Putting on the Armor of Light

There’s a story the dean of Grace Cathedral, Alan Jones, told of John Donne, Dean of St. Paul’s in London from 1621until his death in 1631. 

You may not immediately know the name, but you know one of his famous lines, “Do not ask for whom the bell tolls.  It tolls for thee.”

Much of his poetry and writings were considered by some, including King Henry VIII, to be of dubious orthodoxy. 

The story goes that the king was concerned enough to announce his attendance at St. Paul’s on a coming Sunday.

That Sunday in the pulpit, John Donne soliloquized to himself, “John Donne, be careful what you say today, the King is present this morning.  John Donne, be careful what you say today, the King of Kings is present this morning.”

I believe that every morning I enter this pulpit, the King of Kings is present.  Therein lies my first loyalty and duty to speak our first loyalty and duty is to speak the unvarnished truth and give voice to the fervent hope in Christ Jesus.  Especially in this dark, uncertain time.  To do so is to be “putting on the armor of Light.”  So let it shine!  The King of Kings is in our midst — our armor of Light.

So, to begin, let us be absolutely honest concerning the darkness that presently enshrouds our days. 

God’s Grace so often pierces the darkest times.  At the very time the Light of Christ breaks into the world, the Church remembers the Holy Innocents slaughtered by Herod.

You know the hymn, “Lully, Lullay.”  The second verse,

“Herod the King, in his raging/charged he hath this day.
his men of might, in his own sight/all young children to slay.”

And this wanton slaughter of the innocents continues unto this day in Gaza and Lebanon.  Paid for with American dollars.  Putin continues to target the innocents in Ukraine.  For want of care, Holy innocents are killed and brutalized by gangs and famine in Haiti and Sudan.

Friends, these are dark, dark days indeed.

But so often in the midst of such wretchedness, God breaks in and works wonders.  Wonders in an out of-the-way place in a no-account village.  Wonders in a freezing outdoor manger.  Child of impoverished parents.

Such miracles were also wrought out of the dreary cruelty of slavery.

I’ve picked up the autobiography of Frederick Douglass this season for inspiration.  In this season of despair, I turn to such luminous souls who have confronted the darkness and blazed a path to hope.  They sustain us.

Frederick Douglass had been separated from his mother when he was but an infant.  His father was a white man, most likely his master, a consummate master of cruelty. Douglass relays the trauma he suffered as a young boy witnessing his aunt stripped naked to the waist, and whipped until her back was bloody.

“After crossing her hands, he tied them with a strong rope, and led her to a stool under a large hook in the joist, put in for the purpose.  He made her get upon the stool, and tied her hands to the hook…after rolling up his sleeves, he commenced to lay on the heavy cowskin and soon the warm, red blood (amid heart-rending shrieks from her, and horrid oaths from him) came dripping to the floor.  I was so terrified and horror-stricken at the sight, that I hid myself in a closet.”[1]

This trauma lived with him the rest of his life.  How he got beyond it is indeed a miracle.

Later he was sold to a naive, young mistress in Baltimore, who against the convention of the time, taught him a few basics of the alphabet and reading.  

Her husband absolutely forbade any further instruction.  It was unlawful and unsafe.  Douglass relates the warning given to that young wife.

“If you teach that N. (speaking of myself) how to read, there will be no keeping him.  It would forever unfit him to be a slave.  He would at once become unmanageable, and of no value to his master…It would make him discontented and unhappy.”[2]

The more vehement the master was against reading; the more certain Frederick became concerning the necessity of reading.  The words of that admonition sank deep into Frederick’s heart and impelled him forward.

From this rudimentary instruction, he tricked white boys into teaching more of the letters and soon taught himself to write.  He continued working on his reading every spare moment he had to himself.

When coming across the abolitionists and reading of them in newspapers he would stash away in secrecy, his mind exploded.

(And I remembered my abysmally ignorant teacher in the fourth grade, when asked about the treatment of slaves, telling us students that “they were happy because they were treated so well.”)  I’m sure she never read Frederick Douglass or any other slave narratives of that period.

In the bleak, dark cruelty of that savage institution, a most brilliant, heavenly light burst forth in Douglass’ mind.  Freedom!

He continues the narration of the opening of his mind in this journey towards the Light.

“The words sank deep into my heart, stirred up sentiments within that lay slumbering, and called into existence an entirely new train of thought.  It was a new and special revelation, explaining dark and mysterious things, with which my youthful understanding had struggled, but struggled in vain.  I now understood what had been to me a most perplexing difficulty – to wit, the white man’s power to enslave the black man.  It was a grand achievement, and I prized it highly.  From that moment, I understood the pathway from slavery to freedom.  It was just what I wanted and I got it at a time when I least expected it.”[3]

Frederick Douglass would escape to the North and in time become one of the leading intellectuals of his age.  His essays and columns would be widely disseminated by the northern press.  President Lincoln would esteem his presence.

Would that we might also value the heritage of our education so highly.  But alas, a large percentage of Americans can only read at a fourth-grade level or below.  Half of my eighth-grade history students could not read the text.

Sometimes it takes a while to perceive and prize the light of learning — the Christ Light of innate potential.  For me that light didn’t dawn until the fifth grade.  Out of the raw material of my failure to care and my lack of industry, the light finally dawned when I came across my father’s college entomology book.  Yes, insects!  Bugs absolutely fascinated me and through those creepy crawlies I became hooked on reading. 

Almost as hooked as Frederick Douglass became on the idea of his own innate worth and his striving for freedom.  “The whole armor of light.”

In our darkest times, this season – in the midst of Herod’s raging over “wokeness,” tariffs and stolen elections — we at St. Francis have an inextinguishable hope — the coming of the bearer of Light Eternal.

Yes, let us be careful how we live.  In the fearsome presence of Caesar, let us also be mindful that each day the King of Kings is present to hallow our days.  Let the Light of Douglass’ perseverance and courage enlighten our Advent days.

Amanda Gorman, poet laurate, expresses the hope of our Advent this season:

When day comes, we step out of the shade, aflame and unafraid.
The new dawn blooms as we free it.
For there is always light,
if only we’re brave enough to see it.
If only we’re brave enough to be it.

Amen and Amen.

---

[1] Frederick Douglass, Autobiographies: Narrative of the Life of Frederick Douglass, an American Slave, My Bondage and My Freedom, Life and Times of Frederick Douglass (New York: Library of America, 1994), 19.

[2] Op. cit., 37.

[3] Op. cit., 37-38.

December 1, 2024
Advent 1

Jeremiah 33:14-16 Psalm 25:1-9;
1 Thessalonians 3:9-13; Luke 21:25-36

“Putting on the Armor of Light”