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I’d
like to start with a science lesson tonight. Can anybody tell me what a
laser is? Lasers, invented less than 50 years ago, have become the most
incredible tools in the world. A laser can be a weapon, of course, but it
can also be used to carry words and images. A carefully guided laser can
wipe out cataracts and restore vision to the blind. Every time you play a
CD or watch a DVD a laser is making it possible. Now they’re using
lasers in cardiac arteries to break up plaque, stop heart attacks and
avert the need for bypass surgery. But what is a laser? It is nothing more
than concentrated light.
Jesus
brought his own very special concentrated light to the world to cleanse,
to heal, and that sense is what I want to talk about as we look at Jesus
the Light of the World.
In
order to understand the full impact of Jesus’ declaration, “I am the
Light of the World,” we need to examine the darkness closely.
Specifically, I’m talking about a woman who was caught in adultery, and
was dragged by the legal experts, the scribes and Pharisees, in front of
Jesus. Her life was deep in darkness, but so were those of the Pharisees,
They had no particular interest in this woman. She was small fry—the big
fish they wanted to catch was this upstart Gallilean who dared to come
onto their turf and teach. Their trap was a clever one.
The
law of Moses said the penalty for sin was death, but this Jesus was
developing a reputation for being “soft on crime.” If he denied the
law, he was just as guilty as this woman.
Confronted
with this dilemma, Jesus did something very curious. He got down low to
the ground, and he doodled. He stuck his finger in the dirt and he
doodled. Don’t you think it would be fun to see what Jesus would doodle?
But actually, he was just letting the tension build, getting the timing
right for the punch line. The Pharisees are just about to explode with
frustration when Jesus looks up and says “You’re right. The law of
Moses says she deserves to die. Go ahead and stone her if you must. But
let the one who has no sin throw the first stone.”
And
one by one, these proud, dignified men, these keepers of the law, these
pillars of the community shuffle their feet and clear their throats and
melt away one by one until only the woman is left with Jesus. The dawning
realization spreads from her eyes to her smile: she would not have her
brains bashed in with rocks, not this day. This teacher, this Jesus, had
saved her life. And then he spoke: “Is there no one left to condemn you?
Then neither do I condemn you. Go and sin no more.” That’s when the
light really came on, in her heart, in her soul.
Have
you ever done something wrong, utterly wrong, to someone and been
forgiven? It’s as if a tremendous weight, a stone as big as a house, has
been lifted from your chest and you can breathe again. That’s what this
woman felt as the light came on and she knew that her life had been not
only spared, but changed. Tremendous relief. Tremendous gratitude.
Tremendous love. It is absolutely thrilling to be forgiven. The other day
my wife and I were driving to work right at dawn, and the sun just was
cresting over the hills to the east, and the light spilled out through
what had been gloom, and you just knew it was going to be a good day.
That’s what forgiveness is all about. Light penetrating the gloom.
The
story of the woman caught in adultery reinforces a consistent theme in the
Gospel of John, the one that we all know so well: God did not send his son
into the world to condemn the world, but to save it. To open it up to the
light of truth. And what’s the truth? In his Father’s eyes, Jesus
assures us, there are no outcasts. No second-class citizens. No one has
done anything, can do anything, so low-down, so dirty that they must hide
in the shadows for one more minute. No one can put themselves out of the
reach of Jesus’ love, and the Father’s forgiveness.
What
did Jesus mean when he told the woman, “Go and sin no more.” Do you
think he meant it literally? That seems like a terribly high hurdle to
set, knowing, as Jesus did, how weak and sinful all human beings are. I
believe, rather, that Jesus was saying, “I believe in you. I believe
that your life can be different than it was.” The circumstances that had
brought her to this moment didn’t keep her in chains. Jesus had
literally commuted her death sentence, and now was telling her that she
could live out the rest of her life in the light, not in darkness.
This
woman needed to understand, as we all need to understand, that God did not
create her or anyone to live in darkness—not the darkness of sin, or the
darkness of guilt. Jesus was showing her in the most down to earth means
possible that God is not some cop snarling “Go ahead, make my day,”
waiting for us to sin. God is not some sadistic being who enjoys seeing
his children squirm in agony on the rack of guilt. Jesus, who is love and
light incarnate, identifies with the sinner and forever holds open the
door of restoration and wholeness.
Did the woman go and sin no more? We
don’t know. Did the hypocritical accusers become thoughtful and
forgiving men? We don’t know. Did the crowd who witnessed this scene
respond to Jesus’ mercy and become his followers? We don’t know. But
two things we do know. The first is that you and I have heard the words of
Jesus, and we can respond. We can change our lives. We can be different.
The
second thing we know is that the Pharisees definitely did not like what
they heard and saw. They were upset that Jesus, this new kid on their
block, did not uphold their law and agree that the woman should be stoned
to death. Their law was supposed to bring light and justice, as was
written in Isaiah, “Listen to me, my people, and give ear to me, my
nation, for a law will go forth from me and my justice for a light to the
peoples.” But it could not lead people who liked to wander in
darkness into the light.
The
law led mostly to hypocrisy and self-righteousness. Oh, it could expose
human sin just fine. That’s what we’re sometimes very good at, too.
But it could not forgive that sin, and we have equal difficulty forgiving
those who have sinned against us, don’t we? No, the law could only deal
with sin by “sentencing guidelines”—that is, execution by stoning.
