Weekly Sermon

The Tunnel at the End of the Light - March 2, 2003

The Reverend Anne Benefield

Mark 9: 2 - 9

Six days later, Jesus took with him Peter and James and John, and led them up a high mountain apart, by themselves. And he was transfigured before them, and his clothes became dazzling white, such as no one on earth could bleach them. And there appeared to them Elijah with Moses, who were talking with Jesus. Then Peter said to Jesus, "Rabbi, it is good for us to be here; let us make three dwellings, one for you, one for Moses, and one for Elijah." He did not know what to say, for they were terrified. Then a cloud overshadowed them, and from the cloud there came a voice, "This is my Son, the Beloved; listen to him!" Suddenly when they looked around, they saw no one with them any more, but only Jesus. As they were coming down the mountain, he ordered them to tell no one about what they had seen, until after the Son of man had risen from the dead. Prayer: God, source of all light, by your Word you give light to soul. Pour out upon us the spirit of wisdom and understanding that, being taught by you in Holy Scripture, our hearts and minds may be opened to know the things that pertain to life and holiness; through Jesus Christ our Lord. We have a couple of nightlights in our home. There is one is Johnny's room, one in our room, and one in the guest bedroom. Actually, now that I think of it, we have nightlights everywhere. We didn't seem to have nightlights when I was growing up. I discovered nightlights for Johnny, but I decided we could use more than one. I read a wonderful essay about light in Homiletics Magazine, which began: "The comfort of nightlights is something we cherish as children but tend to forget as adults. The world can truly be a dark and scary place. But by the time we are grown, both our eyes and our hearts have often become so accustomed to the dark that we forget the warmth and radiance that light can bring to our soul. Our theological ancestors remind us that one of the primary ways God has made the divine presence known on Earth has been through revealing glimpses of the divine light." (Homiletics Magazine, 2/22/1998) We all long for a glimpse of God. God is always present in creation and humanity, but when God wants to bring special illumination to an event, a messenger, or a message, God does not hesitate to turn on a light. When Jesus was transfigured on the mountain, Peter wanted to build three temples of light. A "transfiguration booth" would be a beacon light at the end of the tunnel, but Jesus doesn't encourage "light at the end of the tunnel" discipleship. The church is not called to invite people out of the darkness into the light so much as to bring the light into the darkness. We spend so much time building our booths, our own safe "temples of light," that we fail to spend the time we should bringing light into dark tunnels. The Transfiguration does not call us to be a light at the end of the tunnel, waiting for people lost in the dark to find their way to us. The church is to take the light of truth, the gospel and glory of Christ, boldly into the tunnel. There is always a tunnel lurking right outside our ring of light. We are called to enter the tunnel and build in it new windows of light. First, we must build windows that face outward. Did you ever notice which way the beautiful stained-glass windows in our churches are directed? Most stained-glass windows only tell the stories to those already safely inside the church. To those trapped outside in the tunnel, our beautiful windows are nothing but hazy, multicolored blurs, a visual cacophony of confusion incapable of casting meaningful, penetrating light on anything. It's time to turn our stained-glass windows outward, to tell our stories to the world. But a word of warning: once we turn them around, it must be light enough inside for people to see outside. Unless the community inside is on fire for God, there will not be enough light to illuminate the windows so that the world can see them from the outside. When we are alive in Christ, we can't hide our light. We can't remain inside our safe sanctuaries. Newsweek Magazine has an interesting feature called "My Turn." This past week it was written by a woman named Jami Jones and the title read, "Now I Know Too Much to Turn Away." When her son went off to college, he had his first serious relationship with a girl. Her name was Emily. Mrs. Jones met Emily three times. The first time, Emily was polite, outgoing and cute. Although Mrs. Jones only saw Emily two more times, they talked on the phone many times. Mrs. Jones writes, "She hinted that her life was unraveling, but I did not feel it was my place to get involved." During the next visit, Emily seemed tired and wasn't the playful self that she had been in October. By April, Emily would not leave the house. Mrs. Jones' son Jordan told her that Emily was anxious and feeling physically ill. Again, Mrs. Jones chose not to get involved. In June, Jordan called to tell his mother that Emily was dead. What happened? The autopsy was inconclusive, but the pathologist believed she died of an untreated heart problem. Most of what Jami Jones now knows about Emily, she learned after her death. She learned that Emily's parents divorced when she was an infant. She never had a relationship with her father. Her mother married and divorced several times. Emily became lost in blended families. Jordan told his mother that toward the end of her life, Emily was depressed. Jami Jones writes, "The September after Emily's death, I returned to the high school where I work as a media specialist in the library. In the past, I had often listened as teens told me about their disintegrating families and the pain caused by divorces, remarriages and families gone awry. But at the end of the day, I could shove their worries aside before leaving school. No longer, Emily has changed everything for me. "I failed Jordan and Emily when they needed me most. They kept her pain from me because they sensed that I would not