Jesus
had gone up the mountain and sat down. His disciples came to him, and he began
teaching them. One of the things he
taught them was this: "No one after
lighting a lamp puts it under the bushel basket, but on a lampstand, and it
gives light to all in the house. In the
same way let your light shine before others, so that they may see your good
works and give glory to your Father in heaven."
This
teaching seems pretty straight forward, doesn't it? But on closer examination the teaching seems
more complex. What is a good work? To be a good work must it be one that gives
glory to God? And how might we be able
to discern that?
Growing
up I lived "in town" rather than in the country. Our neighbors' houses were close to ours
because the lots were rather narrow across the front. They extended far enough back to afford plenty
of back yard, but what our neighbors might see or hear was of concern to my
parents. To this day I remember being
told that Mrs. Kelly might hear me when I got angry and lost my temper. The unstated implication was that my tone of
voice or volume would not show that I was the sort of daughter who would make
my parents proud. I had been taught the
Ten Commandments in Sunday School--"Honor your father and
mother"--but I was angry, and I was not concerned about Mrs. Kelly might
think. I wasn't too concerned about
God's opinion either, but I did realize my parents would probably classify
expressing one's anger by raising one's voice as sinful.
There's
a secular concern outside the context of sinfulness about what others think of
what you say and so. David Brooks, a New
York Times columnist, wrote an opinion piece this week (Feb. 7) entitled,
"Other People's Views." In the
column he considered four situations. Given
these four situations, he wrote about whether or not--and how--you should
consider another person's feedback or their expected feedback before you speak
or act. His conclusion: yes, sometimes;
no, sometimes. He said,
"Officially, we tell each other we don’t care. We are heirs to a
19th-century rugged individualism that says the individual should stand strong
and self-reliant, not conform to the crowd. We are also heirs to a 20th-century
ethic of authenticity that holds that each of us is called to be true to our
sincere inner self, and that if we bend to please others we are failing in some
fundamental way. . . [But] In most circumstances, therefore, we owe it to our
group to usually follow the rules that help people behave
considerately." There is one
situation he said in which you should not sacrifice your convictions: when
"you have religious or political beliefs that make you unpopular."
When
we think about the context in which Jesus is teaching his disciples, we see
that he is addressing the same issue David Brooks addressed. To follow Jesus meant believing he was the
long-awaited Messiah. In first century
Palestine this was both a political and religious belief. The Romans saw
someone claiming to be the Messiah as a threat to public order who deserved
execution. Many--although not all--of
the religious authorities saw Jesus as inauthentic--teaching and acting in ways
that did not fit with their idea of the Messiah.
So
Jesus encouraged them to hold fast to their "unpopular" belief for in
order that what they did or said as his disciples would give light to everyone
whom they encountered. He called what he
wanted them to do or say their "good works." He continued by telling them their "good
works" must be characterized by righteousness. Their righteousness must be so extensive that
it will illuminate the nature of God's coming reign in which all of creation
will be renewed and experience the justice and compassion of God's law.
That
seems to be an impossibly high standard.
The prophet Isaiah addressed this sort of righteousness when he
prophesied about what God saw as a proper fast: loosing the bonds of injustice,
letting the oppressed go free, sharing your bread with the hungry, bringing the
homeless poor into your house, clothing those who lack garments, and caring for
those in your family who need you. We
may be able to comply with this prophecy some of the time in certain of these
cases. But all the time, in all instances—as
I said, an impossibly high standard. Yet
that is what scripture and what Jesus has told us God's reign would be
like. For in God's reign we can become
partners with God in the healing and renewing of all creation.
In
Isaiah's prophecy there is also God's promise to care for us as we partner with
God: " . . . your light shall rise in the darkness and your gloom be like
the noonday. The Lord will guide you
continually, and satisfy your need in parched places, and make your bones
strong; and you shall be like a watered garden, like a spring of water, whose
waters never fail.
God's
care for us, in Isaiah's words, gives us life.
We may be experiencing gloomy depression, our spiritual lives may seem
like a desert, and we may feel too weak of heart to keep trying. But despite these difficulties, God reaches
out and says to us: I want you to be
part of my reign of justice and compassion. When you follow me, God tells us through
Isaiah’s prophecy, you will find that my way--although it may seem impossible
much of the time--will be life giving and will make you a light to draw those
around you to me.
Yes,
God's grace will accomplish good works through each of us who open our hearts
to God's leading. Our good works,
through God's blessing them, will bring God's reign one step closer. God calls us everyday to these good works,
and every day God's grace blesses our responding to this call. In our responding, we truly become "the
light of the world."
