Final Examination

Scripture: John 1

When I was an undergraduate at the University of Michigan, I took a class from an English professor who loved to tell stories about the prominent American poet Robert Frost. Frost had served on the faculty at Michigan many years before, and my professor had suffered through a number of difficult encounters with him. When Frost first joined the faculty, my professor gathered up some poems he had written and took them to the great man for his evaluation. Frost perused them quickly and—handing them back with palpable scorn—asked “Have you tried writing prose?”

Indeed, stories of Frost’s crustiness—or, if you prefer, frostiness—abound. He once gave a public reading of his well-known poem “Stopping by the Woods on a Snowy Evening,” which ends with the memorable lines “But I have promises to keep, and miles to go before I sleep, and miles to go before I sleep.” As soon as he finished, a hand shot up in the audience. “What were the promises?” a young man asked. “If I had wanted you to know,” Frost responded, “I would have told you.”

Frost’s response to the young man comes into my mind sometimes when I am reading the Bible. I encounter an instructional passage that raises numerous unanswered questions. Or I run across a story that appears to omit an important detail or that leaves me wondering what happened next. The knots in which I tie myself are undone by a still, small voice that whispers “If I had wanted you to know, I would have told you.”

Fortunately, some of the Bible’s messages come to us with unmistakable clarity. One of those, of course, is that we are called into the service of our fellow human beings. The scriptures repeatedly urge us to shelter the homeless and feed the hungry and clothe the impoverished and visit the sick and lonely.

Years ago, I read a story about a congregation that had become bitterly divided over nuanced issues of biblical interpretation, the structure of the worship service, and matters of church polity. When these controversies erupted at yet another meeting of the church leadership, one wise old soul rose to his feet. He cleared his throat and quietly asked to be heard.

He said, “I have a suggestion. Obviously, all these things matter. But they are also subjects of disagreement. What we cannot disagree about is that Jesus told us to care for the poor. So I’d like to propose that we focus our energy on serving the poor in the name of the Lord. Then, when we’ve got that under control and there are no more poor people who need our love and support, we can return to these other important questions.” The leadership agreed; the church changed course; the controversies vaporized; and, as you might imagine, their work continues.

I think the Bible offers us another message of unmistakable clarity, although it is a bit more abstract. That message is: go forth and bring light into the world. Indeed, it could be argued that no symbol plays as prominent a role in the scriptures as does that of light.

The scriptures are bookended with images of light. The first words spoken by God in the first chapter of the book of Genesis are “let there be light.” And the last chapter of the Revelation to John declares that, in the end, “there will be no more night” because the “light of the Lord” will prevail forever and ever.

Of course, the scriptures repeatedly refer to Jesus as “the light.” This theme is particularly prominent in the gospel of John, which begins by describing Jesus as “the true light, which enlightens everyone.” In other passages in John, Jesus proclaims that he is “the light of the world” and that whoever follows him “will never walk in darkness but will have the light of life.” In the twelfth chapter, Jesus urges us to “believe in the light, so that we may become children of the light.”

Paul loves this invitation to become “children of the light”—it is a phrase he uses frequently in his letters. It is as though Paul never ceases to be amazed by the proposition that the Son of the Living God implores people not just to recognize the light that he brought into the world but to find, embrace, and share the divine spark that they have within themselves. Perhaps we never cease to be amazed by it, either.

Light turns out to be a particularly rich metaphor when we seek to describe the human capacity for goodness. After all, sometimes our light shines brightly; sometimes it flickers a little low. Sometimes our light overcomes the darkness; sometimes the shadows subdue it to a dull sputter. Sometimes we are lifted onto a lamp stand; sometimes it seems as though the whole world conspires to manufacture bushel baskets to toss over us.

And we know that there are many different kinds of light. There are the magnificently bright stars in the African sky. There is the peaceful glow of a single candle. There is the radiant shimmer of the sun coming up over the horizon. There is the tiny glimmer in an infant’s eyes. All lights; all different; all blessings.

* * *

The English professor I mentioned earlier scared us half to death near the end of the term. He announced that he planned to give us the same examination that Robert Frost had given students when he taught at Michigan. After months of hearing stories about how Frost did not suffer fools gladly we were beside ourselves with worry.

On the day of the examination, our professor strode into the room and told us the exam was about to begin. He picked up the chalk and wrote a single sentence on the blackboard. The sentence said: “Show me that you have learned something.”

This is, indeed, one of the Bible’s unmistakably clear messages. Bring out your light. Let it shine. Do not worry about whether it is the biggest or the brightest or the most colorful or the most consistent. Just own it as a blessing. And then put it to use.

It is our way of saying to the Lord: I am listening.

I am trying.

I have learned something.

Amen.