There is no forgiveness with law, only punishment. But the light that
Jesus casts on sin cleans it away completely, so that God remembers it no
more. We have no more criminal record. Only forgiveness can do that. Only
Jesus can do that. Only Jesus has done that.
Once
there was a man who went walking in the dark, only to fall into an open
manhole. As he tried to find a way to climb back out, he realized in
dismay that there was no ladder. And in the total darkness, he fumbled
around and found many corridors but had no way of knowing which led back
to the surface and which led only to more darkness. He cried out for help,
and along came a doctor, who asked what was the matter. The man cried,
“I can’t find my way out of this hole.” So the doctor wrote out a
prescription and dropped it into the hole, and kept walking.
Along
came a soldier who asked the same question. He dropped in a rifle and kept
walking. Along came a priest who wrote out a prayer, dropped it in the
hole, and kept walking. Finally along came a disheveled, down at the heels
man who heard the man’s cries and promptly jumped down into the hole
himself. The shocked and angry man cried out “What did you do that for?
Now we’re both down here in the dark.” But the disheveled man replied,
“Yes, but I know the way out.”
That’s
what Jesus the Light of the World did for us. He came to earth where
mankind was stuck struggling in the darkness, and showed us the way out.
Now
it’s our turn. What Paul said in his letter to the Ephesians still
applies to us: “For you were once darkness, but now you are light in the
Lord. Live as children of the light (for the fruit of the light consists
in all goodness, righteousness and truth) and find out what pleases the
Lord. Have nothing to do with the fruitless deeds of darkness, but rather
expose them.” What we do as children of the light, Paul says, is to
carry the light, Christ’s light, into the dark corners of the world, and
expose the deeds of darkness that happen there.
I
remember when I was a kid growing up in Greensburg, there was a big old
abandoned house a block down the street, and when we wanted to go to the
playground we had to walk past the house. Sometimes we would keep playing
till after dark, and then, of course, the house would become a “haunted
house.” I knew perfectly well, having walked past in the light, that
there was nothing to fear, just a falling-down house that once had been a
nice family home. But in the dark it became one of those houses where the
boys would dare each other to go up on the porch in the dark and peer into
the windows looking for ghosts.
No,
I never did even go up on the porch. I would tell you I didn’t because
my mother forbade me from going near the house, and of course I always did
everything my mother told me to do. But that would be untrue. I didn’t
go up in the dark, even with a flashlight, because I was too chicken.
I
think about that house sometimes today; somebody tore it down years ago
and put up an apartment building. I think, “Isn’t that how we are as
Christians sometimes? We know there’s nothing to fear in the dark, but
we’re too chicken to carry the light there.” Every one of us knows
people, right here in Vanderbilt, who are not yet part of God’s kingdom.
They’re still walking in the darkness of sin. If those people are ever
to see the great light that Isaiah spoke of, it’s going to be because
somebody just like you and me carried it there—not some great
evangelist, not some big-name TV preacher. Somebody just like you and me.
Of
course, it’s easier to live in darkness. Darkness is the path of least
resistance. That’s true both physically and spiritually. It takes no
effort to build a dark room. You just throw up four walls and a roof
without windows or electricity. Boom, instant darkness. If you want light,
you have to bring candles or lamps or power for lights. Or you can cut
windows in the walls to let in daylight, but even then you’ll only get
light for part of the day. Physically, darkness really is more the natural
order of things. In fact, before God created the universe, what was
covering the face of the earth? Darkness. So what was the first step to
creation? Making light. God is the source of all light, physical or
spiritual.
The
irony is that we’ve invented many kinds of artificial light to keep the
darkness at bay, from the first caveman’s fire right up to the laser.
We’re gotten extremely good at overcoming physical darkness, so good
that we’re much more tired than we were a hundred years ago, because
nobody has to go to sleep any more when it gets dark. The irony here is
that nobody wants to live in physical darkness, but spiritual darkness?
That’s another question. Let me assure you of one thing. Some
people—maybe most people—are not going to welcome the light. In fact,
they will attack you for invading their darkness with light.
In
1789, the common people of France started their revolution by storming the
Bastille, a castle-like prison in Paris where prisoners literally
disappeared, never to be heard from again. The mob demolished the prison,
freeing those held captive for decades. But one wretched man was dragged
from the dark cell he had occupied for many years. Instead of joyfully
welcoming his freedom, he begged to be taken back. It had been so long
since he had seen the sunlight, his eyes could not take it. His only
desire was to die in the dungeon that had become his home.
The
Apostle Paul understood an attitude like that. He spent many years walking
in the darkness, as a hater, a persecutor of Christians, and he too was
struck blind by the dazzling light that suddenly burst into his life, and
overcome by the awe of hearing Jesus’ voice. Because of that encounter,
Paul wrote forcefully that the Light of the World calls us to take over
the role of being light to the world of darkness we happen to live in. He
urges us to cling to Christ’s promise, that “Whoever follows me shall
never walk in darkness, but will have the light of life.”
It
is said that some people change their ways when they see the light, and
some only when they feel the heat. Paul experienced a little of both. I
hope we don’t have to. This Lenten season, let’s resolve to be just a
little bolder to let Christ’s light become our light. Let’s let others
know that we have been forgiven, and they can be, too. The light has come
on in our lives, and it can shine on all people everywhere. Amen.
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