"Though I Was Blind, Now I See"

Sermon preached by various Members of First Church

Text — John 9:18-25

The following testimonies were offered as part of a group sermon describing times when the speakers experience the light of God’s presence in a memorable way.

In January, I sat down in my living room with a cup of tea. Over the previous two weeks I had coordinated the weekend visit to Middletown of seven Buddhist peace walkers, Walk for a New Spring. The planning had been particularly easy. Doors had been thrown open to me. Reporters had returned my communications quickly. In that time of reflection it occurred to me that several moments in my life had prepared me for the work. Over the summer of 1983 I had taken an eerily similar anti-nuclear walk across the country. My positions at Wesleyan and Russell Library had further acquainted me with organization, planning and office machinery. Over nearly 40 years as a Middletown resident I had accumulated some perspective about community work. My relatively recent retirement from fulltime work had given me hours to pursue new passions, so I could say, “Yes, I’ll do it!” Like the gradual brightening of a light bulb, knowledge slowly entered my mind on that pivotal January morning.  I became aware that year after year I had always had a Silent Partner in life, a loving Guide which had carried me from event to event; decision to decision.

It was June, and I was 16. My family was visiting Beardsley Park. In the grips of a teenage melancholy, I had wandered off on my own, paying scant attention to the stream that tumbled by or the bushes and trees along my path. But when I came to a tall mountain laurel, lush with dazzling white bloom, I stopped; then, as if beckoned, I walked straight into it, allowing its outreaching branches to encircle me. Studying the huge, glorious flower heads, I was stunned. Each was composed of dozens of smaller hexagonal blooms; and each of these was imprinted with an exquisite 10-pointed star—a ruby–tipped stamen nestled at each point. A jagged ruby line encircled each green eye; miniature, still-unopened blossoms looked like sculpted pink rosettes.  As I gazed, it struck me that, whatever happened to me—now or next year or in 50 years—this unspeakable beauty would re-appear each spring, for as long as the planet existed.  The thought comforted me.

Many years ago I was aware that our 25 year marriage was coming apart, probably heading for divorce.  We traveled to London to visit one of our children studying there and were in Canterbury Cathedral one afternoon — light streaming in stained glass, many people walking by.  I was in a stone chair, tired, with my younger daughter who felt sick, sleepily, on my lap.  She seemed to be the most vulnerable child in the family, and I was said and terrified about the future.  Amidst the lovely colored light and the crowd, a small man passed by us, who walked slowly in front of us, almost clown-like, smiling, lighted, gentle, and looking right t us, and then disappearing in front of my eyes.  I closed them, hugging my child, leaning on the huge stone, and in a moment heard a voice fill that space saying “It will be all right.”

As I heard and read the Christmas story and the carols, I was struck by the fact that these were not mere words in a bible.  This was for real. The Infinite became finite!  God in the form of Jesus became a baby, who had to be fed and have his diapers changed.  He grew and went through all the experiences we do.  He did more --- He died for us.  Wow!  This is an aha moment. I believe this, and therefore, life has to be changed.  The star is there, but sometimes it's a glimmer.  Sometimes it's a search light.  I keep traveling toward the light.  Sometimes I turn my back on it.  I like the verse, "God is light and in Him there is no darkness at all." In the light of this experience Christmas took on a whole new meaning.  This time I think I really got it!

Once again, I was lying in bed awake, unable to sleep. This had been going on for weeks.  I would go to bed and go to sleep.  And then, two or three hours later, I would wake up. I tried to change positions.  I tried deep breathing.  I tried to focus on images of my favorite places.  I watched the clock.  Nothing helped.  I had no way of knowing that I was experiencing the beginning stages of a prolonged depression.  All I felt was the night.  I couldn't get back to sleep.  It was dark and I felt very alone and not a little scared. Then, out of the darkness came a voice, singing softly and slowly:

"Sometimes I feel like a motherless child,

Sometimes I feel like a motherless child,

Sometimes I feel like a motherless child,

A long ways from home,

A long ways from home."

I listened to the words and melody coming out of the darkness --so soothing, so comforting.  I felt my body relax and release the fear and worry.  Then, I began to sing the words to myself, softly and slowly--until I sang myself to sleep. That night there was darkness. But, there was also the presence of light.  I can't explain it.  I had other sleepless nights and the depression didn't go away. 

But, I remember that spiritual offering such comfort and understanding.  It was a light to place beside the darkness.

One lake-scented evening in Maine several summers ago I had, not an out-of-body experience, but a back-in-body experience. I was at the camp I had spent ten years as a camper and counselor. Begun in 1902 as a Quaker institution, “open meetings” were central even in my day to Sunday services. My grandmother had been one of the first hardy, independent young women there. It was a place I knew God sometimes spoke to me from the towering pines and in the “stripped down” nature of camp life. I was walking down a dim, pine-needled path feeling stoically resigned to my life, when I looked up to see another, more shadowy version of myself walking towards me on the path ahead. My two selves continued walking, calmly came together, and became one. It was as if a freer, more open self had come back to enlighten the more convoluted, knotted up self I had become. I knew then and there I needed to make changes in my life, that I would never again live without both selves, and that the return of my spirit had been a gift from God.

