Difference between revisions of "Sermon for October 29th, 2023"

Revision as of 22:20, 28 October 2023

Genesis 1:1-4

1 In the beginning when God created the heavens and the earth, 2 the earth was a formless void and darkness covered the face of the deep, while a wind from God swept over the face of the waters. 3 Then God said, ‘Let there be light’; and there was light. 4 And God saw that the light was good; and God separated the light from the darkness.

Job 17:7-12

7My eye has grown dim from grief, and all my members are like a shadow. 8The upright are appalled at this, and the innocent stir themselves up against the godless. 9Yet the righteous hold to their way, and they that have clean hands grow stronger and stronger. 10But you, come back now, all of you, and I shall not find a sensible person among you. 11My days are past, my plans are broken off, the desires of my heart. 12They make night into day; ‘The light,’ they say, ‘is near to the darkness.’

John 1:1-5

1 In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God. 2 He was in the beginning with God. 3 All things came into being through him, and without him not one thing came into being. What has come into being 4 in him was life, and the life was the light of all people. 5 The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness did not overcome it.

==John 8:12 12 Again Jesus spoke to them, saying, ‘I am the light of the world. Whoever follows me will never walk in darkness but will have the light of life.’

Post Tenebras Lux

This is St. John's Kirk in in the city of Perth, Scotland. It's the church where my ancestors worshiped at the dawn of the Reformation--in fact, they were probably here on the exact day in 1559 when John Knox came to town and preached a thundering sermon that sparked the official beginning of the Reformation in Scotland. They were big fans of John Knox, and Presbyterianism. One of my ancestors was even with Knox at his death bed.

This summer was my third visit to St. John's Kirk, and if you wander around to the back of the church, to the North-East corner, you can find this placard hanging on the wall.

It tells the story of how everything went wrong--not for Scotland, or the Reformation, but just for my family. On August 5th in the year 1600, the Earl of Gowrie (the head of the family) was murdered along with his younger brother, the next in line to the Earldom... they were murdered by James VI of Scotland, later to become James I, King of England AND Scotland. But in 1600, when he was still just king of Scotland, James stripped my remaining family members of their titles, possessions, and homes. He decreed the family name out of existence, and hunted down any who remained in Scotland. This is why I'm not a big fan of the King James Bible, folks.

The placard tells a grim story--but if you look at the very bottom, you'll see some hopeful words printed in Latin:

Post Tenebras Lux. It means, "After the darkness, comes light." Of all the mottos of the Reformation, this one was the most well known. It is engraved on the Reformation wall in Geneva, underneath the statues of Calvin, Knox, Farrel and Beza. It remains to this day the motto of the city of Geneva, and for hundreds of years, it was also engraved on all of Geneva's coins.

But it wasn't always the motto of Geneva--at least not in this form. Before the Reformation, the motto of Geneva was Post tenebras spero lucem. After the darkness, I hope for light. That version comes from the Latin (or Vulgate) translation of Job 17, verse 12 (one of today's scripture readings). After the darkness, I hope for light.

According to at least one biographer, it was none other than John Calvin himself who took out the "spero" or "I hope." Calvin first came to Geneva in 1536, at the request of his friend, William Farel, and at the request of the town elders, who wanted him to reform the church in Geneva. But after just two years, Calvin and Farel had brought more reform than the elders had bargained for, and so they were extended the "left foot of Christian fellowship" (they were asked to leave).

That must have been a brutal experience for Calvin. It was his very first job as a pastor, and they rejected not only him, but all he believed in, all he had worked for. Calvin left Geneva and became the pastor of a small church of French refugees in the town of Strasbourg. He settled there for three years, got married, wrote some books, and was enjoying his new life...when the town elders at Geneva decided that things were worse without Calvin's leadership than they had anticipated, and so they begged him to come back.

At first, Calvin was mortified at the thought. But at the urging of several of his friends, and a relentless stream of letters from the Geneva council, he finally relented. The letters from the town council always concluded with the motto, Post tenebras spero lucem. After the darkness, I hope for light. When Calvin finally wrote back, expressing his intent to return, he ended his letter with Post tenebras lux. That was pretty bold--it's as if he was telling them, "stop hoping and just believe that God will do it. After darkness, light comes, just as sure and certain as the day follows the night.

