A Light in the Harbor
A lighthouse cannot calm the sea, but it can show the way home, and so, in small ways, can each of us.
Picture a harbor at night. The town has gone to sleep. Fog has rolled in off the water, softening the edges of everything, and somewhere beyond the breakwater a small boat is making its way home. The sea is dark. The rocks near the harbor mouth are invisible. The crew can barely see the bow of their own vessel.
Then, through the fog, a light. It sweeps across the water, disappears, and comes back again, steady as a heartbeat. The light does not calm the sea or clear the fog. It does something simpler and more important: it shows the boat where the harbor is.
The light the darkness could not overcome
The Gospel of John begins with light. Before it tells us anything about the birth or ministry of Jesus, it describes him as the light that came into the world: light for every person, shining into the darkest places.
“And the light shineth in darkness; and the darkness comprehended it not.”
The Greek word behind comprehended can mean both to grasp and to overcome. The darkness did not understand the light, and it could not put it out. That is the steady confidence at the heart of Christian hope. Darkness is real. It can be thick and frightening and long. But it has never once extinguished the light of Christ.
Darkness is real. But it has never once extinguished the light of Christ.
Like that lighthouse, the light of Christ does not always remove the storm or lift the fog. But it shows the way home. It tells us where safe harbor is, even when we cannot see much else.
Lights on the shore
Here the story takes a surprising turn. Jesus does not only speak of himself as light. He turns to the ordinary, unremarkable people gathered on a hillside to hear him and says the same thing about them.
“Ye are the light of the world. A city that is set on an hill cannot be hid.”
It is a startling thing to be told. Most of us do not feel like a light. We feel tired, distracted and unsure. But Jesus does not tell his listeners to try harder to become the light. He tells them they already are. The light we carry is not our own invention; it is borrowed from him, the way the moon borrows its glow from the sun. Our part is simply not to hide it.
He goes on: "Let your light so shine before men, that they may see your good works, and glorify your Father which is in heaven." The purpose of the light is not attention for the lighthouse. It is safe passage for the boats, and glory for the One who lit the lamp.
Small lights, steady lights
A lighthouse does not move. It does not chase the boats or shout at them. It simply stays where it is and keeps shining, night after night, in fair weather and foul. There is a kind of faithfulness in that which any of us can practice.
It looks like a kind word to the cashier who is having a hard day. It looks like keeping a promise, telling the truth, forgiving when it would be easier to hold a grudge. It looks like staying present with a friend in their darkest season, not with answers but with steady company. None of these things will clear every fog. But for someone out on the water, they may be the light that shows the way home.
Wherever you are tonight, the light is still shining. And it may be shining through you more brightly than you know.
