Like it or not, every day, every moment, we send out messages about who we are. Whether it is about our work, our home, our civic life, our possessions, or our spirituality, we send out strong signals about what is in our very core. Those around us will receive those signals, make no mistake; they will receive our messages. They may accept them, they may reject them, but they will see who we are. The question is whether when they get our signals, will it be all about us or will it point beyond us to the glory of God?
Some of you operate intuitively. You can be around another person for only a short while and can pick up the radar and make an assessment about the heart of that person. You just know; you cannot tell me how you know, but you just know. You operate intuitively, able to read the inner side of another person.
As for me, I listen and watch for a while. I listen to what that person says, and usually take it at face value. I don’t spend much time probing into the deeper side. If he says he’s angry, I don’t wonder about whether his mother twisted his big toe when he was two years old. I just accept that he is who he says he is. If she says she is happy, I don’t wonder about whether she is in denial. I just accept that she is who she says she is. I see what I see and I hear what I hear. But others of you look deeper and listen more closely.
Here’s the heart of the matter. We are reading signals and we are being read. Deeply and intuitively, or just on the surface, somebody is taking notes on who you are. Someone is listening to your heart; skeptically and slowly or taking you at face value, someone is listening to your heart.
What will they see? What will they hear? Will they be able to go beyond what you exhibit up front to discern the glory of God?
Behold, I tell you a parable. A parable, as you know, is a story told to make a spiritual point. It may or may not be founded on actual happenings. It usually has one central character to whom all the others react. Parables were used by Jesus, employing the common things of His surroundings – oil lamps, pig sties, coins, fish – whatever was at hand, Jesus used to construct His parables.
So may I be permitted to launch a parable, the parable of the lighted cabinets? May I conjure up in your imagination two pieces of furniture, intended for the protection and display of objects placed in them? And along with them I ask you to imagine a man, a man accomplished and productive in many ways. But also a man with a need. The parable of the lighted cabinets. Remember that it may or may not be about someone you know.
There was a man who in his mature years had accumulated his share of accomplishments and recognitions. He had graduated from high school, and they had given him a magnificently engraved diploma in a lovely folio; it had been tucked away in a drawer for a long time. Then he had gone to college and again they had given him an impressive-looking sheepskin, once he paid his bills and took back his overdue library books! This item, in its own handsome frame, had also been secreted in a drawer, with no particular plan for its use.
But this our friend was even more accomplished. Not only high school, and not only college, but he had labored long enough and hard enough to receive a post-graduate degree from what everybody said was a prestigious university – though it sometimes seemed that “prestigious” was simply a synonym for “pricey”. This award, along with the bound copies of his thesis, he had plopped on the desk in his home office, and most of the time it was hidden by the bills to be paid and the catalogs that poured into the mailbox.
As the years went by, our brother frequently did things that brought over-and-above commendation. His years in the Rotary Club and as the chairman of one of its key committees had brought him a large plaque. Really no place to hang that on the wall, so it too gathered dust. His co-workers at the office, once he reached that ten-year mark, had invested in an oversized greeting card and had all signed it with words of affection. It was getting a little shopworn by now. His pastor, after this man had served a sentence – I mean a term – as a deacon, had written a warm letter of appreciation. That it was the same warm letter of appreciation every other deacon received every year our friend did not know; he just kept the letter because it seemed so sincere. And then there was the colorful scribble his little granddaughter had done, and if you looked carefully, you could read it; it said, “I love you grampa”. He had kept that too.
It dawned on our brother that not only were these things getting shopworn lying about his little office, but also that they were invisible to the rest of the world. No one saw this stuff. Of course no one asked to see it, but maybe, just maybe, all these symbols of a successful life needed to be on display.
And so to the furniture shop he went, and there found exactly what he needed. Two magnificent cabinets, made to fit into the corners of a room, with lovely wood framing and with large glass inserts in the doors, so that there was no hiding what was inside. Cabinets made to display things as well as to protect them from damage. When our brother discovered that not only did these cabinets have glass doors, but also that for only a few dollars more he could have mirrors installed on the back walls and electric lights placed in the top of each, he was elated. Sold! If you are going to display, display fully.
The cabinets went into his living room, where visitors could see them. Into the cabinets went his diplomas, his plaques, his letters of commendation (by now laminated and framed). Into the cabinets too went copies of a couple of articles he had published in a trade journal, and some letters to the editor he had once written. There was also a piece of White House stationery with a one sentence acknowledgement and a machine-made presidential signature; and, the piece de resistance, a copy of the First Baptist Church Chronicle for which he had dashed off a little something. Two cabinets, full of the stuff of a successful life, ready for the world to see, with the aid of mirrors and lights.
That evening, after the task of stocking the cabinets and artfully arranging their contents was done, our friend called his wife to come and see, to get the effect. She stuck her head out of the kitchen, glanced approximately in the direction of those now-filled-up corners, and said, “Uh-huh; I’m getting dinner ready.”
After a hurried meal, our brother went back to the living room, and looking out the window, spotted his next-door neighbor walking her dog. He called her in. “Do you notice anything different about this room?” “Well, let’s see, is that fresh paint on the walls?” Well, that was not a good test, he thought. It’s getting dark.
