Hope in the Middle of the Night

 Rev. Molly F. James, Ph.D.

Chapel of Our Lord

October 22, 2024

Eph. 2:11-22; Psalm 85:8-13; Luke 12:35-38

May God’s Word be spoken. May God’s Word be heard. May that point us to the living Word who is Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen. 

‘Be dressed for action and have your lamps lit.’ Really, God? Really? Haven’t you noticed we are anxious and tired? I really could use a good night’s sleep, and maybe an extra nap to boot. Trying be a good parent, a good priest, a good Christian, a good human, all while perennially being inundated with news headlines about war and rocket attacks here, fire and hurricane and flooding there, plus the systemic realities of poverty and racism and gun violence - it’s exhausting. And there is so much anxiety around us about what is going to happen in our country in the coming weeks. God, could we please have a day off? Or maybe we could just take a nap and you could wake us up when the world is safer and more stable? 

Of course it would be easy to be weighed down by this passage, especially if we are feeling worn out. And then there is repeated use of the word “slave.” A word that is historically and theologically laden. A word that ought to make us shudder and wish we could banish its reality for our vocabulary and the world. And yet we know that as much progress we may have made in the political world with constitutional rights and voting acts, the dreamed for reality of equality for all people is not realized. And human slavery still happens across the world in far more hidden ways today. Oh my, there is so much heaviness in this chapter. 

God, I am still wanting that nap. Oh wait, you are saying it wouldn’t be very Christian of me to just curl up and ignore the realities of the world? Oh wait, there might be more to this all if I keep reading? Oh, you mean I shouldn’t just jump to my own conclusions and simply reinforce my own ideas and feelings. There might be some value in staying open and curious? Hmmm. Okay, I’ll keep reading. 

Okay, so there is something about being blessed if we stay awake and alert. Note, actually I did what I often do when I am struggling with a passage - I went to read the Message version. I am glad I did. It offered a very helpful perspective:  “Lucky the servants whom the master finds on watch! He’ll put on an apron, sit them at the table, and serve them a meal, sharing his wedding feast with them. It doesn’t matter what time of the night he arrives; they’re awake—and so blessed!’” As usual Eugene Peterson has made the passage come alive. Imagine waiting up into the dark of night only to have the leader return, full of joy and grace, and willing to make a meal for us? That really does change things doesn’t? And not just because you all know I love a good meal!

The end of this passage changes everything. It puts the stress of the beginning in a whole new light. Maybe God is simply acknowledging the harshness of the current realities. And reminding us sometimes it is literally or figuratively the middle of the night, and we are anxious and trying to keep busy. Then what? Well, actually if we can stay awake, if we can do our part, if we can have faith and trust in God and those around us, there is tremendous hope. 

Because guess what? God does not leave us alone with our thoughts and our anxieties. God is present. In fact, God is present with us to offer joy and sustenance to get us through until morning. Now, it may not always come in the literal form of a feast cooked for us, although I would certainly love that! It will come in the form of joys and blessings that will sustain us through our challenges. And here’s the thing. They are there. In beautiful warm sunshine, in the smile and the presence of a friend, in an expected piece of good news, in the opportunity to do work that brings us joy, in the gift of gathering together in this space for worship, in the simple joy of time to savor a cup of coffee or a favorite treat. We just have to open our eyes, we have to stay alert to them. 

So, my friends, I hope in the midst of all the challenges in our lives and in the world, we can hold on to the hope and the sustaining truth of this passage. Things may seem dark at the present moment, but we are never alone. And if we stay alert, we will continue to be surprised by the blessings - small and large- that come our way. Amen. 

Advent: Waiting and Preparation

Rev. Molly F. James, PhD

DFMS Noonday Prayer

Monday, November 29, 2021

Psalm 122; Isaiah 2:1-5; Matthew 8:5-13

May God’s Word be spoken. May God’s Word be heard. May that point us to the living Word who is Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen. 

Well, my friends it is Advent. It is that season of waiting. Waiting for the light. Waiting for Jesus. Waiting for that quietness described in our psalm. Waiting for healing like the centurion’s servant in our Gospel reading. Waiting for the realization of Isaiah’s prophecy that swords will be beaten into plowshares and no one will learn war any more. 

