The People who st in darkness have seen a great light, and
for those who sat in the region and shadow of death light
has dawned.”
It can take a while sometimes for light to dawn. She
was sitting at her desk making the most of the sometimes
fallow, sometimes fertile, time that comes when her son is
napping. The task in hand: a prayer which had been a while
in the crafting. The phone rang. She answered on automatic,
still trying to find a word to rhyme with “bone”. A voice
spoke, “Is that the Minister?" (Bone.. Shown…)
“Yes, this is the Minister..” There was a pause... and
then a question. “Did you used to be a teacher?
Before you were a Minister, I mean?” She looked up
from her notes, her attention grabbed at last. “Yes”, she
said hesitatingly. “Do you remember an Alistair Rose?
I was in your class” – “Well”, she said, sifting through the
clutter that had accumulated in the years since she had left
teaching, “tell me why you’d like to know and perhaps I’ll
remember.” Another pause. “This is Alistair Rose” came the
response. “Really?” Let me think … “Where are
you now, Alistair? How old are you? What did you do when you
left school? It can take a while sometimes for light
to dawn”. Alistair answered a flood of questions with great
patience… but with economy of information.
“I’ve been back to my old school, Miss," he interrupted. "I
wanted to see a few teachers, say thank you, but I
discovered they’d mostly all gone – retired or moved on. The
thing is, Miss, everyone thought I was really quiet at
school, but I had a lot of stuff going on. I’m trying to get
my life sorted out but it’s not easy. And I just wanted to
say thank you because you were nice to me.” It is she
who pauses this time, and she hears herself say “That’s
really kind, Alistair. The thing is, I never really felt
like I was much of a teacher. I was too young, too nervous,
too sincere"
“Oh, you were Miss, you were a good teacher.” It can take a
while sometimes for light to dawn.
She has the feeling that all is not well in Alistair’s
world, even now. Some people leave notes, perhaps others
make telephone calls, But she doesn’t know what to say, how
to get to the hurt, and before she knows it, he is gone
- and she’s left struggling with memories of the
Alistair she knew or didn’t know before the phone rang.
It seemed a lifetime ago: the ache in the pit of her stomach
which drew her out from classroom to parish. Alistair found
her years on, collared, but still tending that ache, because
he wanted to say what he’d never been able to say before.
And here was she trying to find the right words. Bone…
Shown... Alone... Unknown …
It can take a while sometimes for light to dawn. A young man
trying to gather what has come undone, a teacher searching
for truth to share, the dimming day and a constant
companion. No doubt the fishermen were well acquainted with
the dimming day. Or was it a dawning? Sometimes it’s
difficult to tell. Poised, patient, ready to haul in another
catch, their eyes had probably become accustomed to
half-light (But, then, we can all get used to just about
anything, whether it’s good for us or not:)
We may wonder if they’d noticed Jesus wander past before.
Whether they’d laughed at his stories, heard themselves in
them, smiled wryly at yet another unexpected punch line
expertly delivered.
If they’d raised an eyebrow, felt unnerved a little by his
directness, the clarity with which he was the world and them
in it. It can take a while sometimes for light to dawn. But
the now has come. Light is breaking through. And they can do
no other than respond to his call. “Follow me, and I will
make you fish for people.” Or, to put it another way,
“Follow me. Open your eyes. See what you can yet be.” And
they go, ready to try their hand at this new-fangled
fishing–for–folk.
See what you can yet be. This can just be another way of
saying, recognise what is within you.
“It’s hard to describe what it’s like finding your childhood
after such a long time,” he says softly. “I struggled in the
first three years of life. My family didn’t know what to do
with a sick child. She gave me roots I never knew I had.” He
is Morton T Kelsey, a theologian and author now in his
eighties. The “she” he is describing is Clara, the young
woman hired by his parents to be his nanny, though he has no
memory of this.
“It’s interesting you have to be in your late seventies to
discover what kind of childhood you had,” he says. Until
then the memories which had prevailed from his childhood
spoke only of rejection. Thinking he had, in his words, “not
all his marbles”, his parents handed his care over to Clara,
just a girl herself. No one had thought to test his hearing.
In his teenage years, those memories were particularly
strong and painful, unbearably so, and he walked out into
the hills one day with the intention of committing suicide.
But as he prepared to end his life a melody came to him
suddenly and inexplicably. He wouldn’t know until well into
his seventies where that melody came from or why it saved
him; only that it did.
One Christmas he received as letter from a woman called
Clara. The name is not familiar to him, “Are you alive and
are you still writing?” she asked. And in the exchange that
follows he discovered that his childhood wasn’t all about
rejection. In his seventy-seventh year Morton goes to the
nursing home to meet Clara now in her nineties. And she
sings the song she’d sung to him as a baby, the song which
he’d heard that day out on the hills. She sings the song
which saved him. And, at last, at last, he is home. A young
man trying to gather what has come undone, a teacher
searching for truth to share, an elderly gentleman finding
his way home, brothers with nothing to do but go, nowhere to
be than with him.
It can take a while sometimes for light to dawn. Those whose
fingerprints are all over Matthew’s Gospel turned to ancient
words to describe what they saw in Jesus of Nazareth. “The
people who sat in darkness have seen a great light, and for
those who sat in the region and shadow of death light has
dawned. “ And we, whose fingerprints are all over stories we
live by, are invited to turn to ancient truth too:
It can take a while sometimes for light to dawn. But it
does. It always does.