It is not my usual practice to preach a sermon on a

single Biblical verse. In seminary, I was taught that

this was unwise at best, and potentially dangerous.

And here’s why: all of scripture exists in context,

and understanding its context is essential to making

sense of the passage. Much of the time, I agree with

and follow this guidance from my professors. Today,

however, as we continue our sermon series on the “I

am” statements of Jesus, I want to center our worship in

one simple phrase.

First, the context. The setting of this passage is the city

of Jerusalem during the Feast of the Tabernacles. The

festival was in celebration of God’s liberation of the

Jewish people from slavery in Egypt. At the Feast of

the Tabernacles, in the courtyard of the temple, there

are lampstands. Picture them. Each one eighteen feet

high, holding four huge bowls filled with oil. During

this festival, at dusk, priests would climb the ladders

eighteen feet high and light those giant bowls of oil.

And when they did, the lampstands would light up all of

Jerusalem. In fact, one ancient writer records the light

was so bright that the glow in the sky could be seen

from fifty miles away.

This is where and when Jesus makes a stunning claim.

“I am the light of the world. Whoever follows me will

never walk in darkness but will have the light of life.”

This is the word of the Lord. Thanks be to God.

From beginning to end, the presence and power of light

radiates through the Gospel of John in the life of Jesus.

At the outset, we are put on notice. “In him was life, and

that life was the light of all people. The light shines in

the darkness, and the darkness did not overcome it.”

The presence of light and the reality of darkness coexist

in John’s gospel, just as they did in the ancient world.

Unlike our ancestors, we have some control over the

amount of literal light in our lives. When our family first

moved from Atlanta in the summer of 2018, I remember

being struck by how late the sun set here. I assure you,

it is not easy to put young children to bed when it still

feels like the middle of the day. And so, heavy, dark

curtains were an early purchase for our new home

and our boys’ bedrooms. Then, winter came, and it felt

like weeks went by with no hint of sunlight. (Can you

relate?) A new purchase for our home: bright lights,

called therapy lamps, meant to imitate the ultraviolet

rays of the forever absent sun. On Friday morning, I

woke in the predawn hours, and I couldn’t get back

to sleep. And so, I counted the sources of light I could

see from my bed. Seven. Chargers and power strips,

watches and phones, nightlights and exterior spots

reflecting through the windows. It is easy for us to

assume that light is something we control.

At the Festival of the Tabernacles, the temple was

literally lit up—light shining in actual darkness. This is

the moment when Jesus stands in the temple courtyard

and says, “I am the light of the world.” The words are

carefully chosen. The Greek word here is cosmos. I am

the light of the universe, the light of the galaxy. Jesus

is not speaking of a flashlight or a lamp. His words

are meant to raise eyebrows and spark reflection.

Jesus speaks of himself as the light shining in a world

of shadows. He promises that all who follow him will

walk in the light of life. It is a promise they—we—need

to hear. It is a promise they—we—want to believe. We

yearn for light. We long for light.

I was reminded this week by a colleague that

Epiphany is not a single day but a season of light.

This comment brought to mind my favorite Epiphany

story from Second Church. It was a couple of weeks

before Christmas. The year was 2020, and I received

a voicemail from Stewart Goodwin, an elder in our

congregation and Executive Director of the Indiana

War Memorial. I called Stewart back. You might know

that Stewart Goodwin is also a retired brigadier general

and so very good at getting straight to the point.

“Pastor,” he said, “I need a religious perspective on a

situation we’re facing.” Well, he had my attention now.

Stewart explained that the downtown Indianapolis

business community had made a request of the War

Memorial that the huge Christmas tree at the center of

Monumental Circle, which is owned and managed by

the War Memorial, would remain illuminated beyond

Christmas, in fact well into the new year, 2021. These

local leaders felt that this would provide a ray of hope

in a time when many were struggling as new waves

and variants of COVID took hold and uncertainty

seized us all.

Stewart’s question for me was simple. Does our faith

tradition have any wisdom to offer or, more to the

point, regulations to follow regarding the lighting of

Christmas trees? After all, it is a Christmas tree. And so,

the concern was: would the symbol lose its meaning,

lose its power, if it was left to shine once the holy

day had ended? We talked for a few moments, and

it occurred to me that what follows Christmas in the

liturgical calendar is Epiphany—the season of light, the

celebration of light. It further occurred to me that the

light of Christ shines in the darkness all year long and

shines best when it is needed most. I called Stewart

back just before Christmas to ask what had been

decided. “Well, Pastor,” he said. “I think you’ll like the

decision we made. The ‘Shining a Light’ production has

been extended for several weeks.” Stewart, it was the

right choice—a witness to the reality that all of us need

a little more light in our lives.

The gospel writer John wants us to know the power

of light shining in darkness. He knows we’re going

to need that power. He knows we’re going to need

that promise. Jesus is preparing his disciples for the

darkness to come. His death and departure from them.