Our world is waiting. Waiting for a day when we can be less afraid of the headlines. Waiting for case numbers and death tolls to go down. Waiting for justice to be realized. Waiting for the day when we won’t all feel so exhausted and worn out. And that’s just the global waiting. No doubt we have our own versions of Advent. We are waiting in our personal lives for a change to be realized or a milestone achieved. The waiting is pervasive. And it can certainly be anxiety provoking. Waiting on its own can seem passive. As though we have lost our agency or our influence. As though whether or not anything changes or is realized is all up to external forces and the winds of chance. Blessedly, it is not. 

It is indeed true that there is much that is beyond our control. We cannot simply snap our fingers and make a sick friend well or bring the prophecy of Isaiah to fruition. And yet it would be a grave mistake to think that we are powerless in the face of all the challenges we face, individually or collectively. 

We must also remember that Advent is a season of preparation. There is indeed much we can do. We can be a light in the midst of darkness. Our presence, our work, our relationships matter. We do and can have an impact far larger than we often give ourselves credit for in day to day life. 

I have been listening to a book by British Organisational Psychologist John Amaeci called The Promises of Giants. It is a book about leadership, but it is markedly different from so many other books about leadership. It starts with the premise that we can “win” and “lead” wherever we are in life or in an organization. It also starts with the idea that our impact is enormous. We all are and have the capacity to be “giants” to others. I have found the book to be funny, engaging, and full of valuable insights. At first, John’s belief about the enormity of our impact was hard to hear. Did that mean we have to be over vigilant and second-guessing everything? By no means. Rather John reminds us that our impact, our ability to enact real change in ourselves, our communities, and the world is not about splashy moments that make headlines (although those certainly can have a profound impact). Most change happens through discipline and hard work. It happens because we set audacious goals and strive to achieve them. It happens when we are willing to do the day to day work that is often behind the scenes and unglamorous. It happens when we hold ourselves and each other accountable to inspiring standards. We have a profound impact because of who we are and the habits we have. Because of how we move through the world. We are indeed powerful, and it is up to us to decide how we use that power.

In the midst of this season of waiting, in the midst of all the challenges, it could be easy to give into fear or to buy into that critical voice that says that what we do doesn’t really matter. I hope that this Advent we will do neither. I hope we will pay careful attention to all the ways that light and love are alive in the world. All the ways in which the kingdom is breaking in. And I hope we will feel energized and inspired to be reminded that God is Emmanuel, God is with us. The Christ light is within each of us. We can indeed bring the light into the world. Together, with God, with each other, transformation is possible. Amen. 

Candlemas

                                             

Rev. Molly F. James, PhD

DFMS Noonday Prayer via Zoom 

Feast of the Presentation and Candlemas

Psalm 84; Malachi 3:1-4; Luke 2:22-40

May God’s Word be spoken. May God’s Word be heard. May that point us to the living Word who is Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen. 

Today is the Feast of the Presentation also known as Candlemas. It is a centerpiece of this Epiphany season, where we celebrate the way the truth about who Jesus is revealed to the world. The infant Jesus is brought to the Temple and his status as the Messiah, the Holy One of God, the Son of God, is recognized by the prophets Simeon and Anna. It is a day that has often been marked by candlelight processions, hence the name Candlemas. It is a day that continues the beautiful and important theme of the Christmas and Epiphany seasons. The light is coming into the world. 

Indeed it is. There is light. There is hope. In declining numbers of virus cases. In more vaccines getting to those who need them. In the resiliency and adaptability of children. In their smiles and their laughter. In community. In shared gifts. There is light and hope in each other. Ah, there it is. The all important reminder that in this season we do not just celebrate the light coming into the world as something that we watch happen. We are not mere spectators. We are participants. We can ensure that the beautiful, holy light of which God is the source is made more and more visible in our world. 

This theme of light is such an important one in our faith in this time, particularly as we seek to repent of and transform the systemic realities of racism and injustice in our society and our Church. I recently read the book, Rebirthing God, by John Philip Newell. In it he tells a story from his own ministry that I have found particularly inspiring and thought provoking as I reflect on this theme of light.

