by Demi Prentiss

Isaiah 60:1-6
Arise, shine; for your light has come,
and the glory of the Lord has risen upon you.

For darkness shall cover the earth,
and thick darkness the peoples;

but the Lord will arise upon you,
and his glory will appear over you

In a sermon “for dark times,” sub-titled “Why Bullies Fear the Dark,” Lutheran pastor Nadia Bolz-Weber points out that this passage from the Book of Isaiah, a reading for the Feast of the Epiphany, speaks to her of the Magi, the kings who visited the infant Jesus in Bethlehem.  She contemplates whether Isaiah the prophet was reminding his Jewish hearers of “Let there be light” from the Biblical creation story, or perhaps of the pillar of fire that led them out of slavery in Egypt toward liberation. She wonders, “Maybe Isaiah’s audience needed reminding as we do, that those who walk in darkness can still see great light.”  She adds, “I think maybe The Magi carried the light of Christ within them because they had been close enough for it to soak in. And that is what lit their path [on their way home].” She’s thinking, “Phosphorescence.”

She continues:

“Phosphorescence in case like me, you forgot, works like this: the energy goes in quietly. The transformation happens unseen. And only later—often much later—does the light begin to show, but it’s only visible in the dark. Which is frustrating, frankly, for those of us who prefer immediate results or visible proof….

Phosphorescence.

Maybe this is how a life of faith actually works.

We tend to think of faith as something we work for. A virtue we strive to inhabit. A spiritual New Year’s resolution we keep.

We in the West are very determined people. We set a goal, determine the steps, take action, work hard, and achieve the thing. And look—that works great if you’re training for a 10K or trying to get your real estate license.

But the life of faith operates within a different order of reality. You do not, in fact have to create, muster, manufacture, or maintain your own light. I promise you have been absorbing enough of it for long enough to shine with it.

You have been absorbing God’s light all along—even when you don’t believe it, even when you aren’t paying attention, even when you are phoning it in, even when you are pious as all get out.

Because that is just what gently happens when we get to do things like baptize babies while renouncing evil in the process. This is what quietly happens when we light candles and say prayers, and read Scripture aloud and sing hymns… even when we don’t really “feel it”.

So if you too don’t feel particularly radiant right now—if it feels like Isaiah describes, that darkness covers the earth and thick darkness the peoples—and you are convinced you cannot possibly rub two sticks together to somehow create a spark, just know this:

Maybe you don’t have to. In fact, I wonder if manufacturing our own brightness can obscure a gentler light that God has provided for the path ahead.

And so when things get dark—and they will—the light of God’s word, shines enough to be a lamp unto our feet. Stumbling, maybe. Dancing, sometimes. But always the next step is lit. Not because you have made yourself dazzling.

But because the Light has already found you.

And no. I still do not know what the future holds.

All I know is that in Christ, in prayer, in word, in sacrament, we have quietly, unsuspectingly been absorbing everything we need to phosphorescently light the path before us wherever that leads.

Because the light of Christ does not vanish when the world goes dark.

It lingers.

It lingers in those of us who have sat in the presence of forgiveness—and thought nothing was happening.

It lingers in the children in these pews who seem distracted by coloring, but who are absorbing Scripture without realizing it.

It lingers in all who have heard that a light shines in the darkness and the darkness has not overcome it.

And then one day—
when the power fails,
when the star disappears,
when certainty collapses—

there you are.

Glowing just a bit.Not because you are shining with your own goodness or faith. But because you were once close enough to the Light of the world that it soaked into you. And that kind of light has a way of leading people by another road.