Bringing the Light

The chancel in my church sanctuary is extremely vertical— soaring to a cathedral pitch more than 40 feet in the air. Over the altar hangs a cross, ostensibly suspended, but actually held in place by wire. Above that cross are 15 recessed eyeball lights that brighten the crest. Below them, two lights shine directly on the cross. The effect is dramatic, compelling church goers to focus their eyes upward.

About five years ago, ironically just as the world was darkening to the global pandemic, those two spotlights on the cross went out. For years the cross hung dark. Our facilities director called different electricians to replace the bulbs and update the wiring. A simple matter, right? However, no company would do the project—because there was no solid surface to stand on. It was deemed too unsafe.

In the alcove behind the altar there is a ceiling grate, and below it is a light switch—with a sticky note that reads, “Do Not Turn On.” Of course, that’s the very thing my daughters, as children, wanted to do. Indeed, flipping that switch does illuminate a ladder that runs up behind the cross. My girls called it the ladder to heaven, and it does seem that way. The problem is that there’s no place to step off that ladder and stand while replacing the bulbs. Only plaster.

One after another electrician said the bulbs couldn’t be replaced. It was too dangerous.

And so, the cross remained dark.

Then one day our facilities director was surprised by a call from one of the electricians who had said the task couldn’t be done. It seems that, after coming out to evaluate our church’s electrical project, the electrician was deployed for a year. One of his training exercises required him to use a climbing harness to rappel down into an abyss.

“While on that exercise, I thought about your church and realized that’s how I could change the bulbs,” he said.

So, with his climbing harness, he was able to suspend himself near the lights, change them, and update the wiring. It required his going to a war zone to be able to bring back our light.

Is there a better analogy for Easter?

Given my fear of heights, there’s no way I would rappel anywhere, but that doesn’t mean I can’t find creative ways of bringing light into darkness. I will confess—especially lately, with all the turmoil and evil in the world—to succumbing so often to darkness, to hiding in the shadows. A playlist of grief and despair, a constant stab of worry in my gut, have too often become my life’s soundtrack.

But when I still the voices in my head, when I stop to look around me, there are signs of light in the darkness: a toddler’s giddy laughter when she sees birds in flight, the dogwoods and redbuds and Japanese Maples that line my daily walk. The random kindnesses of strangers in lines at the store and the greetings of passersby tell me that there is goodness in the world. Perhaps we have to look harder to find it. Perhaps it is incumbent on us to be the light we seek.

What metaphorical war zones will we travel to bring the light?

It is incredible not only that it took an electrician going halfway around the world to bring light back to our cross, but that he held within him a seed of darkness that he wanted to change—that thoughts of a darkened cross followed him through days in a foreign land.

His story gives me hope for our world. May we all find ways to bring the light.

Happy Easter!