Be dressed for action and have your lamps lit.
In the name...
So, one night, in 2012 Brooks and I had walked Cotton the puppy, from the Woodlands, where we lived, back to the seminary, where we were in charge of locking up. Believe it or not, folks there actually trusted us with all the keys to the building, and our job every night was to check all the office doors to see if they were locked and if not, to lock them.
We had a routine, and it was a good way to use up a lot of puppy energy, so Cotton was often our companion. And we were on our way back home, talking about this our that, stopping to let random strangers oooh and ahhh over Cotton (everyone who ever saw that pup would do that).
But it was getting cloudy and the winds were picking up. And we were walking past All Saints Chapel when they started. Alarm sirens. Everywhere. As loud as could be. And a voice telling us to take cover. Another string of tornadoes were sweeping through the South that night and had come to Sewanee. Two had been sighted, and we were to go to the nearest shelter.
Well, Sewanee has a really good plan and we are all given maps during orientation, so we know what to do. This is something the whole population there takes seriously. So we looked around and saw that the library was close by.
We picked up Cotton, and off we ran. And we were about a hundred yards away when the power went completely, utterly off. It was a few seconds I guess before the generators kicked on. But for that minute, it was pitch black. I mean I've never seen that sort of darkness. I couldn't even see the puppy in my arms. I couldn't see Brooks right next to me. It was blinding darkness. I had never been so scared in my life.
Then there were clicks and hums and generators kicked in and emergency lights flickered on, and we continued running toward the light of the library, shouting at each other over the alarms to hurry. We sat in the basement, huddled with a few hundred other students, not knowing what was going on outside, up there. We didn't know how our friends and families were. We just had Cotton, and he was having a blast, doing all the things a puppy is supposed to do: licking, playing, making everyone smile in this awful time.
But Brooks and I were just sitting there, getting antsier and antsier. So many people we loved were out there, and we couldn't do anything but wait. And hour or so passed, maybe and hour and a half. And finally the all-clear was given, and we were let out of the basement.
We made our way out of the lit building, outside to see what awaited us. We were told that the tornadoes never actually touched ground, but all around the library, bikes had been picked up and tossed around, limbs had shattered off trees, some minor damage here and there. It was not nearly as bad as some other places that were destroyed that day, just a few miles away, but it was enough.
We started walking back. Even Cotton seemed to have picked up that something had changed, so we had to carry him the rest of the way. As we left campus, generator light was left behind, and we had to enter into the world of pitch blackness once again. We stumbled around over what should be familiar territory. Getting home took twice as long as we bumped into things and each other. Neither of us even had those phone lights because service up there is so sketchy that we'd tend to leave our phones at home.
And I was getting scared again, I could feel it creeping up my spine. Then we saw it. A glow.
Now where we lived in the Woodlands was sort of in the middle of a ring of duplexes. And power was off everywhere. But there in the middle was home, with every window lit with a candle. You see, Brooks was head sacristan at the Chapel of the Apostles, and he had the habit of bringing home used chapel candles. And during the storm, Becca had put those candles in every window so that people in our group of homes could see our duplex and get their bearings.
And when we got closer, the door was open, and she was sitting inside, candles everywhere, on every surface. And in the middle, she was sitting at her work table, calmly making bowties to sell to students. And she looked up at us, and smiled, and said, “Well, that was something. I have some cold chicken in the kitchen.”
Darkness. So mysterious is this phenomenon. See, darkness can be a beautiful time of the day, a time for rest and wonder, for sitting around and telling tales, for gathering and enjoying one another. I for one, love darkness and the way things change as darkness settles in. But you have to be prepared for it. Because darkness is a different creature, a wild creature, and it can turn on us just like that.
So many of us are unprepared for those dark times in life. If we're lucky, our time in the darkness is an adventure, and we can find our way back to the light. But sometimes, over time, if we spend too much time there, we adjust and embrace its darker aspects.
Pleasant conversations at the office become harmful gossip. Honest concerns become unhealthy obsessions. Pleasures become addictions. Confidence in being right becomes hubris. Trust can be broken with a moment's seduction of darkness. The darker side can eat us up and lead us to harm ourselves and others.
Even churches can suffer, too. We all have heard stories where just one member or a small group succumbs to the darkness, hiding and working in the shadows, damaging the body and sowing discord, losing sight of the light, losing sight of the commandments to love. And so I find myself thinking of those slaves waiting for the bridegroom --- not knowing precisely when he would return home. But it grows dark outside, and they can either just struggle in the dark, like Brooks and Cotton and me. Or they can light their lamps and get to work, like Becca, putting the darkness aside.
I can't imagine they just sat around, staring at the door. No, they would have been busy about other tasks: all pointed to the service and care of the one they are waiting for. It is the same for us, of course. We work and watch and wait for Jesus to come home again. Just like those slaves would have done so long ago, busy about our tasks, but never losing sight of who we are here to serve.
Keeping our lamps lit, never letting the darkness overwhelm us.
Keeping our lamps lit, working together, even when we disagree.
Loving together, even when we can sometimes be unlovable.
Striving together, even when some of us want to give up and quit.
Keeping our lamps lit. Ever watchful for those who stumble in from the dark, looking for a different life.
Keeping our lamps lit. Using the light of the Lord to focus on what's really important...serving God and serving others.
Keeping our lamps lit, never forgetting to lean a little towards the door as we await the return of the bridegroom, who, upon entering, will light up our world in a brand new way.
So when the storms begin to brew in your life. When we see that we risk succumbing to those dark attitudes of gossip and slander and obsessions and distrust and fear of change and all manner of harmful attitudes...When we begin to lose our way in the dark, let us look for the light.
Can you see it? That candle flickering in the window? Go there. Go that way. Know you are welcome there. And put your mind at ease as you put yourself to work with others who are there already.
Working for justice, not glory.
Working for peace, not power.
Working together, not alone.
Working in unison, not at odds.
Preparing for a better day, for a better time, for a better life. Preparing for the Lord to come home. Amen.