Third Sunday in Ordinary Time Year A
The death of a loved one always hits us hard, like a tsunami
that sweeps everything away, leaving the land barren and broken. We are thrown
into a great darkness that feels void of everything we’ve trusted and loved. Our
impulse is to turn away from death, turn away from pain, and find refuge in the
darkness, a darkness so dark that you could slice it with a knife. In the
darkness, we slowly attempt to unravel the trauma and deal with our anger,
despair, and loneliness. In the darkness, we feel the extent of death’s
devastation, but we also discover what we need to do. In my fourth year at the seminary, I lost two
significant persons in my life, both of whom I had loved dearly; a maternal
grandfather and a former spiritual director. In my grief and confusion, it was
easy to seek the companionship of darkness, “my old friend.” It was here in this darkness that I thought I could find the means
of rebuilding my life from the ashes. Ironically, it is the very darkness that forces
us to search for the sliver of light that survives in the rubble of our hearts.
One night,
still reeling from the sudden loss of these two luminaries in my life, I took a
short walk up to the hill located behind the seminary. A black-out had plunged
the whole island into darkness. While others found the whole experience
inconvenient and even eerie, I welcomed the darkness as it somewhat resonated
with my personal mood. In the darkness I discovered
something which I had often taken for granted. If you are an urbanite like me, seeing
stars in the sky was a rarity. Light pollution usually gets in the way. But on
that darkened night, my naked eye could see for the first
time, thousands of stars, it was as if the whole Milky Way had just
emerged from behind a curtain. It was so incredibly beautiful. Then it dawned
on me that I was not alone in the darkness. Light shone in the midst of
darkness and the darkness, no matter how seemingly over-powering, could not
overcome it.
The people who
lived in the Galilean areas of Zebulun and Naphtali, mentioned in both the
first reading and the gospel, also experienced a distressing darkness. When
Isaiah uttered the prophecy which we just heard in the first reading, this area
was located under a shadow of darkness. The Assyrian army had overrun it and
was oppressing the inhabitants with every type of violence. The people lived
without hope or consolation. The gloom that had settled over the land penetrated
right into the heart and soul of every inhabitant and rendered the continuation
of human life impossible. But this darkness was not Isaiah's last
word. The prophet envisioned a light, a glimmer of hope. He saw the
darkness and gloom giving way to radiant light and joy.
The people living in the shadow of despair would have been
looking ahead to this moment, anticipating their own liberation. Finally, the light did appear on the Galilean
mountains, but only 700 years later. The light, as St Matthew tells us in
today’s gospel, is the illuminating word of Jesus, who began His preaching in
Galilee and slowly began to spread it outwards. As Jesus moved along the shore
of the Sea of Galilee, and on the Sea
itself, He shed light onto the lives of many people who had experienced the
ravages of war, occupation, violence, failure and abandonment. Wherever the
gospel was preached, darkness was driven back.
St. Matthew sees in the very ministry of Christ the
fulfilment of Isaiah’s prophecy. “Land of Zebulun! Land of Napthali … The
people that lived in darkness has seen a great light; on those who dwell in the
land and shadow of death, a light has dawned.” As so perceptibly pointed out by
St. Augustine, this episode like so many others demonstrated the truth that
“the New Testament is hidden in the Old and the Old is made manifest in the
New.” Saint Gregory the Great also taught that “what the Old Testament
promised, the New Testament made visible; what the former announces in a hidden
way, the latter openly proclaims as present”.
Jesus, the Light of the World, came to bring those in
darkness, those who were disparaged, those who were suffering, those grieving,
those who were in sin, on a pilgrimage out of darkness and into the light. It
wasn’t enough for them to see the light. He was going to help them walk in the
light, to live in the light and become light. That’s why, as St. Matthew
recounts for us, His first words were “Repent for the kingdom of heaven has
come near,” which is another way of saying, “Leave the Darkness. Come and live
in, the Light!”
If all this seems too lofty and ephemeral, Jesus made that
pilgrimage from darkness into light even more concrete and specific. He saw two
brothers, Simon and Andrew, fishing. He said, “Follow me, and I will make you
fishers of men.” Even though St. Peter was aware of his own sinfulness and
brokenness, and that he was living in darkness, Christ called him. And he left the
darkness behind, he left his boats, he left everything immediately and followed
Christ. As did his brother Andrew. As did James and John moments after. To
follow Jesus, to embrace His way of life, was to leave the darkness behind and
live in the light. But that was just the beginning for the apostles. In the
Sermon on the Mount, Jesus would remind them that they “are the light of the
world, … let your light shine before others, that they may see your good deeds
and glorify your Father in heaven.” So
they accompanied the Lord in His missionary journey, passing on the light of
His teaching and curing every disease, showing others that just as He took them
from the darkness of ignorance, suffering and pain into the light of knowledge
and health, so He wanted to take their souls from the darkness of sin and
doubt, the gloom of depression, the pall of grief, into the radiance of a life
changing relationship of love with Him.
Just as He had called these first disciples, it is crucial
for each of us to recognise this personal call that Christ makes to us, to
leave any and all darkness behind and follow Him into the light, to live and
walk always illumined by Him. The Lord summons us to follow Him into the light
so that we, in turn, can become His light.
The light of the world, illumining the paths of others to Him, and
through, with and in Him, enter into the dazzling and eternal light of God’s
abiding presence. Discipleship is thus heeding the call to walk and live with
Christ to follow Him on that pilgrimage out of the gloom and darkness of our
existence.
If there is anyone here today who still walks in that
darkness, do not grow too accustom to it. When you spend too much time in the
darkness, you will eventually find it more comfortable than the light. Come to
His light — walk no longer in darkness! No matter how difficult things may
seem, no matter how bleak, no matter how dark life may become, His light shines
in the midst of darkness and the darkness can never overcome it.
In 1969, Edwin
“Buzz” Aldrin, one of only two astronauts who stepped foot on the moon carried
this prayer with him, a prayer written for all soldiers during World War II. In
the darkness and isolation of space, with only darkness as an “old friend,”
this prayer must have been a blazing beacon of light pushing back all the
darkness of the universe,
The Light of God
surrounds me;
The Love of God
enfolds me;
The Power of God
protects me;
The Presence of
God watches over me;
Wherever I am, God
is,
And all is well.
Amen. (‘Prayer of
Protection,’ by James Dillet Freeman)
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