Recently, I saw an image of the Westerheversand Lighthouse in northern Germany, for the first time. It’s supposedly one of the most photographed lighthouses in the country, and a scenic icon for the region (just 60 miles south of the border with Denmark). As ships were becoming stranded in the nearby treacherous North Sea, construction began 120 years ago, and would be run by the German people until 1978, when it became fully automated. The stories that could be told, I’m sure, of the keepers of such life-saving light.
When I was serving with my first congregation after seminary, shortly after I started, I remember a clergy colleague stopping by to introduce himself, and he invited me to their text study group, who would gather in a local grocery story café, as they looked ahead to the upcoming Sunday’s readings (and perhaps try to “borrow” some ideas for the sermon or pass along interesting tid-bits to their respective church’s Bible study). Soon enough, I would learn about that same neighboring pastor, who went out of his way to extend the kind-hearted hospitality, that in his retirement years, he and his wife were lighthouse keepers at various locations around Michigan. They would volunteer (after usually paying some sort of fee to do so, of course) to stay at or near the respective historic lighthouse, and fulfill various tasks for the general upkeep, lead tours, all the while enjoying the beautiful scenery for a weekend or weeks at a time.
It’s an interesting way of considering our call as disciples of Jesus Christ. We often hear the plea for us to let our light so shine before others to glorify God and all (Matthew 5:16). It’s almost as if the light was ignited within us by God in Jesus Christ from the start, and the Holy Spirit keeps it going, in hopes we’ll actually share its breathtaking-ness with other earthly wanderers, convincing them of the authentic love and grace and hope. But I wonder if there’s something about being “keepers” of that light. It’s not that we’re trying to keep it to ourselves, though. That’s not what lighthouse keepers do, after all. They tend to the structure to ensure it can be marveled over for generations to come. They invite people in to hear the stories of how it all came to be, and its continued impact amidst all the (needed) forms of technology and safety navigations galore. They take time to marvel over the internal and external and surrounding breathtaking-ness, even if they’ve done it numerous times before; because it just never gets old to do so.
I wonder if that’s something to consider with the Divine light. And although there’s something rather automatic about the light of Christ always managing to rotate at a relentless speed of hope, never ceasing to live and never giving up on us impacting surrounding lives; but there’s something about tending to it with interest and curiosity and awe and dedication and intent and compassion and adoration. There’s something about even taking time amidst our wanting to maximize on our personal faith experiences, to invite others into our personal adventure with God, with the world; and to share our learnings and experiences, sometimes leading others to respond “Wow…” to it all. There’s something about marveling over the past of how the person and the building and the surrounding community all came together, and seeing the beauty within and beyond, even if you’ve thought and talked and read and prayed about it all before; because it just never gets old to relive it again. Maybe there’s something about being keepers of this light that’s never going to stop shining for the whole world to be captivated by it, and maybe at some points, by us (in Christ), too. Amen (so let it be)!
In Christ,
Pastor Brad