Make straight the way for the Lord.

 

Beginning with fireflies, whose light dances and shifts in the childhood remembrance of night, we are reminded again of the ongoing truth of light in darkness. Of the presence of Jesus and piercing of the oppressive veil darkness holds on us. In the midst of the dark night, not only of our souls, but of our daily lives.

Idyllic days spent by the stream, the smell of grass and moss, each soft beneath; the dimming sky lit by the return of bugs who bring change in the midst of nothing.

This story kicked off the bishop’s meditation at the annual clergy conference of the Diocese of Eastern Michigan. A story that was at once his childhood and mine. Though I didn’t live by a stream. I was with him, marveling at the fireflies.

Then it turned. It turned to the diocese; to our work in the rundown rustbelt. It turned to the ongoing work of discernment that he is doing, the leadership is doing, we all have been doing. And he reinforced the line he has been sharing for several months now. A line so prescient, so perfect, that I have longed to be the one to first utter it. A line so descriptive of the Christian condition and so very descriptive of our needs. He relates his dream that we be

A people of hope in a culture of fear.

So perfect. Succinct.

And his words to us, the priests and deacons of the diocese, whose very ministry is to share that hope with others, to not so much be the firefly, the light that is the Son, but to reflect it, standing, refracting the light where there is so much darkness and so many sitting down.

My own thoughts turn to the Children of Israel, who complain of their servitude in Egypt…and fear being freed from it. Who grumble about the actions of Pharaoh, but as the soldiers approach the banks of the Sea of Reeds, they complain that they liked it better when they were slaves. Those who, soon after their freedom is secured, speak of rejecting their freedom: to return to servitude. At least in Egypt, it was predictable.

We are people of hope, those Children, challenged by our GOD to take on the mantle in the midst of uncertainty. Fearful of the desert, of being fed.

And we, the clergy, are here to awaken that sense of hopefulness, standing up in a crowd that is seated. We, provoked to provoke our people to trust in GOD. We, like those Children, are promised freedom, sustenance, and salvation. We were never promised a three-course meal, prepared to order and served to our seats at 6:30 pm sharp, after refreshments, of course. We ask for food and GOD graciously instead provides manna.

In the midst of uncertainty, despair, and above everything else, yes, fear, we are provoked to stand up. Not to carry our congregations or to walk alone. But to stand and support others in standing. Helping them see the precious light. Hear the powerful voice. Sing praises with glorious abandon. To reflect the light, shining. Like fireflies. Light in the midst of dark. Hope in the midst of fear. Courage in the midst of wilderness.

Not beacons solitary on the peninsula. But the many lights, dappling the sky above our child heads, resting on the soft moss, dreaming of what could be. Dreaming of a world so very much cooler than the one at home. With caves full of creatures and vast mysteries to explore. All with the fearless abandon of prepubescent imagination. Before our minds are warped with realism and a deep cynicism for our world. Before fear becomes the governing ideology.

We grasp at the light dancing before us, as it pops on for a moment, and then dims…only to light again. And we know there, in the midst of all of these little lights of ours, we can see. Really see. That the world covered in darkness is no different than the world radiating by day.