I'm prepared to talk about Jesus being the Light of the World, how when we follow Jesus we're the light of the world too. We begin as always with a few songs which include clapping and jumping and little hands making waves. It's a noisy, rowdy time and I had this great idea to start chapel in the dark. I thought it would be a great way to illustrate Jesus being the Light. Our sanctuary has beautiful stained glass windows so lots of light still shines through. It's not scary dark. We sing our songs and throughout the time one of the little ones says, "It's dark in here." They noticed and I'm feeling pretty proud.
I remind them of the beginning... God creating light... being the Light. We sit in the dim lit sacred space and talk about the light of the sun coming through the windows. How God made the sun and the moon and stars. I call my little friend Rhyker up to help me with the lesson and send him running to the back to push the button that turns on the lights.
As he runs back to his seat I ask, "Who made the lights in the sanctuary?"
His partner in crime yells from the back row, "RHYKER!"
Not the answer I was looking for... but the big people in the room laughed right out loud. It wasn't the wrong answer. He did push the button. I nodded my head in agreement and thought well... that's a wrap.
The sanctuary becomes quiet again as the children head back to class. I put things away and as I reach to turn off the lights a thought wanders through like a gentle breeze.
Isn't that just like us to claim the most logical, natural explanation and forget the supernatural mystery of it all.
Sometimes I forget that the very One I follow is nothing if not a mystery. It somehow has become easier to just accept what's been doled out and deal with it from a more logical stance. I mean we have Google for explanation right? Nothing should remain a mystery with an infinite amount of information at your finger tips... or maybe it should.
My oldest and I went to see Risen this weekend. The story of a man trying to get to the truth of empty grave clothes left in the tomb. He searches and finally comes up with an answer. The answer found was not logical or explainable. What he found was mystery. It still is.
There's nothing in this world that can explain a God wrapped in skin born to a virgin. Nothing logical about words of love uttered from the lips of a God man hanging there on the cross. No logic in skies going dark... earth rumbling... curtains splitting in two. Thousands of explanations have been given for the stone rolled away. Hundreds of thousands of pages written on the exact understanding of an empty tomb. Somewhere someone is wracking their brain trying to figure this one out.
Maybe that's the beauty of it all. Two thousand years later Easter is still a mystery. Still the work of a supernatural God who is the same yesterday, today... forever. His power alone still moves stones... heals the sick... opens the eyes of the blind. That same power still creates light and love and hope.
Its early and I'm taking the trash out when this stops me in my tracks. Just a few days ago it was nothing but twigs, but now...
Each year my fisherman reminds me these purple beauties signal the beginning. Yep, the beginning of all things fishy. The boys around here begin cleaning boats and sorting lures. They sit in silence with spools spinning on pencils as they reline their reels. This Lenten season I'm doing some re-aligning myself. I'm re-embracing the mystery of the cross. Remembering "through him all things were made; without him nothing was made that has been made." Not light switches or sun rises, nor the toothpaste or the eggs gathered in early morning light... no fishing lures or purple blooming trees were made apart from Him.
Not. One. Single. Thing.
Not. One. Single. Thing.
For in him all things were created: things in heaven and on earth, visible and invisible, whether thrones or powers or rulers or authorities;all things have been created through him and for him. He is before all things, and in him all things hold together.
--Col 1:16-17
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