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“Witnessing to the Light,” Rev. Melissa St. Clair, 12/14/14

“Witnessing to the Light”

A sermon preached at

Heart of the Rockies Christian Church (Disciples of Christ)

Fort Collins, CO

by the Rev. Melissa St. Clair

December 14, 2014

 When my home church pastor died from complications from a brain tumor on the Ash Wednesday that fell during the first week of the second semester of my second year of seminary, I immediately started looking for a plane ticket to go home.  Not only had he been my inspiration and mentor in ministry; he was my childhood best friend’s dad.

At his memorial service, his celebration of resurrection to new life, a variety of people were asked to speak, including myself.  All those who shared remembrances were assigned a particular aspect of Jeff’s life. “PJ” was what we called him; short for Pastor Jeff.   I asked to speak about his passion for working with young people.

It occurred to me then, as I am so often reminded now when I have the privilege of officiating these services, that I only really knew a sliver of PJ’s life – a piece of the pie in his professional and personal life, a drop in the bucket of all his days.  Hearing stories from those who knew him when he was growing and when he was in seminary, long before he was my pastor were fascinating to me.  What struck me most was how deeply the pastoral life and calling permeated his being.  One of his colleagues in ministry described how Jeff showed up to class every day wearing a jacket and tie, looking even then like he would showing up every day at the office years later.  It was clear to all who knew Jeff that he knew his purpose.  He claimed his call as fiercely as it claimed him.

John – also known, via the synoptic gospels, as Jesus’ cousin; the Baptizer; the son of Zechariah and Elizabeth; the Preparer of the Way – had a pretty clear sense of identity, too.  We hear him claim it as we read from the fourth gospel.

READ JOHN 1:6-8; 19-28

When the religious leaders of his day circled around him to sort out just who he was, exactly, John gave them clear answers:

Who are you?  I am not the Messiah.

Are you Elijah?  I am not.

Are you the prophet? No.

Who are you?  What do you say about yourself?  I am the voice of the one crying out in the wilderness, ‘Make straight the way of the Lord.’

John was just as clear in articulating his purpose:

Why then are you baptizing if you are neither the Messiah, nor Elijah, nor the prophet?, they asked.

I baptize with water.  Among you stands one whom you do not know, the one who is coming after me; I am not worthy to untie the thong of his sandal.

You’ve got admire someone that both acknowledges his position and power, placing himself in the broader narrative of history and scripture (he borrows from the prophet Isaiah when he finally tells the religious leaders who he is) while also recognizing its limitations.  That was traditional Greek wisdom – knowing yourself meant not only knowing who you were, but also who you were not.[1]

I baptize with water.  Among you stands one whom you do not know, the one who is coming after me; I am not worthy to untie the thong of his sandal.

This is essentially John’s position description.  We often refer to him based on the first part of it – baptizing.  John the Baptist.  It’s the second part of that description, however, that makes John unique.

Among you stands one whom you do not know, the one who is coming after me; I am not worthy to untie the thong of his sandal.

John isn’t introduced by family name or where he was from.  He’s not first and foremost a baptizer, a prophet, or even a messenger from God.  John is a martyria, a witness, “a holy human sent by God to bear witness to the Word and point to the light.”[2]

In the court of law, being a witness means you were in the right place at the right time.  That you can attest to the truth of another person’s testimony.   In the realm of God, being a witness sometimes means you get to the scene even before the real action has taken place.  In the realm of God, being a witness means watching and waiting.  It means that you “recognize true light when it appears, and [you] call attention to it so that others may recognize it” for themselves.[3]

Our elders meet monthly to pray for our congregation and its individual members and friends.  We check in on pastoral care concerns and celebrations and tend to the spiritual life and health of the ones for whom we have been called to pray, guide, and serve by participating actively in the life of the church.

Our elders are nominated just as all our elected leaders are; nominations are received in the fall, and the nominating team prayerfully and thoughtfully considers the names and roles submitted to them before calling individuals to ask them to consider serving in a particular role.