I had a life-changing dream.  I dreamed I was on an airplane with my husband, and during the flight I got up to go to the bathroom.  While I was in the bathroom, the airplane broke in half.  There was screaming, and the loud rushing of wind. People were getting sucked out into thin air. I was terrified, and I started to pray hard:  God, you’ve got to save me. Please. Help. Save me.” God answered, “I can’t help you.  I have no relationship with you.  I’m not going to save you.”  Then I woke up. That dream really disturbed me. I recognized that I hadn’t done enough in my relationship with God.  Soon afterwards, Doug and I started coming to First Church. I’ve told the dream to many others, and it shook up some of them, too. 

The light is placed in each of us by God, who gives it equally to all.  The key is knowing where the switch is to turn it on.

I had been a church member and had called myself a Christian for many years be for this Lenten event. Pastor Leonard Kohlhofer was conducting a tenebrae service in this sanctuary.  As different parishioners read the scriptures and extinguished the candles on the cross, I felt strongly the growing presence of what I now know was the Holy Spirit.  I suddenly knew that the words:"Christ died for you” meant just that.  "You" was no longer a collective pronoun.  It became extremely personal.  I was overcome with emotion.  My eyes filled with tears and I sobbed as the blinding light of God's love was made real for me.

Joe and I knew each other casually at Wesleyan for many years.  There were no sparks or meaningful encounters.  Then one day, Joe and I saw each other in First Church.  We each assumed the other was a long-time member, but in fact both of us were just starting to attend this church.  Both of us had had a loss:  my marriage had ended and Joe's beloved sister Michaele had died.  It really felt as if I saw him in a different light, the light of his having come to this place to pray.  Joe has become a true light for me, illuminating how one should teach, how one should work, how one should show kindness to others; in short, how one should live.  I know that he emits this kind of light for others as well.

My most poignant early memory of Susanne in this church is of her standing in the northeast corner of the sanctuary, near the piano.  It was a typical morning in that the light was shining on the north wall behind the piano.  She wasn't playing that morning but was instead turning the pages for the pianist.  Solveig was playing and Chuck was singing Bach.  I was so struck by the image of Susanne with the morning light on the wall behind her.  She said not a word.  Believe it or not, at that time, as she turned pages, my inner voice said "She is going to be very important to you," with stress on the word 'very'.  So when we are in the sanctuary, I look over to the northeast corner, and I am very thankful for that light, which helped me to see what was so important.

Our church, together with Habitat for Humanity had just completed a new home for a single mother and her five children.  Since the family had very little in the way of furnishings, our church decided to give them a shower.  A microwave oven, washer, dryer, towels, bed linens,, dishes and toys for the children.  After all the gifts had been opened we were enjoying refreshments when I noticed one of the children, a boy about six years old.  He was hugging a set of blue bed sheets printed with red and blue airplanes.  His expression was one of pure happiness.  His eyes shone brightly, reflecting the light of all the love in that room.

The idea of the presence of light alongside the darkness is an idea expressed so well by Dr. William Petit, Jr. who lost his wife and children in a Cheshire "home invasion."  At a recent town ceremony honoring his family, he quoted a Celtic poem:

    "May the blessing of light be upon you

    Light without and light within

    and light beside the darkness within."

Once when I was depressed, I took at walk at the beach and a kite crossed my path.  I found myself helping a father and a daughter fly the kite again.  They were the light.

It was 6 a.m. and I was riding my bicycle.  I often ride early to fit in a workout (being the mother of 3 boys). I was not sure which road I would take when suddenly I was told (by some unknown force) to climb to the top of Lyman Orchards. I often feel very “spiritual” when I exercise, but this morning was different.  Working out gives me a sense of mind-body connection and the exertion is being empowering.  When I bike I think about life, nature and human existence. This particular morning changed my life.  As I started to climb I felt an out-of-body experience. Every thing around me felt weird and out of control.  When I reached the top and looked out on the horizon I felt the need to pray.  It was strange, scary, and comfortable at the same time.  This was my seeing the light of God’s presence in my life. There was a glowing light surrounding me and I felt a surge of energy I had never experience.  Ever since that one day, I have seen the world differently.  I know now that God is a true, loving, powerful light in my life.  I now give gratitude every morning when I wake up and cannot wait to see the “light” God will shine on me that day!

Sometimes the light is there all along, it’s just that our own eyes are blind to it.  Or passionately, energetically, vehemently squeezed tight against it. Eventually, though, a person gets tired of being in the dark.  My young daughter helped me to realize that a painful and abusive marriage was no way to live, and that she deserved better. Though at times I couldn’t tell which path represented the light, and which the dark, I followed the instinct to serve her best interest first, and to make her the priority above all else.  At times I felt that I couldn’t get out of my own way, but focusing on her light made a better life for both of us. I thank God for her, and for her light, every day.

It was about 7 years ago, before my divorce began. I was alone reading a Science News magazine article about ADHD when the word "balance'' jumped off the page into my awareness. I had recently returned from Vermont where I had discussed this condition with my cousin, as her children had tested positive for this genetic disorder. So with my curiosity piqued, I read the characteristic traits and most sounded familiar. But a poor sense of balance was mentioned and I felt like it was knocking on my forehead door.  I knew in that instant that I had some form of this condition and needed to find out more about it. I went to a Psychiatrist for an evaluation which started the ball rolling in new directions for me on many fronts.  As foretold, my involvement with a therapist was a precursor to the divorce and helped me to see the Light all around me.