He writes: “Many years ago I was delivering a talk in Ottawa, Ontario, on some of the main themes of the prologue to St. John’s Gospel, and especially the words “the Light that enlightens every person coming into the world” (John 1:9, adapted). In attendance that evening was a Canadian Mohawk elder. He had been invited to be there to make observations about the parallels between his First Nations spirituality and the spirituality of the Celtic world. At the end of my talk he stood with tears in his eyes and said, “As I have been listening to these themes, I have been wondering where I would be tonight. I have been wondering where my people would be tonight. And I have been wondering where we would be as a Western world tonight if the mission that had come to us from Europe centuries ago had come expecting to find light in us.” We cannot undo the tragic wrongs that have been done in the name of Christianity to the First Nations people of Canada and to the indigenous peoples of many nations throughout the world. We cannot undo the unspeakable acts of cruelty and arrogance, perhaps unparalleled in the history of world religion, annihilating and conquering in the name of the truly humble one, Jesus. We can, however, be part of a new beginning. We can allow the true essence of our Christian heritage to be born anew.”  [p. 67-8]

As a white person whose ancestors have been in this country since before the American Revolution, this quote brings me up short. It calls me to account. It reminds me of how much deep, important, challenging work there is to do. And this quote also fills me with hope. Because it reminds me that we do in fact have the power to change things. We are not condemned to repeat the sins of the past. 

There is hope on a global level. There is hope on an individual level. The Mohawk elder asks, “What if they had come expecting to find light in us?” Ah. It is not just about looking for the light. It is not just about waiting to see if we might find it. It is about expecting the light. I don’t know about you, but the emphasis on expecting invites me to reorient my perspective. It invites me to see the world differently. I am not just wondering if I will find light. I am expecting to find light. That means I am seeking out and looking for all that is good and holy even in the midst of the most challenging, frustrating or heart wrenching circumstances. That means I am seeking out and looking for the face of God in everyone I meet. That means I am expecting to find grace and joy each day. 

So on this feast day, as we celebrate God’s light coming into the world, I invite you to reorient yourself to the light. I invite you to seek it out in the midst of daily life. And I invite you to expect to find it everywhere. No doubt we will be surprised by what we find. Amen.  

Holding Fast To Joy

Grand Central Terminal

Rev. Molly F. James, PhD

St. Matthew's, Wilton

Advent 3, December 13, 2020

Isaiah 61:1-4, 8-11; Psalm 126; 1 Thessalonians 5:16-24; John 1:6-8,19-28

May God’s Word be spoken. May God’s Word be heard. May that point us to the living Word who is Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen. 

Paul writes to the Thessalonians, “hold fast to what is good.” He even tells us to “rejoice always.” Really? I want to say. Really, God? Is this the message you have for us today? Don’t you know how many things we are missing right now? Don’t you know how many reasons there are for us to be frustrated and sad right now? It is about to be Christmas, and we are deprived of holding people we love. For most of us it has been weeks or months since we held onto a handle in a subway car or the top of a Metro North seat. We have not held an elevator door for a colleague hurrying to their office or the door of a restaurant for the next patron. Medical professionals and first responders have held the hands of far too many who have died. We feel surrounded by loss and grief, and our Scriptures are telling us to rejoice? 

If you want to rail and argue and rage back against this text you are not alone. There is much to grieve in this time. We need to acknowledge the truth and the reality of the loss. It hurts. This is hard. Really hard. Especially for those of us who are used to having the power, the privilege, the resources to make things happen as we want them to, when we want them to happen. 

But here is the thing. Grief is not all there is. Yes, the challenges are great. The losses are probably more than most of us have ever experienced or ever thought we would experience. We need to be gentle with our hearts in this time. We need to be gentle with each other. The grief is real, but we cannot allow it to blind us to the beauty and the grace. Even in the midst of grief, there is cause to rejoice. 

That is what Paul means. The statement to “rejoice always” does not gloss over the reality of suffering. It is not meant for us to pretend that everything is okay even when it is not. It means that even in the midst of suffering there is cause for rejoicing. Always. It is Advent. It is the season where we are reminded that no matter how short the days are, no matter how dark it gets - literally or metaphorically - the darkness does not win. John the Baptist came to testify to the light. To announce to the world that the light shines in the darkness. 

It may be hard to see. On some days it may seem nearly impossible, but I promise that the light is there. Paul tells us to hold fast to what is good. Indeed we can hold fast to much, even in the midst of challenges. 

We may be struggling with all the people, all the things that we cannot literally “hold” in this season. But even if we cannot literally touch them, the love we have for them does not depend on being in the same room. In fact not being in the same room with them might be the most loving thing we can do for them right now.

