February 4, 2007 Sermon

Shining
Exodus 34:29-35

I have changed the name of the main character in this true story.

For several years I have volunteered once a week during the lunch hours at West High School. I play a little basketball and four square, chat with students, and generally keep order. No fighting, don’t climb forty feet up onto the folded-up bleachers to retrieve your basketball, that sort of thing. I admit I started volunteering reluctantly. I do not like playing traffic cop, especially with teens. But the elders of the church were enthusiastic. This could help create a closer relationship with students from our church and the whole school community.

I got hooked. I like to play basketball and four square. And watching the social swirl at the high school fascinates me. Romance hangs in the air as thick as a cloud of mosquitoes. All the old groups from our school days are still in business. Their names may have changed, but their place in the scheme of things has not. Every once in a while I listen when a young person wants to talk. And it helps me keep better tabs on what my own daughter and son have faced at school.

Public high school is the last place most of us spend time with all kinds of people. West High School certainly has all kinds. Occasionally I get cussed out—more often by girls than by boys. I overhear things that, were they even 10% true, make my skin crawl. And watching the outcasts breaks my heart. Allow me to introduce you to Zach. He used to come into the gym to play four square. He wore a frustrated expression. He never spoke. He would silently wait his turn to play and then, when the ball came his way, hit it hard. This is a risky strategy. The best four square players assume the role of human backboard, making safe shots and waiting for others to make the mistakes that force them to the back of the line for getting into the game. Zach never stayed in the game for long.

I remember thinking that Zach played a furious game of four square. He hit that ball like he was hitting someone he hated. The other students must have felt it, too. They took to targeting him for elimination. The popular kids always target somebody. Usually I am a target. I understand. Nobody wants the old guy to beat them. Nothing personal. To its credit, the group generally looks out for the special ed kids who love to play four square. But Zach would come onto the mat swinging for the fences. Sometimes he would accidentally hit the ball into somebody’s face. Plus, he was totally disconnected from the others. He had no contacts, let alone friends. Add it all up and the group decided, without saying a word, Zach must go.

Last weekend, Zach went. Last weekend, Zach committed suicide.

Every student I have talked to about Zach had the same reaction: “I didn’t know him, but it’s still really sad.” The adult volunteers felt the predictable things. They have been asking each other, “What if I had struck up even one conversation with Zach? Would that have made enough of a difference?” And, “It was there, written on his face. Why didn’t I do something about it?” Zach’s lonely anger was written on his face. It was there for all to see. I saw it—and did nothing.

By the power of the Holy Spirit, we need to learn how to read faces with discernment and wisdom. We need to pay closer attention to each other—not that we might pry into others’ business, but that we might convey the love of God when needed.

We just read a passage from Exodus. This is a very old document relating an even older episode: how Moses’ face shone when he had spent time in the presence of God. His face shone brilliantly because he had seen God straight up. He took to wearing a veil afterwards. Note that Moses’ face did not shine with its own light, but with God’s. In Hebrew thought, God’s light had a physical reality. It was more than merely a view of God as seen on whatever surface it struck. That shining was the very power of God. It was the glory of God made tangible. And now Moses had possession of some small measure of it.

The whole Bible tells the story of humanity trying to live in this powerful light of God—and failing. It tells us that the light of God can illuminate our steps, guide us down the path of obedience to God’s will. It tells us that the light of God can heal, or destroy. It tells us Jesus was that light even before created time began. The Bible tells us all this about the light of God, and more. Today I am telling us all that we live in this light all day, every day, but that we have learned not to see it.

I have known a few people who radiate the light of Christ. It literally shines in their faces. I think of a young woman Linda and I spent a summer with twenty-seven years ago. I think of an older woman we knew in St. Louis. I think of a preacher I know right here in this community. I have seen the light of Christ in their faces. I have thought, “I wish I had such a powerful example of God’s powerful light shining from me.”

There is a dark parallel to all this. I have already explained how it works. A young man like Zach brushes up against our lives. We glance at his face and see the darkness in it. Usually we have no conscious response. We might feel something about it, but no more. Occasionally we may ask ourselves what has caused that darkness. We may actually do something about it, but only rarely.

We need to pay stricter attention to light and dark. We need to court the light of God. We need to celebrate it when we see it reflecting off of others. We need to pause when we see darkness in them, instead. Zach participated in a special program for students with reading disabilities. A teacher many of the students in our church have had for a regular class runs this program. She and I know each other superficially. I saw her at the school last Tuesday, the day after Zach’s death became known. I do not recall her exact words, but she made a comment along the lines of, “I knew something was wrong with Zach. I tried to reach out to him, but his problem was in his spirit.”

Precisely. When we see the light of Christ shining on a person’s face we see the physical manifestation of God’s glorious, Holy Spirit. When we see darkness we look not at the absence of God (for I believe God inhabits all places, all the time), but the absence of an awareness of the presence of God. We look at a person who does not know God is there. We look at a lonely, angry person. We look at a person God calls us to bring into the light.

So how do we bring others into the light of Christ? We do our best to court the light for ourselves. We do our best to live like we have the light of Christ. And when God gives us the moment, we do not lose the chance to speak of our faith in Jesus Christ.

We court the light of Christ by means of the spiritual disciplines I preach about week after week. We pray for it. We worship Christ together to strengthen our experience of it. We read the Bible to learn how to tell when we have it. But we must also learn how to live more obviously in the light. Remember, Moses shone not with his own glory, but with the glory of God. In the same way, we must learn to let the light of Christ shine without shame or pride.

Maybe then we can do something about the next Zach God plants in our lives.