And so the next morning, when a delivery driver stopped by with a package, our friend invited the driver in for a quick cup of coffee, and sat him down directly opposite the cabinets. “I don’t suppose you actually get inside many of the homes on your route, do you?” “No, I don’t. Yours is the first. Good coffee. Thanks. Bye.”
Hmm. The cabinets are not having the desired effect. No one is noticing. He needed to be more direct in his approach. Make them look, not just suggest it. So he called his brother, who lived only a few blocks away. “Hey, brother, I have something here I’d like you to see. What is it? Oh, a couple of cabinets, lighted cabinets, in the corners of my living room. You don’t think you really need to come see that now? Well, no, I guess not, but … well, whatever.”
No one seemed to want to see his cabinets or view the evidences of his life. No one seemed impressed with this little museum to meism. And so, obeying the Scriptural instruction to go out into the highways and hedges and compel them to come in, our good friend practically shanghaied the postman and stood him in front of the cabinets to take a good look. What was the response? Our fine public servant, who could make it through wind and sleet and snow, stumbled on this one and said, “Nice cabinets. Got to go.”
How frustrating! No one oohed and aahed over the diplomas, the plaques, the letters, and the publications. No one was impressed. But there was one more chance. That night a neighborhood committee would be meeting in that very room. They would be there to discuss the county’s plan for building sidewalks in the neighborhood; but that did not mean that their entire attention would be absorbed in that mundane task. There would be time to view the contents of the cabinets and assure our friend that his was a life lived right out there on the edge. Tonight would be the night.
The first committee member arrived, and the genial host made sure she was seated where she would face the cabinets. She said nothing. The second committee member arrived, and he too was seated in front of the cabinets, and this time the owner of the cabinets busied himself with an imaginary speck of dust on one of the glass doors, making comments about how hard it was going to be to keep this thing clean. The second guest offered a suggestion about a good glass cleaner he had once used. But that was all.
When the third and last committee member came in, our dear brother was beside himself with frustration. During the course of the meeting he managed to get up and open and shut one of the cabinet doors, pretending that it had not been closed properly. No one said a thing. He managed to think of something in one of the letters to the editor he had written that might contribute to the meeting, and so went to get it out and show it around. But the consensus was that the letter did not relate to the topic of sidewalks.
And so our brother played his trump card. Commenting that it was getting a little hard to see as the evening wore on, he switched on the lights in both cabinets. Those bright bulbs were reflected in all the mirrors, and for one shining moment all eyes were riveted on the lighted cabinets. The agenda of the meeting was suspended, the discussion fell silent, and everyone looked at the two lighted cabinets and their many bits of testimony. Would someone now break the silence? Would someone now notice that he was somebody? All this light, both cabinets full?!
She said, that guest, that sidewalk committee member, she said, “Who helped you along the way?” “What? What did you ask?” “Who helped you along the way? You did not do all this by yourself!”
“Didn’t do it by myself!” He almost screamed. “What do you mean? These are my diplomas, my recognitions, my publications. This is my life on display.”
“Yes and no,” came back the rejoinder. It all has your name on it. But it has others’ fingerprints all over it.”
“Fingerprints? Oh, I can clean those off.”
“Not that kind of fingerprints. I mean that your life exhibits the fingerprints of those who helped you along the way. Your parents, who supported you through the lean years. Your wife, who worked hard so that you could get your education. Your children, who endured a distracted daddy. Your teachers, who insisted that you do your assignments, even when you did not feel like it. Your co-workers, who made you look good as a part of their team. Your fellow church members, who prayed for you when things looked bleak. Their fingerprints are all over your life. And there is one other as well.”
He sighed. “You’ve made your point. So who is the other? Who else has brought me to this place? Who else thinks they need credit for my achievements and applause for my accomplishments, mine to display in my lighted cabinets?”
Let your light shine before others, so that they may see your good works and give glory to your Father in heaven.
Here endeth the parable of the day, which, being interpreted, says:
First, there is nothing wrong with accomplishing things. In fact, there is everything right with achieving your fullest potential. God made you who you are and it is yours to develop. You are the light of the world. Lights are meant to shine. Otherwise they are just cold glass, fragile and useless. Go ahead, learn, do, stretch your limits. You are the light of the world.
And, second, there is nothing wrong with receiving accolades for your accomplishments. God has so made us that we thrive when we are affirmed and appreciated. No one after lighting a lamp puts it under the bushel basket, but on the lampstand, and it gives light to all that are in the house. Just accept it when others tell you that you have done well. It will get you over the hump when they also tell you you have not done well.
But, finally, remember that the world is not looking for us to be both light and lighted. Remember that this world is not looking for light fixtures but for what the light shines on. You and I are not the ultimate lights. We are like the little solar-powered lamps that guide one’s feet around the side of my house; so long as they are exposed to the sun, they shine and they guide. But no one wants to linger with those lights long; they are markers to a destination. And no one wants to linger long at lighted cabinets; they only want to know who it was who lighted the path for us.
That they may see your good works and [as a result] give glory to your Father in heaven.
Like it or not, every day, every moment, we send out messages about who we are. Whether it is about our work, our home, our civic life, our possessions, or our spirituality, we send out strong signals about what is in our very core. Those around us will receive those signals, make no mistake; they will receive our messages. They may accept them, they may reject them, but they will see who we are. The question is whether when they get our signals, will it be all about us or will it point beyond us to the glory of God?
