Be What You Want to See in the World
They left Fort Worth on October 26. They will end their journey here in Washington, on February 11. And on February 10 at approximately 1:00 p.m., they will be with us at the Cathedral for a public gathering and then a more intimate meeting with faith leaders from across the area. Who am I talking about? The 19 Buddhist monks and their rescue dog Aloka, of course. They are walking for peace, loving-kindness and compassion, covering roughly 2,300 miles of this country over about 108 days and drawing crowds everywhere they go.
It’s a powerful witness. In all kinds of weather, pushing through fatigue, making themselves vulnerable and accessible to the crowds, they are putting their beliefs into action. They are walking for peace, and they are living peace as they walk. They are prayer in motion, marching for loving-kindness and compassion, and practicing loving-kindness and compassion with every step. In effect, they are being what they profess. Their power is not in argument or slogans. There is no coercion in their efforts. Rather they exemplify a kind of authenticity – belief and life lining up. They are being what they want to see in the world. And we are all better off because of them.
In our Gospel reading for this morning, Jesus says, “You are the light of the world. A city built on a hill cannot be hid. No one after lighting a lamp puts it under the bushel basket, but on the lampstand, and it gives light to all in the house. In the same way, let your light shine before others, so that they may see your good works and give glory to your Father in heaven.” Jesus is saying, if you are a person of faith, then your faith needs to be seen, it needs to shine from your life. Faith is not to be hidden or privatized. It cannot be theoretical or reduced to good intentions or a list of beliefs.
Jesus is telling his disciples that their faith must take shape in visible ways so that God’s goodness is unmistakable in the world. He wants us to understand that, like those monks, our faith is real when our beliefs and our lives line up. Simply put, letting your light shine means – being what you want to see in the world, “. . . so that others may see your good works and give glory to your Father in heaven.”
Isaiah, in our first lesson, makes this point very specifically. For Isaiah there is nothing sentimental or easy about letting your light shine. It is not vague goodness. It is not ritual performance; it is not piety disconnected from life. For the old prophet there is nothing theoretical about faith. “Your light shall break forth like the dawn,” he says, “your light shall rise in the darkness,” when you, “loose the bonds of injustice and let the oppressed go free.” Your light shines when you, “share your bread with the hungry, and bring the homeless into your house . . . when you see the naked and cover them . . . and satisfy the needs of the afflicted.”
I recently came across this quote from Dietrich Bonhoeffer writing about the church. “Christianity stands or falls with its revolutionary protest against violence, arbitrariness and pride of power and with its plea for the weak. Christians are doing too little to make these points clear rather than too much. Christendom adjusts itself far too easily to the worship of power. Christians should give more offense, shock the world far more, than they are doing now. Christians should take a stronger stand in favor of the weak rather than considering first the possible right of the strong.”
Bonhoeffer knew what it meant to live in a time when leaders appealed to fear rather than hope, when power was secured by scapegoating, and when entire groups of people were humiliated and dehumanized.
We see something of the same thing in our own time. We see it when leaders rely on hate to motivate rather than truth to inspire. We see it when they shame themselves and their office with old racist tropes that have been recycled and repackaged. We see it when the most vulnerable among us are treated as threats rather than as neighbors, as problems to be managed rather than as people to be loved. During Black History Month, we remember that all of this is not new. We remember how often power in this country has been maintained by denying the dignity, humanity, and full belonging of African Americans and people of color — and how faith, courage, and visible witness have again and again challenged that lie.
As Christians, we believe that Jesus Christ is the light of the world. That light does not belong to us, but it is entrusted to us. And when we let it shine — through justice, through mercy, through courage, through a willingness to stand with the weak — it changes the room.
Isaiah says the light breaks forth like the dawn. Bonhoeffer says it will unsettle the worship of power. Jesus says it will give glory to God. The question before us is not whether the world needs more light. It does. The question is whether we are willing to live in such a way that Christ’s light can actually be seen.
The monks who are heading this way are a clear example of being what you want to see in the world. They march for peace, they exude peace, they invite peace — and through that witness they quietly challenge us to live and treat one another differently.
It’s hard to know what to do these days to make a difference in this fractured, anxious world of ours. It’s easy to feel cynical, overwhelmed, even powerless. But we are not powerless.
In our own small patch of the world — in our families, our neighborhoods, our workplaces, our communities — we can choose how we live. We can choose justice over indifference, compassion over apathy, courage over fear. We can speak up and step out in the name of Christ just as so many of our brothers, sisters, and siblings have done in Minnesota in recent weeks. And when we do, I believe the light of Christ shines through ordinary lives in extraordinary ways. That kind of faithful witness may not change everything at once, but it changes things — the truth is spoken, a witness is made, injustice does not go unanswered, and God’s presence is made visible again.
Jesus does not ask us to fix the whole world. He asks us not to hide the light we have been given but to be what we want to see in the world. And when we let that light shine, Isaiah promises that the dawn will break, and God will say to us, “Here I am.” Amen.