shine

I had to take down all the old lights.

It was weeks ago. Since that time, every occasion upon which the light switches have been snapped to the on position has seen the lighting of a bare bulb hanging from the electrical box in the ceiling.

It’s not beautiful.

It is effective. Light has filled the room each time, the fleeing shadows routed by their perpetual enemy. There is illumination—in which to paint, to replace trim, to sweep up the dust.

It’s not a pretty light, though, the glare hurting the eyes and the bare bulb next to the ceiling drawing notice instantly to its spartan simplicity.

We make do.

Today though—today, I hung the old fixtures back up.

Yes, you read that right. The old fixtures.

I wondered about that, too. Weeks ago, when I pulled them down, I wondered aloud if they should be thrown in the bin, unwanted relics of years past. It seemed they might be obsolete. Better, more attractive lighting could be contrived, with the aid of a dollar or two and the local home store.

The Lovely Lady was certain. The old fixtures would go back up. Her confidence that they had many years of usefulness left wasn’t shared by her husband.

I stared at the ugly pieces in my hands, ceramic mounts covered in multiple layers of chalky white ceiling paint. The metal pieces were no better, the painters from years past having preferred to slap the paint-laden brush along them, rather than removing them from their boxes to protect the copper and chrome surfaces.

There was no hope.

I tried to talk the Lovely Lady out of her madness. She would not be dissuaded.

I will admit, I put it down to her heritage, years of training in the art of salvaging and repurposing. I assumed she simply wanted to save money. (She has kept this old spendthrift solvent for nearly forty years now, you know.)

I repent.

Today, I rehung the light fixtures. If I hadn’t taken them down myself, I would have testified that the magical lady had replaced those ugly, worn-out pieces of ceramic, glass, and metal with new instruments of light-making.

The things of beauty I reinstalled today show no sign of fatigue, nor any of dilapidation. They glisten and gleam, glass and brass shining even before the power begins to make the bulbs emit their energy.

I am undone.

It is an argument I am happy to have lost. (Don’t tell her I said that, or I’ll never be able to hold my head up near her again.)

The Lovely Lady knew those light fixtures. They are the same devices which lit up the room in which she slept in a crib—the same ones which threw shadows against the wall as she and her sister played with dolls into the night—the same ones that cast their helpful light on her geometry homework and then her music as she practiced on the shiny silver flute.

All those years ago, she knew them. They are old friends that lit the night in her childhood. It would have taken more than an unbelieving husband to convince her to part with them so summarily.

She knew.

I attached wires and tightened nuts and screws this afternoon, marveling at the change, the newness of the ancient things. And, when all was prepared and the bulbs inserted, I flipped the wall switch.

Just like the first time it happened, seventy years ago, the shadows bolted for the corners and warm clear light flooded the newly painted walls.

And, the Master said, “No one lights a lamp and then puts in under a basket, but it is placed at the highest place in the house so everyone is in the light.” (Matthew 5:15)

We are the light of the world.

Wait! What?

I gotta tell you, I’m in worse shape than those old fixtures were when they were removed weeks ago. Dirty, crusty, and covered with layers of grime and paint, some of it put there by me, and some by others who didn’t like the look of me just hanging around.

I’m a mess. And, then some.

I can just hear the conversation in heaven, can’t you? You know, like in the days of Job.

Satan has crept into the throne room and waited his turn. His wheedling, shrill voice cracks the silence at last.

God, you know that old worn-out, dirty thing—that…that Paul Phillips thing? He’s clearly not doing You any good. How about you just dispose of him? I’ll take him. You know—one man’s trash, and all that?

And, then a strong, quiet voice speaks. No, not the Father’s. The Savior says the words.

He’s mine. Bought and paid for, long ago. The light of the world, that one is. Mine. There’s no trash here for you, you old deceiver. Move on!

Who would know better the worth of the creature than the One who is Creator?

How would the One who stood and said, gazing at creation, new-made, “This is good,” ever stand and say, “Time to get rid of that trash?”

He knows us. He knows what we’re made of. (Psalm 103:14)

He’s not afraid of a little dust.

Clean and shining, we stand before our Creator. His light—shining in the world.

In this place, that cannot, for long, stand the brilliance of His uncovered presence, we are His lamps to drive away the shadows.

Where once was nothing more than grunge, along with layers of gunk, we stand in His image, showing Him to the world.

Time to get out of the baskets.

For the Light of the World, we will be lights to the world.

For the Light of the World, we will be lights to the world. Share on X

Beautiful light!

