Exodus 3: 1- 6; John 12: 27 – 36a
“The light is with you for a little longer. Walk while you have the light, so that the darkness may not overtake you. If you walk in the darkness, you do not know where you are going. While you have the light, believe in the light, so that you may become children of light.” (John 12: 35-36a)
We have just heard those words in our second reading. Jesus as the light is one of the themes as the Gospel of John. We might be reminded of the opening words of the Gospel which we read at Christmas about the light which shines in the darkness and is not overcome. Or we might think of Jesus declaring Himself to be the light of the world. Now he tells his followers that the darkness is coming. But they’re to walk in the light of His presence while He’s still with them.
I wonder if, like me, you have begun to notice the days lengthening. By a few minutes each day sunset gets later. I notice it because it’s now light when we sit down for Evening Prayer. The light is returning. Spring flowers are coming out; it seems, at last, that the darkness of winter might be receding. At the same time, Lent is approaching fast. Even if I didn’t work in a church I’d know this because an advert from Time Out has appeared amongst my emails. It says ‘Commit some sins during Lent.’
Well, the coming of the light does make me feel a little rebellious. Spring is a more attractive prospect than Lent. I’m not sure I want to think much about what to give up. I’m not ready yet to think about the sufferings of Christ. Of course we have to acknowledge our own darkness, as we will do on Ash Wednesday, and we have to embrace the darkness of the Passion. But Good Friday will come soon enough. Meanwhile I want to ponder what it might mean to think of Lent instead as walking in the light.
Recently on the radio I heard an interview with Helen Sharman, who was the first Briton in space. She said that at the end of the day in the space station, whenever they had time, the astronauts would gather around the largest window they could find which had a view of the earth, and just talk about what they could see. Because to see the earth from that perspective changed things. She talked about seeing the Himalayas from space and deciding at that moment that she must walk there, which she subsequently did. But there were bigger discoveries than that. Apparently there’s a club for astronauts, because they have this extraordinary shared experience of looking back at the earth. It changes people. According to Helen space scientists are all internationalists. For them, people are the most important thing, regardless of political or national differences; at the same time, if you’ve been in space, you recognise your own smallness against the vastness of the universe; your own problems seem smaller still, and all the things our society tells us we need seem completely worthless.
Clearly being an astronaut is a life-changing experience. Wesley’s anthem, which we heard just before I started preaching reminds us that Christ is also life-changing. The anthem was composed to be sung in Hereford cathedral on Easter Sunday 1834. Apparently only a small number of trebles and a solitary bass were available to sing on this occasion. There’s a rumour that the only bass present was the Dean’s butler. Sometimes working under constraint can produce something rather wonderful!
The words of Wesley’s anthem are quoted from the Bible, from the first Chapter of the first letter of Peter. We’re reminded of the Easter hope that we too shall be raised with Christ. We have been born again. From this new perspective, our life on earth appears as temporary, a ‘sojourn’. We are perishable, as are all living things, but we are destined for glory. Meanwhile, as Christ is holy, so we are to be holy and to love one another. In other words, we’re to walk in the light, we are to become children of light.
Bringing ourselves back down to earth, with Lent a few days away, what might this mean in more practical terms?
In the light, everything shows up. In the corners of a sunny room you see all the cobwebs, if they are there; having seen them, if you’re anything like me, you’ll want to sweep them away. If we truly walk in the light it won’t be possible to hold on to resentments, grudges. It may be a case not so much of giving up as of letting go of anything which is unhelpful, which spoils our relationship with God, which gets in the way.
The brighter the light becomes, the darker the shadows. As we continue to walk in the light we will probably become more and more aware of all that is less than pleasing to God in our lives. Of all the ways in which we are implicated in the evils of the world even when we feel helpless to change them.
But to walk in the light also means to enjoy the light. As the light returns we might find ourselves simply literally standing in the sun. And while standing in the sun we might allow the experience to become a metaphor or a reminder that we are also standing in the presence of Christ. Or there may be other experiences which help to reorientate us to Christ so that we are able to experience His presence and open ourselves to His influence. Perhaps Music? Poetry? A garden? Other people? It doesn’t have to be something difficult which lets in the light. Whatever it is for you, as the light returns let’s walk in it this Lent and remember that Christ, the light of the world is with us.
Amen