Light of the World

The homily I heard this morning, preached by a Colombian deacon who will be ordained a priest this spring in Worcester, repeatedly stressed the phrase "¿Como podemos ser luz por los demas?"– "How are we able to be light for others?" On one of the first brilliantly sunny days in a little while in our winter-weary city, these words carried some extra resonance. The Gospel today narrates Jesus' use of a lantern as a metaphor for our lives: "You are the light of the world... no one lights a lamp and covers it with a basket; instead, it is put on a lampstand, where it gives light to all who are in the house." (Matthew 5:14-15)

As a teacher, I reflect often on how well I may be illuminating my students' lives, whether with factual information about United States history, discussions on different types of religious communities, or just the example of my dedication to ministry, community living, and a life of prayerfulness and service. I know that when I doubt myself, my light grows dimmer, and in the face of all the difficulties and challenges my students bear each day, I am not always confident that my seemingly feeble light is strong enough to overcome the darkness in the lives. It is as if I am not as aware of my own light unless I can see it mirrored back– in the sudden insight of a student, the support and companionship of a good friend, or the refreshing feel of a rich conversation.

Some overnight rain froze into a thin glaze over the snowpack; this morning, the campus and city sparkled in the crisp, piercing rays of the winter sun. Strolling around campus after Mass, I couldn't help but notice that, even in stillness, the snow was more than capable of casting its brilliance far deeper than my mere sense of vision. Patches sullied by splashes of muddy slush are more numerous, yet the overall effect is still one of great beauty. I like to believe and hope that the same is true of each of us... even with less than ideal reflectivity, even with spaces of doubt or suffering or pain in our minds and hearts, we are still very much the light of the world, and well worth placing on lampstands rather than hiding where we are harder to see.

Some additional thoughts from Mary Oliver:

"The Buddha's Last Instruction"

"Make of yourself a light,"

said the Buddha,

before he died.

I think of this every morning

as the east begins

to tear off its many clouds

of darkness, to send up the first

signal– a white fan

streaked with pink and violet,

even green.

An old man, he lay down

between two sala trees,

and he might have said anything,

knowing it was his final hour.

The light burns upward,

it thickens and settles over the fields.

Around him, the villagers gathered

and stretched forward to listen.

Even before the sun itself

hangs, disattached, in the blue air,

I am touched everywhere

by its ocean of yellow waves.

No doubt he thought of everything

that had happened in his difficult life.

And then I feel the sun itself

as it blazes over the hills,

like a million flowers on fire–

clearly I'm not needed,

yet I feel myself turning

into something of inexplicable value.

Slowly, beneath the branches,

he raised his head.

He looked into the faces of that frightened crowd.

– From "New and Selected Poems, Volume One" by Mary Oliver

Jesuit Community, College of the Holy Cross

College of the Holy Cross, Worcester MA

Fenwick Hall, College of the Holy Cross, Worcester MA