But hear my brethren in their darkling fright!
Hearten my lamp that it may shine abroad
Then will they cry-Lo, there is something bright!
Who kindled it if not the shining God?
(From Let Your Light So Shine ~ George MacDonald ~ Scottish author/poet ~ 1824-1905

You are the light of the world—like a city on a hilltop that cannot be hidden. No one lights a lamp and then puts it under a basket. Instead, a lamp is placed on a stand, where it gives light to everyone in the house. In the same way, let your good deeds shine out for all to see, so that everyone will praise your heavenly Father.
(Matthew 5:14-16 ~ NLT ~ Holy Bible, New Living Translation, copyright © 1996, 2004, 2015 by Tyndale House Foundation. All rights reserved.)

For we are very lucky, with a lamp before the door,
And Leerie stops to light it as he lights so many more;
And O, before you hurry by with ladder and with light,
O Leerie, see a little child and nod to him tonight!

Last night I read the words of the poem The Lamplighter, penned by Robert Louis Stevenson more than a century ago and, as frequently happens, my mind wandered back several decades.

No. I don’t remember any lamplighters on the street corners of my youth, electricity having been in common usage for all of my life and well before. The orange glow emanating from mercury-vapor bulbs is a vivid memory from a childhood spent playing games on dark summer nights.

But, the joy of seeing a light on dark, dreary nights? That, I can easily identify with.

It’s odd that the picture which popped into my head was of an event which happened on just this date, one wild September evening forty-nine years ago.

We watched and listened as a major hurricane, Beulah by name, wended its way up the course of the Rio Grande, leaving devastation and massive flooding in its wake. One hundred sixty mile-per-hour winds do a lot of destruction. So does a rainfall of twenty to thirty inches in a two-day period.

For days afterward (weeks for some), there was no electricity and no running water.

Do you know how dark it gets when there is no power as far as the eye can see? Then you understand the popularity of the lamplighter of the nineteenth century.

You would also understand the relief it was, after the hurricane, to have Dad light the old Coleman lantern every night as the sun fell behind the western horizon and the old creaky house fell dark.

He would fill the tank with kerosene and, pumping up the pressure on the tank, would carefully lift the globe that protected the two little cloth mantles. The mantles were miniature cloth bags that hung down inside the top section of the lamp which, when lit, burned with a bright white light not unlike the incandescent bulbs we were used to.

I made the mistake of trying to light that lamp once—only once. I poked the match through the side of one of the mantles and it burned up immediately. It was a mistake I wouldn’t make again.

Dad lit the lamp. Every night.

His steady hand knew just where to hold the match to have the vaporized fuel catch the spark and spread the flame around the edges of the mantles. They burned with a bright light, but weren’t burned up themselves.

If you were watching at just the right moment, you could see it. In the dark, the match flared; then the mantles caught the flame. Almost as if in slow motion, you could see the shadows disappear. Really.

From the table on which the lamp sat, the darkness skipped away into the corners, and then, even the corners were no safe haven for it.

Light had come!

I loved seeing the light of that little lantern.

I loved having my father light it.

I understand the youngster in Mr. Stevenson’s poem. Who wouldn’t want to be the one who carried the light to every corner of the house? Or the city?

We live in a dark world. Darker every day, it seems to me.

And still, our Father banishes the shadows with light. There is no way the darkness can hold back the light. None. (John 1:4,5)

There is no way the darkness can hold back the light. None. Share on X

It never could.

Funny. I couldn’t help but notice the name of the device that makes the light brilliant and white. A mantle.

Frequently, the word mantle is used to describe something dreary and fear-instilling. We use the phrase under a mantle of darkness to describe a place without hope. A dim place, full of terror and hidden from sight.

But, there was another mantle, you know. I learned about this mantle as a child in Sunday School. You may have, too. Elijah dropped it from the chariot of fire. His protegé picked it up and it became a symbol of God’s power and authority. (2 Kings 2)

I’m not any good with mantles. I never was. My Father, on the other hand—He can make one shine with a bright light like you’ve never seen.

It’s not my light or my mantle. It never was.

Shine.

With His light. Clothed in His glory.

Shine.

Chase the shadows.

The people who sat in darkness
have seen a great light.
And for those who lived in the land where death casts its shadow,
a light has shined.
(Matthew 4:16 ~ NLT)

My tea is nearly ready and the sun has left the sky;
It’s time to take the window to see Leerie going by;
For every night at teatime and before you take your seat,
With lantern and with ladder he comes posting up the street.

Now Tom would be a driver and Maria go to sea,
And my papa’s a banker and as rich as he can be;
But I, when I am stronger and can choose what I’m to do,
O Leerie, I’ll go round at night and light the lamps with you!

He's Taken Leave

Random wanderings with Paul Phillips

Basket Case

Chase the Shadows