There is the light. In acts of kindness and generosity. In a smile, even if it is on a screen. In the gifts of technology and modern life that allow us to work from home, to gather for worship in a way that keeps everyone safe, and to order delicious food to our doorsteps. Celebrating with family and friends in cyberspace even across great distances and time zones - possibly even a gathering of people who have not been in the same room for years, if ever. 

What we can “hold fast” to in this time may not always be tangible. It is the truths of our faith. The beauty of this world. The sunlight on the trees. The sky filled with stars. The myriad of ways we have to show each other how much we care - acts of grace and compassion, large and small. 

Even in the midst of stress and struggle, there is cause to rejoice. There is hope. Always. Things will not always be this way. We will again be able to gather in person. We will be able to travel, to ride airplanes and trains. To linger over a long meal with a dear friend in the corner of our favorite restaurant. It will all be possible again. And in the meantime, we can keep our spirits strong - to seek out all that feeds our souls and connects us to God and each other. To take more time for prayer. More time to care for our bodies. Time for sleep. Time for play. We can make more calls, send more letters. We can give generously. We can be more willing to accept help when it is offered. Indeed love and beauty will sustain us in this time. 

God is always present, always inviting us into deeper relationship. We need only keep our hearts open to receive that invitation. May we have the courage and the grace to do so this Advent and always. AMEN. 

A little more light

 

Monk's Window in Cistercian Abbey

Rev. Molly F. James, PhD

DFMS Noonday Prayer

Bernard of Clairvaux, August 20, 2020

May God’s Word be spoken. May God’s Word be heard. May that point us to the living Word who is Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen. 

In my senior year of college, I took an art history course on Cathedrals and the Arts. We looked at lots of religious history and architecture, and how it changed over the centuries. The abbey churches of the Cistercians stood out as a turning point from the heavy, dark architecture of Romanesque churches to the lofty light filled cathedrals of the Middle Ages. There is a particularly notable feature about Cistercian windows. While they are often still “stained glass” they are usually far more translucent than we might expect. There is far more light than color.

Today we celebrate the feast day of St. Bernard of Clairveaux, a notable monk who significantly expanded the Cistercian order. There are lots of things we could focus on about Bernard and his order - their rule of life, their particular place on the landscape of monastic Christianity (they are a stricter version of the Benedictines), or the way Bernard’s sermons inspired the Crusaders. Hmm. Lots of deeply problematic and tragic history associated with the Crusades. We have enough tragedy in the world right now, I don’t think we need to think about more. And all of us have had to adopt a new “rule of life” in recent months, but unlike those monks, it is not one we have chosen for ourselves. And while no doubt we have found opportunities to connect with God because of it, our current rule is not one we want to become permanent. We long for the time when in person gatherings will be the norm again. 

So, given the state of the world at present, I think there is far more value in us reflecting on the simple beauty of Cistercian architecture and the invitation in today’s beautiful Gospel passage from John. There is no doubt each of us, our communities and the world could use more light and more joy in our lives. Jesus said to the disciples, “I have said these things to you so that my joy may be in you, and that your joy may be complete.” Full disclosure, John is my favorite Gospel. I love the poetic language, the imagery, the themes of light and darkness. And today’s passage is no exception. Jesus is inviting us to abide in God’s love, to know his joy, to find a joy that is complete. 

Here is the thing my friends. Joy and love can be words that we use lightly or easily. They are familiar. They adorn greeting cards, and we talk about enjoying a good meal or loving some new gadget we bought. I almost want to put an asterisk by those words today. I want a footnote that says, “But not in the usual sense.” The enjoyment of a thing or an experience can be wonderful and meaningful, but it is fleeting. The love and the joy of which Jesus speaks is not fleeting or temporal. It is not attached to any material thing or any particular experience. It is foundational to our very being. 

That’s the thing. The very important thing. It is there. Always. The question is whether or not we are letting it in. It is like the light and those cistercian windows. We have a choice. We can have tiny windows that let very little light inside. We can close ourselves off from the world and from each other. We can focus too much in our heads and get ourselves stuck on all the scary “What ifs.” We can lose ourselves in our tasks and our desire to be productive, allowing the cultivation of relationships to keep falling to the bottom of the list. 

