Darkness has Died…Light has Come
Psalm 27
March 10, 11, 2007

I know that some of you are Andy Rooney fans. In his book, Not That You Asked, he offers 100 of his oldest and most passionately believed opinions. For instance, he shares perspectives like these-can you identify with any of them? He says, "I don't like any music I can't hum." "When I was young, I always assumed that I'd get to like carrots; but when I got older, I never did." Or how about this comment about canines: "If dogs could talk-it would take a lot of the fun out of owning one." On a more serious note, Rooney says: "I do not accept the inevitability of my own death; I secretly think there may be some other way out." And here's another one that relates to our scripture lesson and theme for today: "The middle of the night seems longer than it used to."

FOR SOME PEOPLE, ROONEY'S REFLECTION HITS WAY TOO CLOSE TO HOME. We don't have to read the newspapers. We don't have to watch television and hear about house fires and tornadoes and other tragic events. We don't have to listen to the radio and hear about the war. We don't have to log on to the Internet and see endless streams of stories about Anna or Brittany or Kevin or Scooter. We don't have to do any of those things to encounter people with serious problems. We don't have to do any of those things to hear stories about serious struggles with darkness and despair. Within this community of faith… Within the lives of the members and friends of this congregation… Within the experiences of the extended family of the folks with whom we are connected… Someone… Many people… Are stumbling in the darkness.

Here are just a few examples from this past week. Several members of the church family said "good-bye" to dear loved ones. Many are struggling with a variety of illnesses-some annoying and some life-threatening. Some of us are trying to keep marriages from coming unglued at the seams. Some of us are stuck in jobs that are dull and dreary-some of us just wish we had a job. Some of us are carrying the heavy burden of caring for family members-some of us just wish our family members were still around. Some of us are dealing with enormous challenges with their children-and some children are dealing with enormous challenges with their parents. Some of us are wondering about the meaning and purpose of life-and whether life is worth living at all. Many of us are concerned about problems that seem too big to fix-war, famine, poverty, issues of justice, inconvenient truths of all kinds. Someone…many people…who are worshipping here today… Are stumbling in the darkness… Waiting for a glimmer of hope, a touch of grace, a glimpse of the light of God. But this is all a part of the human condition-and it has always been a part of the human condition.

SOME PEOPLE THINK THAT OUR SCRIPTURE PASSAGE, PSALM 27, IS OVER 3000 YEARS OLD. The words have been around for a long time. They became a part of the hymnal, the Psalter, for God's people. And we often hear them read or sung today-especially during times of trouble and tribulation. "The Lord is my light and my salvation!" The words are arranged in a poetic form so that they echo back and forth-proclaiming the glory of God. God's light creates my salvation! My salvation has come about because of the light of God. The source of strength in my life is the strength of God! There is nothing in all creation of which I need to be afraid! Nothing can separate us from the light of God! There are times in our lives when we need to sing songs like Psalm 27.

Nicholas Wolterstorff is Professor Emeritus of Philosophical Theology at Yale University. Some years ago he wrote a book titled Lament for a Son. It is about the grief he experienced following the tragic death of his 25-year-old son. The young man perished in a European mountain climbing accident. Here are some of the words of the grief stricken professor of theology: Writing to God, he wonders: "Where are you in the darkness? I learned to see you in the light. Here in this darkness I cannot find you. Will my eyes adjust? Are there songs for singing when the light has gone dim?"

What a heart-wrenching question. Are there songs for singing when the light has gone dim? Most of you know what he is talking about. The rest of you will know at some time in your life. And I would venture to say that Psalm 27 is one of those songs that God's people have sung and continue to sing when the light has gone dim. Even when we experience difficult times, like those described in verses 7-10… Even when we feel lost or forsaken or surrounded or abused… Even when we feel like God is gone… Even when we feel like giving up… We are reminded-don't give up!

The Lord is my light and my salvation! The Lord is my salvation and my light. The Lord is my strength! My strength is the Lord! In the midst of the darkness, be strong-take courage-wait for the light of the Lord! The theme resonates throughout scripture-beginning in the beginning. The world can truly be a dark and scary place. But by the time we are grown, both our eyes and our hearts have often become so accustomed to the dark that we forget the warmth and radiance that light can bring to our soul. Our theological ancestors remind us that one of the primary ways God becomes known to us is through revealing glimpses of the divine light. Moses begged for a glimpse of God-and was honored with a brilliant back-side view. Isaiah proclaimed: "Arise, shine, for your light has come!" Habakkuk describes God with beams of radiance shooting out from the Creator's hand. The transfiguration text we heard a few weeks ago describes the dazzling light that surrounded Jesus on the mountaintop. And in Jesus, the light becomes incarnate, God's Light in this world. The Lord is my light and my salvation-the Lord is my salvation and light-but sometimes we have to wait.

