The Light of the World: A Pastoral Message for Annual Meeting Sunday [Epiphany 5A - Matthew 5:13-20]

 The Rev. Jeremiah Williamson

Matthew 5:13-20

 

The Light of the World

 

What are you, exactly?  What are we?  Jesus seems to have some thoughts.  In this portion of the Sermon on the Mount, he is name calling.  You are the salt of the earth.  You are the light of the world.  Maybe you are a lamp on a lampstand or a city on a hill.  If you play your cards right, live your days well, Jesus might even, one day, call you great in the kingdom of heaven.

 

Today is our Annual Meeting Sunday.  Each year, in the lead-up to the Annual Meeting, I spend a lot of time reflecting on the nature and identity of our church.  That big question: what are we?  I think about what we have done and who we have been.  I assess what we are doing and who we are.  And I wonder what God will call us to do next and who God will call us to be in the days that will make up our future.

 

Grace and St. Stephen’s is, this year, celebrating our 100^th year as a parish.  We’ve been around for a while.  The Grace Episcopal Church roots are even deeper in Colorado Springs; that congregation was planted 150 years ago.  This church has long had a prominent presence in this city, in the diocese, and in the Episcopal Church.  Like a city on a hill, or like a building with a very tall tower, we cannot be hid.  Such visibility has not always been ideal or easy; a few times in our history we have been noticed for the wrong reasons, because of clergy financial misconduct and because of a very public church split.  But that is not our story.  Much more often, historically and still today, we are noticed because of the good we do, because we are faithful, because of our love.

 

Just this week, the Bishop told me she was bragging on us during one of her parish visits, citing us as an example of a good and faithful church doing good and faithful things.  Since the beginning of the pandemic we have been in the news, even the national news, a number of times – because of the generous and creative work we are doing.  Folks love our building, our music, our ministries.  We are welcoming; we are kind; we pitch a big, and inclusive, tent.  And I can tell you, since we are currently doing a national search for a Director of Music (and I am hearing from a number of church musicians), our reputation within the Episcopal Church is excellent. 

 

We are a light in this world.  We are a lamp on a lampstand.  God has set us on fire and people are taking notice.  Our love and our welcome, the beauty of our worship and music, the bold proclamation of a liberating and expansive Gospel, the miraculous spiritual healing that Jesus in doing in the lives of our members, the hope that we boldly proclaim in the face of challenging times: our light is shining forth from this campus.  And people are drawn to that light.

 

What Jesus said is true: we are the light of the world.  We are a light that is meant to shine in a world in which the shadows are long and the future is hazy.

 

And there are many ways we light this world.

We are a porch light, welcoming home those who have encountered too many closed doors, who need a place to belong.

We are a lighthouse on the shore of a raging sea.

We are a beacon of hope to the ones weighed down by disillusionment and despair.

We are a lighted tower for the lost and the searching.

We are a torch, held high, for those in search of a holy spark, of a divine mystery, of something transcendent and eternal.

We are a lantern on the rocky path.

We are a campfire emanating warmth for weary souls and chilled spirits.

We are a burst of sunshine in a gloomy world.

 

We are the light of the world: illumined by the Pentecost fire that burns in our hearts. 

 

You are a part of something very special here.  And also the here is very special because you are a part of it.

 

This community, this body of Christ, it can change this world.  All of these little flames, burning in each heart, filling your souls, filling this nave, they were lit by a God who is known to burns bushes and consume sacrifices and set heads on fire.  Individually, sure, they are small, effective but slight.  But when they come together they shine with the brightness of the sun.  And like the sun, we are called, by Jesus no less, the very light of this world. 

 

The flame in here: it can spread; it can light this world on fire; it can torch the hatred and malice that seeks to dominate our times.  This flame can draw people, like moths, to its enticing light: to experience the love and healing and hope we experience in this church.  This flame can brighten the world; it can cut through the foreboding shadows and allow earthly pilgrims, journeying through the brambles of this life, to see a path into a better, more just, more humane, future.    

 

As I consider what God might call us to be in the days that will make up our future, I think of this Gospel passage.  Because in this passage, Jesus already called us; he called us the Light of the World.