Or we can put connection first. Jesus tells the disciples that they will abide in God’s love by following the commandments. At their heart, those are really about maintaining connection, about maintaining a right relationship with God and with each other. That is how we access that love and that joy of which Jesus speaks. We find it by staying connected to God and to all those whose presence points us to God. To those who embody God’s love. To those whose presence fills us with joy. 

I hope that as we remember Bernard today, as we hear our Scriptures, as we hear Jesus’ invitation, we will find more and more opportunities to let the light into our lives. It is there. Always, even on the days when we feel exhausted, overwhelmed, frustrated or just plain sad. Sometimes we might just need to take a walk outside and look around. Sometimes we might just need to call a friend. Or look at a favorite piece of art. Or read a good book or a favorite poem. Or do something silly with a child. Or cook a favorite food. Or listen to music that heals our soul. There are a myriad of ways to bring more joy and more love into our lives. And the most marvelous thing is that when we connect with that joy and that love, when we connect more deeply to God, we are connecting to that which endures. It can never be taken from us. Thanks be to God. Amen. 

Reflections on Bright Tuesday

Sunrise

Rev. Molly F. James, PhD
DFMS Noonday Prayer via Zoom
Tuesday in Easter Week, April 14, 2020

May God’s Word be spoken. May God’s Word be heard. And may that point us to the Living Word who is Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen.

I learned recently that in the Eastern Church, today is known as Bright Tuesday. It is Bright Week actually. All the way from Easter Sunday to the first Sunday after Easter. It is a “bright” day and a “bright” week. Our lives have been illuminated with profound truths. The light of God’s love is shining brightly indeed. It is shining in our lives and in the world. Just when we need it the most.

We have an invitation to carry the truths of Easter with us, to extend our celebrations beyond a single feast day. We have an invitation to carry the reality of the resurrection, the truth of God’s promises to us throughout this week, throughout this season and beyond.

As I may have shared with you, when I pick a Lenten discipline, I prefer to pick up something to take on. A new habit that I will endeavor to continue after Easter, not just a temporary act of self-deprivation for a season. For me, that has been a far more spiritually fruitful way to do Lent. And I find myself wondering if there is not an invitation in this “Bright Week” for us to take on an Easter discipline. To allow the light of God’s love and truth to shine in our hearts and through our lives. An invitation to see how we might more fully enter into the Easter story and carry it with us for the rest of the year.

I think we could all use a little more Easter right now. I think we could all use a reminder of how God’s love can transform moments of horror and pain into stories of new life and possibility. And so I think there is a two-fold invitation for us on this Bright Tuesday.

First, it is to truly let the Easter message take up residence in our hearts and minds. This may seem particularly challenging. We are in the midst of a pandemic. Fear and anxiety are dominant emotions. For lots of reasons, we are experiencing grief and loss. This time is challenging on so many fronts. It can seem counterintuitive or just like too much to ask for us to be filled with Alleluias and joyful. But I am not talking about superficial celebration or merely trying to be cheerful and happy even when we feel sad. I am not expecting us to paper over or pretend our grief is not real. I am asking us to ground ourselves, to firmly plant our feet in the truth of Easter. We need the hope and joy of Easter to be our foundation. If we can start there then we can keep our perspective in the midst of our grief. In fact, Easter can hold the key to the beginning of our healing.

Easter is a story of transformation. It is a story of how God’s love can heal and change things. Don’t forget that the resurrected Christ still had his wounds. After Easter everything didn’t just become wonderful, easy or simple for the disciples. That is not what Easter promises us. Easter promises us that there is always hope. Even when things seem at the bleakest. Even in the darkness when we have come to care for our dead friend whose body seems to have been stolen. Even when we are sure that the suffering is more than we can handle. Even when it seems that things could not possible get any worse. Even when the fear and the pain are overwhelming. Easter promises us that is not the end of the story. Easter promises us that the dawn comes. The light comes. It promises us that in the light will shine in our hearts, in our lives and in the world. It might not always shine as soon or as bright as we would like, but that does not mean it is not there.