understand. They were right. But I have changed…Everyday I reach out to [girls who remind me of Emily] because I now know that I can make a difference. I lost my chance once. I will not let it happen again." [Jami Jones, "My Turn: Now I Know Too Much to Turn Away," Newsweek, (March 3, 2003) p. 12] We can't keep the light to ourselves. We must share it; we must carry it out into the tunnels making new windows of light in the darkness. We also need to let in the light from outside. Some churches don't have stain-glass windows but have great panes of frosted, glazed-over, or intentionally crackled glass to obscure any view of what lies outside the walls of the sanctuary. In the early 18th century, when the imperial English colonized the wild Welsh, proper English travelers who ventured from England to Wales used to close the curtains of their carriage to shut out the "horrid scenery." They didn't want to be disturbed by the horrors of the outside world. We can be that way, too. From inside our sanctuary, we can't see the outside world. That's why announcements are so important. That's why mission is so important. That's why community service is so important. Through our windows, the light must shine out into the world. Sometimes when ministers get together, we talk about how we came to be at our churches. A friend of mine, Michael Granzen told me that he came to Elizabeth, New Jersey, from Boston, Massachusetts. He made the move because his wife was accepted to a doctoral program in the area. He left a young church that he loved. The evening he arrived, he was late because of stormy weather. As he walked around the church in the darkness, he looked in a window where light shone. There he saw a group of gray-haired women, praying in a circle. He thought, "Oh, dear. This is going to be so different from Boston. What have I done?" Still, he paused to take in the sight, to fix it in his memory. Slowly he was filled with peace and love. He realized he was just where he was supposed to be, serving a church that was humble enough to be praying for the world on a dark night. The light of their faith spoke more powerfully than the words they were saying. For some time I've been pushing to light the lantern, but it is a difficult thing to do. It is hard because you need a huge amount of light to make enough light to be seen outside. That is true of our faith. We have to be aflame with faith to make a difference. In summary, we need windows that face outward, taking light to the ends of the very darkest tunnels. Second, we need windows that let in the light from the outside. We need the clarity that the light from the outside provides. Finally, we need new kinds of windows. We have glorious windows at Geneva. Light plays on the colors in the lantern. People come into this sanctuary and look up in awe. The lantern is one way we open ourselves to the grandeur of God. But we need more windows and different windows. And there are some windows we may have to break open. The windows we need to shatter are the ones that limit our ministry. For a long time, people resisted email because it seemed so impersonal. I can remember people being afraid that email would replace face-to-face fellowship. It hasn't. As a matter of fact, if I don't send out my weekly note about worship, a number of people tell me they miss it-it provides a ray of light, a window to the church during the week when the warmth of the church can feel far away. Email and computers have opened a completely new window for us. Most of our new members look at our webpage before they come. Change is difficult. It's scary to open new windows. We're afraid we might be blown away. We're afraid we might lose those things that are precious to us. It's hard to know what we will find when we shine light in the darkness. An auto mechanic received a repair order that said to check a clunking noise when going around corners. So he took the car out for a test drive and made two right turns, and each time-sure enough-he heard a loud clunking noise. Back at the shop, he returned the car to the service manager with this note: "Removed bowling ball from trunk." (Wesley Taylor, Tualatin, Oregon) Some of our fears turn out to be pretty minor, but not all of them. Robert Schuller of the Crystal Cathedral in California tells this story. "A few years ago, I went to the Royal Palace in Teheran, Iran. I have been in royal palaces around the world, but this one was something else. There isn't anything like it, to my knowledge, anywhere in the world. "You step into the Royal Palace and the grand entrance is just resplendent with glittering, sparkling glass. You think for a moment that the domed ceilings and the sidewalls, and the columns are covered with diamonds, until you realize that these aren't diamonds, and not cut crystal, but they are all small pieces of mirrors. The edges of myriad little mirrors reflect the light, throwing out the colors of the rainbow. A mosaic of mirrors! Spectacular! "Here's how it happened: When the Royal Palace was planned the architects sent an order to Paris for mirrors to cover the entrance walls. The mirrors finally arrived in their crates. When they took the crates apart, all the crushed pieces spilled out. They were al smashed in travel. They were going to junk them all when one creative man said, 'No, maybe it will be more beautiful because they are broken.' "More beautiful because they are broken? He took some of the large pieces and smashed them, and then he took all the little pieces and fitted them together like an abstract mosaic. If you see it, you will note that it is an enormous distortion in reflections; it is sparkling with rainbow diamond colors. Broken to be made beautiful." (Robert Schuller in the sermon "Turn Your Scars into Stars") In just a minute, we will come to the Lord's Table. He understood the importance of bringing light to all the dark places. And he understood that sometimes light shines through broken places with great glory. The light came into the world and the darkness did not overcome it. Amen.