How many of us as children learned the song, “This little light of mine?” When I was a staffing a parish early in my years as a Jesuit priest, I loved when we would sing this at the children’s mass. Not only the kids, but their parents and me… we all get into the joy of swaying and clapping to this song. Why? Maybe it’s more than just the tune, an African American “Spiritual” song that originated in the 1920’s where it was first sung in Black churches and by the 1940’s in prisons. Later it became a set piece of the “freedom singing” during the public demonstrations of the Civil Rights era.
A odd song of resistance, with its simple lyrics and its joyful, energetic tune, it was used by people protesting discrimination and oppression to bring unity, and to steady nerves in the face of potentially violent suppression.
Singing joyfully and hopefully together in the face of such hard circumstances- incarceration, racial discrimination, and potential recriminations for civil disobedience… somehow, this surprising course of action witnesses human dignity, strength and courage, and the wisdom and restraint not to respond to violence in kind, but rather, to allow the higher justice of God to sort things out. It is the kind of grace given social action that people around the world and throughout the years have used to stand up to oppression, defy violence with peaceful resistance, and to shine light on our potential to resolve our differences through processes of justice, reconciliation, and healing.
A simple, children’s song, yes. And when used as gift and resource in these troubling times, it taps a grace that God gives us to evolve past our tendencies to abuse power for egocentric or ethnocentric purposes, or worse, to inflict violence out of fear of those who are different from ourselves. To sing such a song lifts our spirits in dark moments, and when sung with others, this children’s tune reminds us that we are all sisters and brothers together, longing to simply live and thrive in this lifetime.
When Jesus speaks of setting our light where all can see it, no doubt he is referring to the development and the use of the gifts that God has given us, and the way that by acting with virtue, kindness, and generosity, we set an example for all to see. This is valuable in any time or place, but especially when threatening circumstances might trigger regression and reactivity. Rather, Jesus reminds us that the light we are to shine is his light, his love, his wisdom… that choosing restraint, choosing to meet others as we would want to be met, that this is almost always the better way.
There is a freedom in this teaching that displaces ourselves from being the center of our concerns, as Jesus directs us to use our gifts and abilities on other’s behalf, and to inspire others to do the same.
What a great instruction for leaders, who know better than to rely on formal authority alone to mobilize people for the service of a mission, or to do hard things that entail sacrifice, but rather, who press their own shoulders to the work and set good example for how to respond in the face of challenges.
These days, I have the great privilege of working with a religious congregation headquartered in Paris, the City of Light. I’ve been staying just ten minutes walk from the original Lady Liberté and the view of the Eiffel Tower. The weather has been wet, cold, and grey, but each evening when I have a chance to take a short walk, these two sights lift my spirit, and remind me of these words of Jesus. We need beacons, lighthouses, and candles in the dark. We need leaders who inspire hope and courage, not with words alone, but with their goodness, integrity, and good example.
Where might you humbly and boldly shine the light of your gifts and goodness today on behalf of others? Where might you allow the light of Christ to radiate through you on the synodal path we’re walking as Church?
With you on the road,
