We crave the light

Candlemas 2008
(Malachi 3: 1-4; Ps 84: 1-6; Heb 2: 14-18; Luke 2: 22-40)


No one appreciates light quite like Oregonians.

We live light-deprived through more than half the year. We warn newcomers to leave their house lights on during the day. When the sun finally streams through the murk, we blink bedazzled and then we walk outside, anywhere, our faces tilted like flowers to soak it up.

We are fortunate because we are people who appreciate the light. We have much in common with the ancient Irish tribe who also lived much of the year under clouds. They built the massive tomb-shrine at Newgrange just for the light which would pass through the long passage only at dawn on the winter solstice. They appreciated the light.

We crave the light. We are made for the light. But we spend a lot of our time in darkness.

Yesterday a small group of local church leaders sat in a circle in a small storefront on Alberta Street. No mega-church pastors there—all of us are working hard in challenging urban ministries. We spoke of the darkness of our world, the confusion of our times and in our churches, the ravages of war and economy and environmental decline. And then we lit, one by one, small candles and spoke aloud our faith and hope. And the light was enough to kindle that faith and hope and bring it to life.

In this brief time before quiet Lent we are brought into the light. Bright Brigid of the sacred fire gathered us for her feast last week and worked miracles on human hearts. The prophet whose name Malachi means “messenger” promises that the Lord will come suddenly into his temple, and so he does. On this feast he comes, a helpless baby filled with light, carried by his poor parents making the poor people’s offering. Old folks see him and know him and receive him into old faithful arms. In the midst of a busy and noisy day in the Jerusalem Temple, the light of the world has come. Only those who believed old Anna’s and Simeon’s words knew him for who he is. But everything the great Temple was built for was fulfilled in that moment. Its mighty God, worshipped with offerings and rituals and psalms, came in the poor people’s door as an offering.

The Temple is the world. The Temple is this church. The Temple is every human heart gathered here today.

We crave the Christ-light. We are made for the Christ-light. We seek the One who is light and life, more dearly than we seek the sun in the winter. Any of us who have seen the darkness know how dearly we need the light. And we are light-bearers and light-givers ourselves if we receive with gratitude the Christ-child that old Simeon presents to us today as a gift. Another old man named Sophronius sang these words long ago:

“The light has come and has shone upon a world enveloped in shadows; the Dayspring from on high has visited us and given light to those in darkness. This then is our feast, and we join in procession with lighted candles to reveal the light that has shone upon us and the glory that is yet to come to us through him. So let us all hasten together to meet our God.

“Let all of us, beloved, be enlightened and made radiant by this light. Let all of us share in its splendor, and be so filled with it that no one remains in the darkness.”

We run with joy to the One who is Light. The Light is real and the gift of the living God made flesh is real. Today the Beloved comes suddenly into the temple, into this gathering, into our very souls. We have waited in silence upon God’s loving-kindness, and God has not disappointed us. Soak in the light, that we may be lamps of the living Light.