“He left Nazareth and went to live in Capernaum by the sea, in the region of Zebulun and Naphtali.” (Matthew 4.13)
A favorite gospel song of small children, learned in Sunday school or in Bible camps or at home, is “This Little Light of Mine.” Written sometime in the 1920’s, the simple stanzas, filled with repetitive verses, brings smiles to children’s faces as they enthusiastically sing the words, “This little light of mine . . . I’m gonna let it shine . . . Everywhere I go, I’m gonna let it shine.”
Musicologists, for the most part, aren’t sure of the exact Biblical reference alluded to in the song, simply because there are so many references to light in the Scriptures. Many music historians decide to go with Jesus’ words in the Sermon on the Mount, “Neither do people light a lamp and put it under a bowl. Instead they put in on a stand, and it gives light to everyone in the house” (Mt 5.15). No one really can contest the similarity between that scriptural verse and the words of the song.
In many ways, the song is a summary of both the Hebrew and the Christian holy texts. As we know the Hebrew Scriptures begin with the story of the creation of the world, a world where there is nothing but darkness until the Lord God created light. “God said, ‘Let there be light and there was light. God saw that the light was good.” (Gn 1.3)
That motif of the duality of light and darkness continues throughout the Hebrew Scriptures, with the prophets using the image of darkness to suggest something evil or evasive, while using the image of light to suggest something good and godlike. So, the prophet Isaiah can write, “The people who have walked in darkness have seen a great light” (Is 9.2), emphasizing by these words that a wayward people have been returned to the right way by the mercy of the Lord God.
For the same reasons, the Christian texts begin with the same duality, notably the prologue to the Gospel of John, wherein he speaks of the Word-Made-Flesh, “This life was the light of the human race. The light shines in the darkness and the darkness has not overcome it” (1.2-3).
The evangelist is on solid ground when he uses these images because the Teacher of Galilee of whom he speaks often spoke of light and darkness in his preaching to the people, drawing on the historical message of darkness as the situation of those lost in sin, while light is the situation of those who follow the will of God the Father.
Today, in our selected texts, another of the evangelists, Matthew, employs the same ancient images as he tells the story of the start of the mission of the Galilean Teacher, who leaves Nazareth to live in Capernaum. Reaching back into Hebraic history, Matthew echoes the prophet’s words when he writes of the Rabbi’s beginnings in this way, “The people who sit in darkness have seen a great light, on those dwelling in a land overshadowed by death light has arisen.”
This reference roots the Rabbi’s mission in the long history of the Hebrew people, a people who often lost their way, not only in the Desert of Sinai, but also in Judea, too often walking in the ways of darkness, distancing themselves from the ways of light. We understand, then, why the evangelist writes, “From that time on, Jesus began to preach and say, ‘Repent, for the kingdom of heaven is at hand.’”
Here begins the preaching of Jesus of Nazareth, “repent” being the first word of his inaugural address as he takes the first steps on the road that will lead him through the towns of Galilee and towards the city of Jerusalem, where his mission will be fulfilled, when the cruelty of evildoers reaches its apex with his crucifixion on the cross. As the evangelist so aptly describes that horrific scene, “From noon onward, darkness came over the whole land until three in the afternoon” (27.45).
The mission of the Galilean preacher, as given to him by his Heavenly Father, was to bring the light of divinity into the darkness of the human heart, urging us to repent, or turn away from the depravity that had its claws in our souls, inviting us to return to the path of God, a pathway marked by the light of goodness and truth, the light of love and mercy, the light of generosity and humility.
As we see in the texts, that inaugural address by Jesus of Nazareth is followed immediately by his selection of the first disciples, beginning with Simon and his brother Andrew, then James and his brother John. To each of them, he said the same thing, “Come after me and I will make your fishers of men.”
The new Rabbi from Nazareth understood that the darkness of sin that overshadowed the world was so deep in the human heart that he could not obliterate it by himself. He needed helpers, ordinary men and women who still believed in the power of goodness and right and truth. He needed people like you and me.
In the early centuries after the Nazorean’s death and resurrection, others who wished to follow his way were brought into the community of believers through an initiation rite that occurred in the dead of night, with darkness all around, with the initiation concluding on the cusp of dawn, with light breaking through the darkness.
Aside from the obvious enactment of repentance, or turning away from the deeds of darkness, it also was, in many ways, a perfect way to teach the newcomer the central truth of his or her mission in the world–to bring light into the darkness. From that moment on, they were to walk in the light of the gospel, following in word and deed the teachings of the Galilean Rabbi, refusing to be pulled into the dark pit of sin, from which escape is near to impossible.
That mission remains unchanged in the two thousand years since the return of the Risen Christ to the side of his Father in Heaven, urging us to continue his ways, inviting us to do as he did, asking us to bring light into the darkness of this world. If we remain faithful to our promise to follow the ways of the Galilean Teacher, then our lives become bursts of light that radiate around us, dispelling the darkness, a glimmer of light that shines through the night, seen even from miles away.
The fulfillment of the mission will be measured by how much light we bring into the world, just as our failure to fulfill the mission of being Christ-for-others can be measured by the amount of darkness that we bring into the world. As Pope Francis said in his first Christmas Eve homily in 2013, “If we love God and our brothers and sisters, we walk in the light. But if our heart is closed, if we are dominated by pride, deceit, self-seeking, then darkness falls within us and around us.”
That always is the call and the challenge for the Christian believer–to choose the path of light and to contest the allure of darkness. Or, as the children’s song makes the same case, “This little light of mine, I’m gonna let it shine. Everywhere I go, I’m gonna let it shine.” As we all learn, without this little light, this big world will inch closer and closer to the primordial darkness that covered it before the Lord God said, “Let there be light.”
Among the many stories that have been told from that dark period in the history of World War II, there is one that still shakes us to our shoe soles. When the Nazis invaded the city of Prague, they began to round up the Jews in the city, as they had done in other cities. They also torched and burned all the synagogues.
When the soldiers broke into one such synagogue, they found an old rabbi in his study, working on his sermon for the next Sabbath. Wanton and depraved, they sought to humiliate the old man. So they forced him to strip naked. Then they made him stand naked in his pulpit, clothed only in his rabbi’s hat.
“Say something in Hebrew for us,” they taunted the man. “Preach to us what you were going to say at the next service. Yes, preach!” The old rabbi stood there. Then he began to speak in Hebrew. None of the Nazi tormentors could understand what the rabbi said. But he spoke clearly and faithfully these ancient words from the holy texts:
“In the beginning God created the world. And God said, ‘Let there be light.’ And there was light. And it was good.’”
–Jeremy Myers
Sunday Brunch 