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I am intrigued by lighthouses (and if you look at the icon at the bottom of this blog, you might’ve suspected as much. A lighthouse lends itself to all sorts of symbolism.) There is the practicality of the light as a warning of dangerous shoals and reefs, but also as a beacon to come home to safe harbor. Cool. I wanna be a lighthouse keeper. Some years back, male child Jeremy married the love of his life, Kathleen Fleet. Kathleen’s home is Traverse City, Michigan, and that’s where the wedding took place. Teresa and I found Traverse City to be absolutely delightful, a quaint storybook town. Actually, we came away feeling that Michigan was a state we could easily vacation in … the Pure Michigan commercials on TV are a great representation of the beauties of our neighbors to the north (and for this Southern boy, I’m glad to be open-minded enough to consider life above the Mason-Dixon Line as actually liveable!) We visited the Mission Point Lighthouse during the wedding. This lighthouse was built in 1870, and warned seamen of the dangerous shoals extended out into Grand Traverse Bay. Michigan has more lighthouses than any other state, but what sets this one apart, at least among the lighthouses around Traverse City, is that it has a keeper program, during which you sign up for a time slot and actually serve as a keeper. The light has long since been decommissioned, but you live in the tender’s house, manage the gift shop, answer questions, do maintenance, all that. Lovely. Just lovely. That’s as close as I’d ever come to being an actual lighthouse keeper. One day, perhaps. My understanding is that the life of a lighthouse keeper and his family is a solitary one. He must, however, look to the needs of those he may never meet. Think about it. He is steward over a light that lives literally depend upon. And should his light go out … I don’t want to torture this metaphor, but you see where I’m going. I know of people who were once lights who, for whatever reason, no longer shed the light they once did. What does this imply about faith? It’s possible that those (us?) who were once lightbringers are now shadows of what we once were. We got tired. We gave up. Those who once looked to us turned away. Pity. I wonder if part of the problem might be that we never realized that our light was fading. We became so routine and used to our role in life that we left the light untended, without sufficient fuel, until it was too dim to make a difference. Perhaps we only wanted light for ourselves. It might be that our light was never build on the Light that never fails. God is light, ancient script says, and in Him is no darkness at all. When you are in the dark, you feel isolated and alone. Light gives us the ability to not only see what is around us, but to give others comfort in knowing that they are not alone. We aren’t called to draw people to our own light. Rather, our call is to be a tender of God’s light. We don’t have to be something we aren’t. We don’t have to depend on our own luminescence. His light never fades. It never gives false guidance. We depend on it for ourselves. We depend on God alone. And, as He sees fit, He allows us to not be the light but to reflect the light. His light can cut through the fog, give guidance in the storm, and ultimately lead those seeking harbor a place to lay anchor in safety. “Whenever, though, they turn to face God as Moses did, God removes the veil and there they are—face-to-face! They suddenly recognize that God is a living, personal presence, not a piece of chiseled stone. And when God is personally present, a living Spirit, that old, constricting legislation is recognized as obsolete. We’re free of it! All of us! Nothing between us and God, our faces shining with the brightness of his face. And so we are transfigured much like the Messiah, our lives gradually becoming brighter and more beautiful as God enters our lives and we become like him.”(italics mine.) 2 Corinthians 3:16-18, The Message [/av_textblock]