The Lord is my light and my salvation; whom shall I fear? The Lord is the strength of my life; of whom shall I be afraid? ... I believe that I shall see the goodness of the Lord in the land of the living.
The Lord is my light – and on this dismal day, when outside the rain continues to fall, and inside, hearts are grieving, how much we need His light! The Lord is our light and our salvation. We must believe that, despite our loss, we shall see the goodness of the Lord in the land of the living.
The Lord is light. Light and sight. Those mysterious things without which we cannot live. Light, the first of God’s creations. When there was nothing but formless void and darkness, God said, “Let there be light,” and God saw – without light who can see? God saw that light was good. Light and sight are the most essential of God’s gifts.
As today we come to celebrate the life of Julia Hamilton and the light by which she lived, I think of some lines from the poet Edna St. Vincent Millay:
“My candle burns at both ends; it will not last the night. But ah, my foes, and oh my friends – it gives a lovely light.”
Julia Hamilton gave us a lovely light. It is the tragedy of life that no matter how long we live, it is not enough. We always want more. Our candles burn at both ends and will not last the night. As another poet, Tennyson, said, “We think we were not made to die.” No matter how long, it is not enough. But the issue is not whether we shall live or die. That’s settled. Each of us must come to the end of this life. The real issue is whether there is a lovely light. The question is whether our all-too-few days are filled with light. Julia Hamilton will teach us how.
I begin with these astonishing words of Jesus. He told us, “You are the light of the world”. That is astonishing, because few of us are lights for anything, much less for the world. Few of us are lights for our own homes, or for our own communities. We have not learned how to shed a lovely light even in small places. Light of the world? That’s too much. That’s a stretch. Who can measure up to that?
Nonetheless, Jesus insists, “You are the light of the world,” and then goes on to spell it out. Julia Hamilton showed us how it can be done. How to be the light of the world? Let her lovely light show the way.
I
First, notice that light sends a message. Light by its very nature reveals things. It brings out truth. It opens up possibilities. Jesus said,
“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.”
It would be absurd to have light and not use it. It would be pointless to turn on a light and then cover it over. Light is intended to reveal truth and send a message. When our lights are not working – like the ones over these pulpits today! – the truth is hidden and does no good.
One of the members of our church, also formerly a neighbor on Aspen Street, when she learned of Mrs. Hamilton’s death, said she looked forward every year to the Christmas decorations on that house. She said that the lights that used to come from that home were glorious and plentiful. What was that all about? Was it just for show? Was it a display of luxury, a pretense to affluence? Or did it have another purpose?
And then the flowers that she grew. The life she nurtured and cultivated in that yard at 4th and Aspen. What was that all about? That blazing display of red and pink, mauve and lavender, yellow and orange, all sorts of varieties – what was that for? Was that intended to impress you with her skill as a gardener? Was it there just for her private pleasure?
No, these things were there as a witness. They were there to point beyond themselves to the glory of God. Christmas light, not just for the sake of display, but to remind the neighbors that in Jesus Christ, life and light, joy had come into the world. Glorious flowers, not just to dazzle, but to bear witness to the creator who is the Lord and giver of life, the father of lights, in whom there is no shadow. Julia Hamilton’s lovely light was not about herself. It was about her God. And she would not hide it under a bushel basket, but put the light out there for all to see.
“Ah my foes, and oh my friends – it gives a lovely light.” Julia’s lovely light revealed the truth about the God whom she loved and served.
II
But light is more than a witness. Light is more than something for the neighborhood to see. Light has a more particular use. Light is essential in the home. Even when the sun is blazing and bright outside, it may be dark inside the house. And so light needs to be focused inside the home. If there is no light there, who will learn, who will grow, who will develop? A lovely light is sorely needed in our homes. Jesus pointed that out,
“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.”
“To all in the house.” Julia Hamilton was completely committed to giving light to all in her house. Her sons grew up with a legacy of learning. She taught them by precept and she taught them by example. She taught them so that they heard her message, but more, she taught them so that they saw her message. It was a lovely light.
This mother’s overriding concern was that these men might accomplish something with their lives. Toward that end she worked and sacrificed. Every decision, every expenditure, every effort was for them. She somehow knew how to turn her own desires around and make them about her sons and their development. She gave light to all in her house, and it was a lovely light. That each of you has in his own way accomplished much is tribute to her gracious spirit, her self-giving love, and her desire for you to have light.
And, more than that, when Jesus says that a lampstand is intended to give light to all in the house, that “all” means all! “All” means each one. You know, it must have been a little intimidating for her to have managed a household populated by five men -- I’m guessing, five strong-willed men – her husband and her four sons. That sounds a little tough to me. It would have been easy for her to shut herself off from all of that clamor and just retreat. But Julia Hamilton saw a special role, she understood a unique thing – that each of these men was to be given the light appropriate for his own direction. One son may have needed the searchlight, to get out the secrets that lay hidden in his life. Another son may have needed the firelight, with its warm nurturing glow. Still another may have needed the headlight, to show the way when it was not clear where he should go. But this lampstand, this mother, understanding that each of her sons was different, gave light to all, each and every one, in the house. And it was a lovely light.
A light that to this day might reveal what it means to give and to sacrifice. A lamp that even after she is gone might show you what it is to speak truth and to offer understanding to one another. A lampstand, a lovely light, that on this the day of her burial, has not gone out, but still shines in your hearts and guides you to paths of generosity and warmth. What a lovely light that would be, and how much you would honor your mother if you will walk in that light!
III
But, friends, it is not only that light reveals truth, and it is not only that light is intended for all in the household, it is also that light points beyond itself to its source. Light reveals the both truth and the source of truth. Light is for all in the household, so that they may discover not only who they are but also whose they are. Light points to God. Jesus’ bottom line was this:
“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.”
We do not today point only to Julia Hamilton’s good works. We point to her Lord. We do not today simply speak of what she did and how she did it. We speak of the Lord to whom she looked and of the God whose glory she celebrated.
For, in this ultimate hour, who we are is not as important as whose we are. What we have done in this life is not as significant as to whom we give our final allegiance. Julia Hamilton knew the Lord. She was a woman of prayer, she was a mother who shared her faith. She participated in the life of this congregation and of another as well. She believed, with all her heart, that Jesus Christ is the light, and in Him there is no darkness at all. Even in difficult days, when her energies ran thin or her resources looked slim, she believed that in Him was life, and that in His life was the light which no darkness could ever put out. The Lord was her light and her salvation, and therefore there was nothing to fear. The Lord was the strength of her life, and so there was no one about whom she was afraid.
And so today, ancient words ring true. Time-tested promises are on target. She no longer needs to light up the Aspen Street house, for now she is in a city that has no need of sun or moon to shine, for the glory of God is its light, and its lamp is the Lamb. She no longer must worry about giving light to all in the household, because now where she is the nations will walk by its light, and the kings of the earth will bring their glory in. And just as Julia Hamilton had within her heart a light that would never go out, so today in that city, it says, there will be no night there. But only light, a lovely light. “Ah my foes, and oh my friends – it gives a lovely light.” Grant her eternal rest, O Lord, and in light perpetual may she dwell with all your saints, until the new day dawns and the light of your countenance is seen. A lovely, lovely light.
