A Light in Dark Places

27th Sunday in Ordinary Time (C)

Readings: Habakkuk 1:2-3, 2:2-4; Psalm 94 (95):1-2,6-9; 2 Timothy 1:6-8, 13-14; Luke 17:5-10

Picture: By Satyajit on Unsplash

What does it feel like to receive a gift just when we need it most? In the first instalment of the Lord of the Rings movie trilogy, a group of companions undertake a dangerous quest to destroy an evil ring of power. On the way, they are forced to pass through the terrifying Mines of Moria, where they lose the wisest and strongest member of their company. Then, just when they are exhausted, traumatised and grieving, the group arrives at a kingdom of elves, who offer them welcome, and a safe place to rest. And when they are finally ready to resume their quest, the elven queen speaks with them, and presents each with a gift. From her, the ring-bearer, the little hobbit, Frodo, receives a small glass bottle of starlight, along with these words of blessing: May it be a light for you in dark places, when all other lights go out. A precious gift that proves very useful, later in the story, when Frodo is trapped in the dark lair of a giant flesh-eating spider. 

A light… in dark places, when all other lights go out. Consoling words from a pivotal conversation, within the context of a titanic struggle between good and evil, between darkness and light. And despite the sharp contrast between the immensity and power of the dark, and the smallness and fragility of the light, the ring-bearer finds in these words the courage he needs to stay committed, and to persevere.

Context and conversation, contrast and commitment. These are also what we find in our scriptures today. In the first reading, the prophet Habakkuk finds himself surrounded by the darkness of tyranny and oppression, outrage and violence, contention and discord. This is the difficult context of his painful struggle. The frustrating and discouraging experience of the great contrast between his own meagre efforts, and the pervasiveness of evil. Yet, rather than allow himself to be swallowed up by the dark spider of despair, the prophet cries out to God. He engages the Lord in conversation. And God responds by offering him a timely gift: a consoling vision of future vindication, as well as a call to persevere. The prophet is asked to put down the vision in writing, so that it may be more easily understood and shared with others. And he is also encouraged to stay committed. To remain faithful, even if the vision’s fulfilment is delayed. For the upright man will live by his faithfulness… 

Context and conversation, contrast and commitment. These are also what we find in the gospel. As we may recall, from the reading of two Sundays ago, through the Parable of the Dishonest Steward, Jesus had been teaching his disciples how to relate with money. And after his opponents, the Pharisees, take offence at his teaching (16:14), last week we heard Jesus respond with the Parable of the Rich Man and Lazarus. Warning his disciples of the dangers of idolising and being blinded by money. The Lord then goes on to speak about the importance of resisting temptation, of not tempting others, and of forgiving those who repent, after falling into temptation (17:1-4). This is the immediate biblical context of today’s reading: the Lord’s struggle with the powers that be, the forces of darkness. This is what Jesus has been conversing with his disciples about.

Then, today, after hearing the Lord’s demanding teachings and, presumably, seeing the great contrast between their own weakness, and the immensity of the task at hand, the apostles are moved to ask the Lord to increase our faith. But rather than teaching them how to make things bigger, Jesus responds by highlighting the benefits of being small. Faith the size of a tiny mustard seed, he says, can overturn even a stubborn mulberry tree. A plant known for its extensive and invasive root system. On the one hand, we could interpret this to mean that faith is like chilli padi. Just a tiny bit goes a long way. But perhaps it also means that faith works best precisely when it feels fragile and small. How else will we learn the disposition of a servant, humbly waiting upon the master, except by realising how small and fragile our own efforts are? And isn’t this the commitment Jesus calls us to make? And the pattern of sound teaching the second reading encourages us to emulate? A pattern we see every time we contemplate the Lord’s agony in the Garden of Gethsemane, where, surrounded by darkness, Jesus cries out in anguish, before humbly submitting to his Father’s will?

A gentle reminder that faith works best precisely when it feels small and fragile. Isn’t this a gift we need very much today? When our world seems engulfed in such darkness, and so many are in danger of being swallowed up by the twin soul-devouring spiders of apathy and despair? Sisters and brothers, like the gift that Frodo received, how might we help one another allow the Lord’s teaching to be for us truly a light… in dark places, when all other lights go out?