Calvin remained in Geneva, reforming the church, teaching, preaching, and pastoring there for the rest of his life. And the motto of Geneva became the rallying cry for the entire Reformation itself: Post tenebras lux. After darkness, comes light.

That motto is one of the reasons why the medieval period came to be called the "dark ages." It's a derogatory term, and not entirely accurate. There was just as much advancement in art, literature, science, and technology in the medieval period as any before or after it. But the reformers viewed that period as a dark time in the life of the church, and they saw themselves as bringing the light of the gospel to a dark age...and the label stuck.

The truth is, there are dark times in every age, and in every life. All the way back to the very beginning.

In the beginning, when God created the heavens and the earth ... darkness covered the face of the deep ... Then God said, ‘Let there be light’; and there was light. 4 And God saw that the light was good; and God separated the light from the darkness.

So there has always been darkness, but from the beginning, God has been in the business of bringing light into our darkest moments.

The first century AD was a pretty bleak time for the people of Israel--they had been conquered and occupied by the Roman Empire, which imposed heavy taxes upon them, and brutal laws. What's worse, their own religious leaders imposed even more strict rules upon them, rules designed to exclude and separate the righteous from the unrighteous--making the average person feel like God was inaccessible, far away.

And then God spoke again:

In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God ... What has come into being in him was life, and the life was the light of all people. The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness did not overcome it.

And so God's living Word, God's son, Jesus, came into the world. He taught the people. He healed the people. He fed them. He loved them. He said to them, "I am the light of the world. Whoever follows me will never walk in darkness but will have the light of life."

And... the people rejected him. They deserted him. They betrayed him, and ultimately, they crucified him. Sometimes we get pretty attached to our darkness.

I think of my children, who in the evening will ask me to wake them up early the next morning so they won't be late for school. They promise me that they'll get out of bed right away, that they won't be angry with me for doing the very thing that they are asking me to do. But every morning, as soon as I flip on the light switch... bloody murder! You'd think I had mortally wounded them deep in their souls! They clutch their blankets and pillows tightly around them, burying themselves in their last bastion of darkness.

Why do we do this? Why do we cling to the darkness when we KNOW how much we need and want the light?

The city of Geneva prayed for reform, and so God sent them John Calvin, but the reforms were too much, and they rejected him. The people of Israel prayed for a messiah, and God sent them Jesus Christ, but he wasn't quite the sort of Messiah they had in mind... so they rejected him.

If light comes after darkness, post tenebras lux, then why do we resist the light, and the ones who bring it?

I suspect it's because in the light, we see ourselves more clearly--our faults, our failures, our inconsistencies, and our errors. And that's a pretty terrifying thing. At least in the dark, we can pretend that we are who we want to be, and if it's dark enough, maybe no one will notice it isn't true. The light that comes after darkness is actually a lot of hard work. Post tenebras lux.

Fortunately, if there's a thread to all these stories, it's this: Our God is a God of second chances, of resurrection and reformation. Even though we cling to the darkness... the light still comes. Calvin eventually returned to Geneva, and both the city and the pastor were better for it. Jesus rose from the grave, ascended into heaven, and now prepares a place for us in God's kingdom. My ancestors lost the family castle, but gained a whole new world. They brought their Reformed Presbyterian faith with them. And kilts. And bagpipes....

Some of you may be in the midst of your own dark night of the soul right now. I want you to remember that after the darkness comes the light, and the light is always nearer than you think. Remember too, that light means change, and change means hard work, serious reflection and self-examination.

But remember you don't have to do it alone. Light comes from unexpected sources, and usually it's a person (or people) God has sent into your life to help--maybe it's a pastor, a parent, a teacher, a friend, a spouse, or a stranger just passing through. Whoever it is, thank God for those people. Thank God for the light they bring. And as you step out from the shadows, may you embrace the warmth of that light, knowing that God's love will always lead you to the dawn of a new day.

Alright... since we're talking about light and darkness today, I can't help it. I'm gonna have to end with a few lightbulb jokes.

Q: How many Presbyterians does it take to change a lightbulb? A: Five. One brave Presbyterian to actually make the change, and four to complain about how much better the old days were, when we used to sit around in the darkness.

Q: How many government bureaucrats does it take to change a lightbulb? A: Two. One to assure people that we're doing everything possible, while the other one inserts the bulb into the water faucet.

Q: How many gorillas does it take to change a lightbulb? A: Just one, but it takes a whole LOT of lightbulbs!