaching each December 25, but every day of the year of our lives. If this story has mythic powers, it can help us explain why we seek justice for every person, compassion for all people.
And if we believe, not just on Christmas day, but every day, that each person is endowed with his or her own divinity, the story of Christmas can change our view of ourselves as well. Throughout the year, every year, we can accept ourselves as not just, in the words of tradition, "made in the image of God," but also representative of divinity in the world. This story should inform us of our attitude about ourselves and each other.
It is good, I think, to have a holiday set aside to honor this story. We can use the reminder often, but especially in the middle of winter. But the lesson of this holiday is a lesson that is useful at any time, and for all people.
Let's welcome this season of light -- both the lights that shine outside of us, and those that warm us inside.