He promises that the light they find in him will never be

extinguished even when his life is ended.

Over in Matthew’s gospel, in the Sermon on the Mount,

Jesus turns the image around in words to his disciples.

“You are the light of the world. Let your light so shine

that others will take notice of your good deeds and give

glory to God.” It is a profound responsibility placed on

the shoulders of disciples. It belongs to us.

You see, from the beginning of our movement,

followers of Jesus were not asked to blend in but to

stand out. Members of our confirmation class, you are

called to be children of light who shine like stars in

the night sky. You were not meant to blend in. You are

called to stand out.

I feel an urgency in that command—perhaps you

noticed—as I consider our context. Yes, we have many

sources of artificial light, but few signs of the light of

life. The question is: how can we, people of Christian

faith, reflect the light of Christ and shine our light in

the world? I have found that we do it best when we do

it together.

Eight days ago, on a very gloomy and gray winter

Saturday morning, I stopped by the church between

our boys’ basketball games. And what I found here

were bursts of light as bright as lampstands filled with

gallons of oil. I walked into the sanctuary, where our

handbell ensemble was preparing to play in worship

the next day and would soon be followed by rehearsal

for the brass and organ concert. I then walked down

the hall, where a family was gathering in prayer to

celebrate the faithful life of a saint who has joined the

church triumphant in death. In one room around the

corner, a group of women were gathered for Bible

study. And then I walked down the stairs, and on the

second floor, a large group of men had gathered for the

second day of a retreat focused on living their lives with

intention. Just above them, volunteers were learning

from our Children and Family Ministries staff about the

beautifully tangible practice of Godly Play and teaching

the faith to our children. And downstairs around the

corner, in the hallway, and all the way wrapped around

a second corner, folks were waiting to be welcomed

and served in our food pantry. There was a team of a

dozen volunteers ranging in age from teenagers to folks

in their eighties. They were busy inside, serving and

preparing. As they waited, neighbors outside shared

stories. I watched as children played together on the

floor. Signs of support and solidarity flowed from these

encounters. I witnessed words of encouragement,

prayers said aloud, nods of understanding, laughter,

and tears. When I walked back outside, the day had

not changed at all, but I was filled with light because I

received it here, filled with gratitude for what happens

in this place on a single Saturday. In a few moments,

we’ll begin our annual meeting of the congregation. You

will hear and read stories of the impact and ministry

of Second in 2023 and some of our aspirations and

prayers for the year that has already begun.

Here’s what I hope. I hope you see flickers of light as

you look across this space and listen to those stories.

I hope you get some understanding, some grasp of

just how important your light is to this witness and this

work. Yesterday afternoon, in this space, we celebrated

the life of a saint of our church, Sally Anderson, who

was a member of this congregation for eighty years.

She shined God’s light with beauty and with grace, and

that is your call too.

Now I know it’s no secret and should come as no

surprise that many see dark clouds on the horizon as

they look to the months and years ahead. It might feel

difficult to see anything beyond a swirling chaos, the

growing despair, the fog in which we often live. And

I confess that some days I give into it. I confess that

some days I feel that way too. But then, often enough,

some encounter, some experience of grace, reminds

me that the promise is true, the light will never be

extinguished. Hope sees best in the dark.

Back in November, when the email arrived inviting

children to sign up for the Christmas Eve service, Sara

and I talked to our boys about what role they might like

to fill. Samuel is our fourth grader, and he was eager for

a speaking part. The boy likes a microphone and a stage

(and I don’t know where that comes from). The surprise

came when Benjamin, first grade, asked if maybe he

could be an usher. We asked the service leaders. Of

course he can. That morning, trained by the very best,

our own Brad Yarger, Ben dressed in his very best

church clothes. He came early to prepare. He handed

every worshiper who came through his line a bulletin

and a candle. He offered them sheep’s ears or an angel

halo. And as each one walked into the sanctuary, he

said, “Merry Christmas.” And then, the service began,

and into the service, his big moment came.

Ben, with just a little help and on his tip toes, lit his

candle from the Christ candle at the center of the

Advent wreath, and he began walking down the aisle

to share the light of Christ with his church. Someone

snapped a picture that became my enduring image of

Christmas this year…and Epiphany…and our call in the

months ahead.

You see, the light that we welcomed that Christmas

morning, the light that filled this sanctuary on

Christmas Eve, it has not gone out, but it has gone on.

If you want to be people who follow Christ, you’re going

to have to follow his light into the uncertainty of an

unknown future. We’re going to have to trust to the tips

of our toes that the promise is true. We’re going to need

to remind each other that hope sees best in the dark.

So, my pastoral advice: keep those lights up in your

yards, in your homes, in your hearts. Keep those

candles lit, for Jesus Christ is the Light of the World,

and you are meant to shine. Amen.