Crying Out for Light

In church today, we worshipped God for the way his light breaks into this world's darkness... to heal, to illuminate, to lead us into a better future, to enable us to discover the resources needed to bring about an intended good. As the service began, our preacher, Dan, invited us to notice the dozens of candles set out on the podium's floor. The candles were set out on a large piece of high-quality linen draped on the stairs and floor of the podium. Some greenery laced the visually compelling arrangement. Dan suggested that our corporate assembly was not always and only an occasion for preaching the gospel, not always and only a time for celebration and rejoicing, not always and only that place where we exalt the Father with praise and worship. While commonly and naturally church is all those things, church must at least be that people and place on earth where human beings may safely cry out to their Creator; in their pain, with their questions, from the darkness, as they are and not as they should be nor as they will be. On most days, we don't use candles in church. Certainly other churches do. Our ancestors must have been non-candle. (Don't laugh! After today, there may be a winnowing fork in the Texas Panhandle rightly dividng a word of truth yielding both "Candle" and "Non-Candle" congregations.) But today, we used candles. On most days, we don't lament. Perhaps other churches do. I'm not sure whether or not our ancestors lamented. Today, we were given permission to do so. In church. Initially, just eyebrows were raised. By the time we ended, there were few dry eyes in the house. When Dan announced that, on this day, we would lament, cry out to God, on many worshippers' minds, such as mine, was the ubiquitous "how." I wondered if I'd need to literally speak in a tongue, a cough or a shriek. I wondered how I would sound. I wondered how I would look. I couldn't help but notice that I was spiritually avoiding the subject. Fortunately, most worshippers got it. Rather, God got them. Dan announced that the candles were tools. Like sheet music for making music in our hearts. Anyone who felt a need to cry out to God could walk to the front, pick up a small white candle, hold its wick close to the lit candles and transport the flame to another candle. Each unlit candle on stage -- there must have been over a hundred to choose from -- represented any worshipper's darkness in which they desired God's light to break in to. Like the multitudes which first came after Jesus, they came. They came weary and heavy laden. Hopeless and hurting. Having lost loved ones or fearful that they would. They came, at Dan's invitation -- no, at Christ's invitation -- to cry out to God. They came liighting candles today in the community of illumination. First ten, then twenty. Then a line. As it died down, a new group popped up. They were young as well as old. They were married and alone. Visually, it was a stunning episode in our church's life. Gradually, this dark stage, like the prince of darkness, was overthrown by the body of Christ coming together to ignite its thousand points of light. We sang hymns to indicate our need for God every hour. We sat with eyes fixed on the power of our collective light. Several moments had passed with no additional candle-lighters. And just then, two boys, around age 12 or 13, stood and awkwardly approached the stage. One seemed to hold the other and they were whispering to each other back and forth. One was Derek Perkins. The other, Josh Davis, a boy who is completely blind. Derek gently guided Josh to pick up a candle. Held his arm while he carefully lit his own candle and transported the light to one of the remaining dark places on stage. As the pair completed their task and shuffled back to their pew, I wondered what Josh's cry to God might have been on this day. While I prayed for more insight, did Josh cry out for sight? While I sought to see into the future that dealt more kind and gentle with those I loved, did Josh ask God simply to see? While I cried out for my own woes, I came to wonder if I'd ever be more like my multi-tasking younger brother, Derek, lighting one candle while helping a friend light his? A time of lament in solitude may do more harm than good. Together, our cries are not only heard by God, they contain the power to transport light from one to another. Follow the link to hear Dan Bouchelle's sermon, When the Hurt Won't Go Away. Blessed Be the Tie That Binds John Fawcett, Wendell Kimbrough Blessed be the tie that binds Our hearts in Christian love; The fellowship of kindred minds Is like that to that above. Before our Father's throne We pour our ardent prayers; Our fears, our hopes, our aims are one Our comforts and our cares. We share each other's woes, Our mutual burdens bear; And often for each other flows The sympathizing tear. When we asunder part, It gives us inward pain; But we shall still be joined in heart, And hope to meet again. This glorious hope revives Our courage by the way; While each in expectation lives, And longs to see the day. From sorrow, toil and pain, And sin, we shall be free, And perfect love and friendship reign Through all eternity. ©2001, Wendell Kimbrough Music. Used without permission. All rights reserved.