A WOMAN NAMED SUSAN TELLS OF LOSING HER MOTHER TO CANCER. Her mom was "her dearest friend." Always supportive, her mother was the one… Who clapped the loudest at her daughter's school plays... Who held the box of tissues while listening to her daughter's first heartbreak… Who comforted her daughter at the time of her father's death… Who encouraged and supported her daughter through her years in college… Who prayed for her daughter-every day of her entire life. When her mother's illness was diagnosed, Susan's sister had a brand new baby. Susan's brother had recently married his childhood sweetheart. So it fell on her, the 27-year-old-middle-child-with-no-entanglements, to take care of her mother. But she counted it an honor. Her mother fought against the cancer courageously and was an inspiration to those around her. She kept as positive an attitude as is possible in the midst of extremely difficult circumstances. And even in some of her worst moments, she was able to maintain her wry and witty sense of humor. Susan's mom lived much longer than the doctors had predicted-but she eventually let go. She was one who not only lived faithful and well-she was one who died faithfully and well.

But now Susan sat at her mother's funeral service. She was surrounded by people, but felt very much alone. Her siblings and family members were seated in front of her. But she still felt incredibly left out. Susan's pain was so intense. She found it hard to breathe. She felt like she was suffocating. Alone in the cold, hard pew, she wondered, "What now, Lord?" Her brother and sister had their families-but she had no one. Her place had been with her mother-preparing her meals, helping her walk, taking her to the doctor, making sure all of her medications were taken, reading the Bible and the church newsletter and other books to her. Her place had been with her mother-and now she was alone.

Then she heard a door open and slam at the back of the church. She heard quick footsteps coming down the carpeted floor. An exasperated young man looked around briefly-and then sat next to her. He folded his hands and placed them on his lap. His eyes were brimming with tears. He explained, "I'm late," though no explanation was necessary. And after a hearing several people offer eulogies, he leaned over and asked, "Why do they keep calling her Margaret? Her name is Mary?" Susan whispered, "Because that is her name-Margaret. "Never Mary-no one called her Mary." She wondered why this person couldn't have parked on a pew on the other side of the church. He interrupted her grieving with his tears and fidgeting. She had no idea who he was and had never seen him before. The service continued and he muttered, "No that isn't correct; her name is Mary, Mary Peters." The young woman corrected him, "That isn't who this is." Many people in the sanctuary glared over at the two of them, frowning, disturbed by the noise they were making. He asked sheepishly, "Isn't this the Lutheran church?" She said, "No-the Lutheran church is across the street. You're at the wrong funeral, sir."

Then she got a little tickled-have you ever had that happen at a very serious and somber time? The solemnness of the moment mixed with the realization of the man's mistake kind of bubbled up inside her. What came out was laughter. She cupped her hands over her face, hoping it would be interpreted as sobs. But she couldn't help herself. Sharper stares from other mourners only made the situation worse. She peeked at the bewildered, misguided man seated next to her. Then he started to laugh too. As he glanced around, he decided it was too late for an uneventful exit. But rather than being embarrassed, Susan remembered her mother's sense of humor. She imagined her mother being caught up in the moment too. She pictured her mom laughing-laughing in the face of death. After the final "Amen" of the service, the two of them darted out the door toward the parking lot. He apologized and said, "I'm so sorry-and I do believe we'll be the talk of the town." He introduced himself, "My name is Rick-and since I have missed my Aunt Margaret's funeral anyway-would you like to get a cup of coffee?"

A year later, the two of them were married in a little country church where he was the associate minister. For that service, they both arrived at the right place, the right time, and for the right reasons. And it was the beginning of a lifelong journey together. Many years later, Susan reflected on the serendipitous encounter. She wrote, "I'll always remember mom's 'last laugh.'" "In my time of sorrow, God gave me laughter. "In place of loneliness, God gave me love. "In place of darkness, God gave me light." Now, I don't have to remind you…
Not all of our stories have happy endings… Darkness does not always give way to light… Or, perhaps, through the eyes of faith…if we wait…they do?