Light

Light Examen – it is another take on the examen, and Rachelle’s post has me thinking, where have I experienced God/Light this week?

The answer seems to crawl around my edges in many ways, I think of these words from Kate’s post turn turn turn,

Do you want to know what I think makes sunlight so beautiful? I think it is the contrast of the absence of light. It is a perfect balance.

And these words from Paul’s post Emerging Truth & Orthodoxy

Truth then is not a matter of opinion, truth is incarnation and embodiment, truth is a particular story lived into and especially lived out of.

Where have I seen Light this week?

One of the particular stories I want to live out of is that I am loved, and that gives me grace to love others. On a Divine level, I seem to be able to find the rhythm of living in that light. On a community, family level, I struggle more.

Most weeks, L and I have a standing date for early breakfast on Friday mornings. It is not my best time. Thursday night, I suggested to L that we have coffee in bed on Friday morning. This Friday morning date was a magical time for us, and as I moved my car so he could take his to work, L told me “I love you.” “I know” came the response from somewhere deep within me, and then we both started to laugh and cry. Too often I don’t know, too often I wonder “What does that mean?” Friday morning, I loved the feeling of “I know.” It was a place I saw Light this week.

On Saturday night, L and I had another date. We went to a favorite neighborhood dive to eat, and walking back, we passed an even divier bar. Looking through the windows, we watched men and women sharing a couple of mikes laughing more than they were singing, and their fun called to us. There is not much I like better than to walk into a hole in the wall with L, find two empty bar stools, wrap my legs around mine, order a glass of whatever is on tap and see what happens.

This night was an exceptionally short wait. Within minutes, I was singing along with the guy manning the karaoke machine and within a few more minutes he was by my side and we were sharing a mike as I backed him up with do wa’s on the chorus. The book appeared in front of L, and Light My Fire by the Doors was the song L chose to sing.

Backing him up wherever I could, L wailed on the song. Sitting back down, the guy beside us bought our next beers. The bouncer starting telling the bartender about a mutual friend, I started asking questions, and heard a story of betrayal and a man dealing with the aftermath by trying to drink himself to death. The bouncer introduced himself to us, and I’m hoping to go visit his friend in hospital tomorrow.

Then, Tom made his way to our stools. Tom, whose 48 year-old wife died of a sudden heart attack 2 years ago. Tom told us that his wife and he have five kids, he told us about their last weekend together, and then he told us her favorite song was American Pie by Don McLean, and asked L to sing it with him.

Do you know that feeling as you are watching the car door slam and you are powerless to stop it before those fingers on the rubber get slammed? L and I both had that feeling, I think.

In afterthoughts today after meeting for worship, L shared it like this. Tom was one of the most obnoxious men L had been around in a long while. The man sitting by us from Columbia had just bought our beers, and we were looking forward to trading stories with him. But then came Tom. And we’d teared up with Tom’s story. And it came with a request. A request that might stop the fun.

A frigging 15 minute song that is impossible to sing and bound to get you booed off the floor. But, in the midst of not wanting to do that song, you just knew it was a Spirit opportunity. So L said yes, and he and Tom and I sang American Pie. By the end of the song, Tom was crying and L gave him a hug as I watched. And as L was telling the story, the afterglow of that moment was real. We might never see Tom again. We might see him next Saturday. But I believe that moment of L lighting the fire of Jesus in that place of darkness was real. As Kate said, the contrast of the absence of light made the light of a simple act of kindness, an honoring of grief and loss, glow in the darkness. And it was L and I living out the story we know.

Comments

[Paul Fromont]

What a lovely post Anj. Grace and peace to you.

[Jim Sturges, Sr]

"... I was in prison and you visited me...."

[bobbie]

beautiful anj! sharing in the grief of others, bringing in the light in such a 'normal' way. not pushy, not obnoxious, not judgemental. that's what jesus would do. thank you for being there for your neighbors.

[stephanie]

Radiating light - through the haze of life's bitter moments.

Jesus says to "be salt and light" - and as Rebecca Manley Pippert says, we are to get out of the saltshaker and into the world!

Loved this post. Love the idea of stepping through doors that are intriguing and finding the extra to the ordinary within.

[Barb]

Not sure that I can find the words to know how to respond to this post! Except to say that I loved the post and the stuff it's about. Hearing the story about you guys being who you are, enjoying people and yourselves and offering something of the the Light that you know to others fully brings tears to my eyes this morning and encourages me in my journey hugely.

[candy]

i am covered with goosebumps. they started when you and L decided to go in the dive bar and they got more intense when L told Tom yes. now That is Light. let it shine!

[Deb]

Light...how wonderful. It's been a topic going through my mind the past few days too. You have a tremendous ability to paint pictures of truth with your words. Thank you!