Sometimes our elders wrestle with what exactly their role is in the life of the congregation.  Not because they’re not qualified or equipped to lead spiritually.  But because sometimes this human life we live as spiritual beings isn’t all together straightforward.

It’s not unlike the call to be Christian.  What exactly does this life of discipleship entail?  Following after Jesus, of course.  But what does that actually look like?  What does it actually require once we’ve said YES?  To borrow from Rabbi Howard Kushner, How good do we have to be?  How in the world do we bear witness to Jesus in our complicated, complex, chaotic lives?

We do like John.  We “recognize True Light when it appears, and [we] call attention to it so that others may recognize it” for themselves.

Our elders reflected on this story when they gathered this week.  Robert Fulghum, of the Everything I Needed to Know in Kindergarten wisdom, is the guy at whom everyone rolls his or her eyes at the end of a lecture.  You know, when the professor or whoever is speaking asks, “Are there any questions?”  And by that point everyone is already drowning in information and/or out of time.  And so actual questions, if anyone wanted to take the time to ask them, would consists of:

“Can we leave now?”

“What the heck was this meeting for?”

“Where can I get a drink?”

Robert is the one who actually takes the time to ask the question.  Not A Question.  The Question:  “What is the meaning of life?”  He’s willing to risk the eye rolls just in case some day one of these lecturers or experts or whatever might have the answer.  It would be a real shame to miss it on account of being too socially inhibited to ask, now wouldn’t it?

There was one time, and only one, that Robert got a serious answer to the question, asked amidst the laughter and paper shuffling of his colleagues.

His name was Dr. Papaderos.

As people stirred to go, he held up his hand and stilled the room. He and Robert looked at each for a long time, and he could see that Robert was serious.

“I will answer your question,” he finally said.

He pulled out his wallet.  He fished into the leather billfold and brought out a very small round mirror, about the size of a quarter.  He began:

When I was a small child, during the war, we were very poor and we lived in a remote village. One day, on the road, I found the broken pieces of a mirror. A German motorcycle had been wrecked in that place. I tried to find all the pieces and put them together, but it was not possible, so I kept only the largest piece. This one. And by scratching it on a stone I made it round. I began to play with it as a toy and became fascinated by the fact that I could reflect light into dark places where the sun would never shine – in deep holes and crevices and dark closets. It became a game for me to get light into the most inaccessible places I could find.

 I kept the little mirror, and as I went about my growing up, I would take it out in idle moments and continue the challenge of the game. As I became a man, I grew to understand that this was not just a child’s game but a metaphor for what I might do with my life. I came to understand that I am not the light or the source of light. But light – truth, understanding, knowledge – is there, and it will only shine in many dark places if I reflect it. I am a fragment of a mirror whose design and shape I do not know. Nevertheless, with what I have I can reflect light into the dark places of this world – into the black places in the hearts of men – and change some things in some people. Perhaps others may see and do likewise. This is what I am about. This is the meaning of my life.

“And then he took his small mirror and, holding it carefully, caught the bright rays of daylight streaming through the window and reflected them onto [Robert’s] face and onto [his] hands folded on the desk.”[4]

“The true light, which enlightens everyone, was coming, is coming, into the world” (John 1:9).

Good news, sisters and brothers.  You can go home today and cross one more thing off your holiday to-do list:  You don’t have to be the light.  Neither do I.  We are not the light.  Thanks, God.

Each of us is the reflection of a Creator whose design and shape we do not know.

With what we have, we reflect light into the dark places of this world.

We will change some things in some people.

Perhaps others may see and do likewise.

This is what we are about.

Shine on.

[1] David L. Bartlett, Feasting on the Word, Year B, Vol. 1, p. 70.

[2] Gary W. Charles, Feasting on the Word, Year B, Vol. 1, p. 71.

[3] Ibid.

[4] Adapted from Robert Fulghum, It Was On Fire When I Lay Down On It, 1989.