After we have grounded ourselves in the promises of Easter, I think the second invitation on this Bright Tuesday is to follow Mary Magdalene away from the tomb. Remember that Mary is known as the Apostle to the Apostles. Quite a title for a woman who would have been on the margins of society and regarded as someone else’s property. She is the Apostle because she was the first to see Jesus, and she was sent to proclaim the promises of Easter to the world. Just as God has done down through the centuries from Moses to Elijah to Jeremiah and Isaiah, from Miriam to Rahab to Ruth to Elizabeth, God picked the unlikely candidate to deliver God’s message. So what does that mean for us? It means it is not about us. It is not about our status or our identity. It is not about what we have or what we don’t have. It is about God. About God’s message. About God’s love. All of us are qualified to share God’s love with the world. All of us. We only need to keep ourselves grounded in the amazing truth of Easter, of the reality of resurrection. If we are connected to the transforming power of God’s love, then it will be evident to everyone we meet.

The world needs that love. It needs that love in abundance. Take note of all the ways it is manifest in your life at this present moment. Through the support of a friend. In the flowers and trees blooming forth. In the myriad of ways we are able to stay connected and build relationships even at a distance. In all the acts of kindness and generosity that are happening each and everyday in our communities. May we be inspired and go forth, like Mary Magdalene, and share the glorious truth of Easter with the world. AMEN.

Salt, Light, and Gregory the Illuminator

Embed from Getty Images

Rev. Molly F. James, PhD

DFMS Noonday Prayer via Zoom 

Gregory the Illuminator, March 23, 2020

May God’s Word be spoken. May God’s Word be heard. And may that point us to the living Word, who is Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen.

“You are the salt of the earth.” “You are the light of the world.” “Let your light shine before others.” Today I am grateful for these familiar lines of Scripture. We need salt and light right now. We need that which gives hope, depth, and richness to life. The fear and uncertainty are swirling. Many of us are in states that are now in a virtual or actual states of lockdown. We can make quick trips out for essential items, but we have basically been asked to stay home. In a matter of a few short days our daily routines, how we do our jobs, how our children go to school, how we get our basic necessities, and possibly even how we understand the world, has changed. Things look so very different than they did. 

And we may know many others for whom the impact of this pandemic is far more immediate and severe - those who are ill, those who are healthcare workers or first responders, those whose dire financial circumstances are represented in the ever increasing numbers at feeding programs and in unemployment claims. So much has changed, is changed, and will change. It is indeed a blessing to be gathering daily with you all for a time of prayer.

I always find the practice of communal worship to be grounding. It reorients me and helps me keep my priorities straight. I find myself in need of that all the more in these days. I need to be reminded to take a deep breath, to let go of my desire for certainty or definitive answers. I need to be reminded that God is here. God is with us. We will indeed get through this, together.

Indeed, the Gospel for today is so apropos. We are the light of the world. The fear and the uncertainty can feel overwhelming. And we cannot let them paralyze us from acting. Nor can we let the fear trick us into thinking we are powerless. Don’t get me wrong, there are moments when this whole thing is like a tsunami and I am just standing on the beach waiting to be caught up in its tumult. But then I pause. I breathe. I pray. I check in with a friend, and I am pulled back to the truths of our faith.

We are salt. We are light. We have power and agency. We can do good works in the midst of all of this. We can keep connecting with each other. In whatever ways are appropriate given our various contexts, we can do what the Church has always done in times like these - we can care for those who are most vulnerable. We can ensure that the light of God shines in the darkness. We can ensure that the flame of hope is never extinguished in our own hearts and homes and in our wider communities as well.

It is important for us to remember that we are not alone in this effort to embody light and hope for the world. We can do it together. We can bolster each other in our faith and in our work. And we can remember that we follow in a long line of saints who have struggled through challenging times, who faced difficulties and yet did not waiver in their faith. Gregory the Illuminator, who we remember today was imprisoned in a well for 13 years because he refused to participate in pagan rituals. Thirteen years! That is a long time. A few weeks or even months largely confined to our homes is not looking so bad after all. In Gregory’s shoes, it could seem easy to give up, and yet he did not. He persevered and was able to share the light of his faith (he is Gregory the Illuminator after all) with people throughout Armenia.

So, my friends, while the challenges before us are real, and they will test our faith and our endurance, they need not leave us disheartened or disillusioned. There is always hope. In the midst of everything, countless acts of kindness and generosity are being done everyday. We are salt. We are light. We are finding more and more ways to stay connected to each other, despite our physical separation. Through our faith, through our actions, through all the good that is being done around the world, there is light in the darkness. And together we can make that light even brighter. AMEN.

