Dear brothers and sisters – todays readings leave us with two questions. First, Jesus talks about the necessity of putting our light on a lampstand, or locating a city on a hill. What is this lampstand, and what is this hill? Second, and perhaps more important, Jesus tells us that we are the light of the world. How do we become this light?
In the Gospel, Jesus says that a lamp is naturally placed on a lampstand so that it can be seen. This is obviously meant to refer to us as his followers, that we, as individuals, must be visible examples, or lights, in the general darkness of the world. He also compares the necessity of our visibility to a city on a hill. This is our example as a community to the world. But in order to be seen at all, we must be set on a lampstand or a hill, on some kind of firm foundation so that we don’t waver or tip over or roll under some pesky bushel basket. Paul also emphasizes our need for a foundation when he asks us to “stand firm in the Lord.” How can we stand firm if we are not standing on a solid foundation? What, then, is this foundation?
Fortunately, Jesus answers this question for us in the very next section. The law and the prophets are our foundation. In other words, scripture. Not “the smallest letter or the smallest part of a letter” will be changed in the law. It will remain unmoved and unchanged until the end of time. Scripture is more solid than heaven and earth. As St. Benedict says in the Rule, “What page, what passage of the inspired books of the Old and New Testaments is not the truest of guides for human life?” Scripture, then, is the firm foundation, the lampstand and the hill, on which we are set so as to be stable enough to be seen by others. We have a monastic tradition of lectio divina through which we touch the word of God, as it speaks personally to us, every day. And, also as monks, we have St. Benedict’s Rule, our own constitutions and customary, and the long tradition of monastic writing and practice as secondary supports around us. But they are also based firmly on Scripture. If we find ourselves wavering, losing our balance, or stuck under any kind of a bushel basket, it means that we have strayed too far from our firm foundation, from the Scripture that gives us our meaning, our purpose, and our stability.
So we know the lampstand on which we are set to be lights to the world, but how do we become lights in the first place? We may be born as lights, slightly marred perhaps, but bright. However, as the years go by and we accumulate disappointments, difficulties, and distress, and as we recognize that we have made mistakes, said things we regret, and done things that have hurt other people, our light dims. We are overwhelmed by the cares of this world, the pressure of earning a living, of raising a family, of dealing with mental and physical challenges, of deaths and tragedies with our loved ones, and so on. Our light gets covered by the dust and mud of the weight of simply living. So how can we restore our light to its original brightness?
Our first reading gives us a clue: the pursuit of wisdom. When we seek wisdom, the cares of our lives become less pressing, are put into context. Material wealth becomes like sand and mud, not worth chasing. We can deal with health problems, aging and illness, because wisdom puts them into perspective. We recognize that our lives on earth are merely part of a larger spiritual journey, that death is part of life, that grace comes in the most unlikely forms. And it says somewhere that wisdom “teaches moderation and prudence,” so we can be content with what we have and who we are.
This is all well and good, but the further question might be, what precise practical steps can we take to attain wisdom? Well, we could do worse than to begin with Bernard of Clairvaux’s three degrees of truth, as laid out in his little book, The Twelve Degrees of Humility and Pride.
Bernard begins by asking us to recognize the truth about ourselves. We are poor creatures, broken at our core, and can do nothing whatever to heal ourselves. We might think that this is not good news. We may even get a little disconsolate at the prospect. But this truth is actually liberating. We realize we can’t do a thing on our own. We need God’s help. The truth about ourselves leads to humility. And humility is simply the recognition of the truth that we can’t depend on ourselves. Self sufficiency is not only the greatest sin, it’s an unattainable goal. We need help. God’s help, the help of other people, the help of community.
Bernard’s second truth is the recognition of the truth about our neighbours. After learning the truth about ourselves, we can see that our neighbours are in exactly the same position, broken and helpless. And our recognition of the broken state of our neighbours leads to compassion. We are all in the same boat, all struggling and hurting. Everyone has some deep tragedy they’ve experienced, everyone has insecurities, shame and embarrassment, deep regrets and guilt. Our neighbour’s spiritual poverty leads us to compassion for them, and the yearning to help in whatever way we can. Compassion leads us outward, toward others and away from obsession with ourselves.
Bernard’s third truth is the truth about God. We learn this through our own experience of compassion. If we can love our neighbours not in spite of but because of their faults and inadequacies, then we can understand at least a little God’s boundless compassion and love for each one of us. God loves us just as we are, as broken, flawed, struggling creatures. God’s creatures.
This, then, is one way to recover our light. This is wisdom and knowledge, set on the firm foundation of Scripture and God. We can place our trust in God having understood our own littleness and our neighbour’s brokenness. Then we won’t have to try to hide our true selves from others, to present ourselves as better than we are, to disguise and deny our shortcomings so as to appear competent and self-reliant. We can let God do the work for us, we can be transparent in the sight of others, we can let God shine through us. Because God is, of course, the source of all light, and in the end, it is not our light that shines from our lampstand, but God’s light shining through us.