A little bit of light, a little bit of hope

Rev. Molly F. James, PhD

Grace Episcopal Church, Hartford, CT 

Advent 1A, December 1, 2019

Isaiah 2:1-5; Romans 13:11-14; Matthew 24:36-44; Psalm 122

May God’s Word be spoken. May God’s Word be heard. May that point us to the living Word, who is Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen. 

Beginning when I was in third grade, my mom and I started a tradition we called “People Trips.” I loved to read biographies. We would spend the winter reading biographies about someone and then plan a trip to where they lived and worked. We did trips on John F. Kennedy, Laura Ingalls Wilder, Lucy Maud Montgomery (author of Anne of Green Gables), Helen Keller, Winston Churchill, and Eleanor Roosevelt. That last one being  was probably my favorite and the most memorable. In addition to visiting Hyde Park and Valkill, we spent one afternoon riding in a cab around New York City. My mom had dutifully made a list of all the places Franklin and Eleanor had lived in the city. And then we ended with a stop to her memorial on Riverside Drive at the United Nations. Emblazoned on that memorial is a quote from Adalai Stevenson about Eleanor. He said, “She would rather light a candle than curse the darkness.” Indeed. 

As I read our readings for today, I could not help but think of this quote. Paul, in our letter from Romans, and our Collect invite us to “put on the armor of light.” I don’t know about you all, but I really appreciate that our readings this time of year focus on increasing the light. Of course, for those of us in the Northern Hempisphere, this fits exactly with what we are experiencing. We are only a few short weeks away from the longest night of the year. We are quite literally aware of the increasing darkness, and I would guess that most of us are craving more light. 

There can be a certain coziness to this time of year. More time spent inside, reading, cooking, playing board games. More sleep! But I would imagine that for most of us, it isn’t just the literal daylight that we crave. We crave a world that more deeply reflects the light of the Gospel. There are acrimonious divisions among our politicians, we are country deeply affected by the sin of racism, there is so much violence in our headlines, natural disasters seem to be an almost weekly occurrence. If we want to point to things that make the world feel dark and scary, there is no shortage. And it would be easy to just keep up the litany of complaints, to keep pointing out what is wrong with the world. It is the pastime of humanity from the dawn of time, complaining about the state of the world (see Genesis 3 and Adam and Eve’s first conversation with God, see the Israelites grumbling in the wilderness, etc.) You get the idea. Complaining is easy. 

Signing up to be a part of the solution? Take the initiative to choose a different path? Those are more challenging. Sin and evil are real. The devil likes nothing more than to paralyze with fear or to  get us to think that we are powerless to change something. We are not powerless. Not by any means. And we are going to be held accountable for our actions. That is what our Gospel reminds us of today. What we say and do matters. How we live our lives matters. We have power. We have a choice. We can give in to complaining or we can choose to live lives that light up the world. We can choose to live lives that share the light of Christ, share the Good News of God’s love with the world. We don’t have to do everything or fix everything. We do not bear this light alone. We just need to do our part. 

Think about the image of a candle. Think of how one small flame pushes back the darkness. Think about what happens when you use that single flame to light other candles. Pretty soon the whole room is full of light. All it takes is a little bit of light, a little bit of hope. 

So, my invitation to you today is to reflect on how you can put on your armor of light, of how you can stay focused on light and hope, even when we feel profoundly aware of the darkness that surrounds us. I invite you to think about, and keep at the forefront of your mind, whatever it is that fills you with hope. Maybe it is time spent with children? Maybe it is witnessing or doing small, simple acts of  kindness? Maybe it is knowing what a difference the feeding ministry and Christmas giving programs make here at Grace? Maybe it is a conversation with a good friend whose presence and voice just lift your spirits? Maybe it is the beauty of creation? Maybe it is time spent in prayer or reading Scripture? Whatever it is in your life that brings you joy and fills you with hope, I invite you to do more of it. To help you have a tangible reminder to have more light in your life and to be God’s light to the world, I have baskets of candles in the Narthex and here on the front pew. It is just a small battery operated tealight (so you can use it anywhere), and I hope that it will be easy to place on a windowsill or bedside table. Somewhere you see it often. May it be a reminder of the power of a single flame to push back the darkness. May it be a reminder that there is always a reason to hope. AMEN.