I awoke in a dark wood. Spirits darted in the shadows, and death made easy prey of men.
How would anyone find the narrow path of safety in such an unbelieving world? Man, woman, and child stepped over the slain into the grave, one after another.
The Wood was named Without Hope and Without God. I heard the sighs, groans, and sobs of the Already Condemned. They moaned,
We hope for light, and behold, darkness,
and for brightness, but we walk in gloom.
We grope for the wall like the blind;
we grope like those who have no eyes;
we stumble at noon as in the twilight,
among those in full vigor we are like dead men.
We all growl like bears;
we moan and moan like doves;
we hope for justice, but there is none;
for salvation, but it is far from us. (Isaiah 59:9–11)
How can such be saved?
“You are the light of the world,” a voice whispers through the trees. To whom does he speak?
Yes, now as I look closely, I can make out small breaks in the darkness. Three lights ahead act very strangely.
The first, a gentleman, Too Timid by name, had cloaked himself under a basket.
Me: Excuse me, sir, I believe the voice that spoke just now was perhaps speaking to you?
Too Timid: My dear fellow, you must have me confused. I am but a stump of the forest like any other in this Wood.
Me: But sir, though cloaked in a basket, I still see some rays peeking through the weave. This Wood needs light, sir. Will you not offer us any of yours?
Too Timid: I suppose you’re right. My Master has lit me and made me different from others, at least different from the one I used to be. Yes, maybe those words were meant for me.
Me: Very good, sir. Then let me remove this cumbersome basket from your back so you might be more useful for wanderers.
Too Timid: Unhand me, sir! I would shine brightly — I would — but if you only knew these wanderers in this desolate Wood and how they treat the light, you would never ask me to remove my basket. If they were agreeable to the light, I should flame as the sun, but these people hate the light and do not come to light lest their deeds be exposed. Instead, they abuse lamps, mock lanterns, and snuff out wicks — they are wicked. Perhaps the Master has other luminaries more daring. I’m sorry.
Traveling on, I see a second glob of light hidden behind a bush. A Mr. Too Modest is his name.
Me: Sir, I could not help but notice your dash of visibility in this world of midnight. But why, may I ask, are you crouched behind this bush? I saw a lampstand near the road a few paces back. If you climbed upon it, you should be mightily useful in this Wood. May I bring you to the higher seat?
Too Modest: I blush at your flattery, my good man, but I must decline.
Me: May I inquire why you would refuse to aid those dying in the darkness?
Too Modest: I am not after prominence, young man. Tempt me not with places of honor, for I have chosen the lowly place — here, behind this bush.
Me: You cannot go much lower than the ground, I suppose. But did you not hear that voice speak not too long ago, saying, “You are the light of the world”? Yet you appear but the light of this bush.
Too Modest: No long prayers on street corners for me — no sir. The best lights are not meant to be seen by men. My Father sees in secret, and there I shine for his eyes alone.
Me: But did not the voice go on to say that lamps ought not to be hidden behind bushes, but rather placed on a stand, so that they can give light to all in the area? “Let your light shine before others,” I believe it said. Should lamps hide from the eyes of those they are lit to bless?
Is it not more humble that one should shine as brightly as possible for the good of as many as possible, with the aim that all might see “and give glory to your Father who is in heaven”? Good works and words are for others’ good and another’s glory.
Too Modest: Nearly plausible, sir. I only hope for humble good for a humble few and concern myself not with elevation to any other seat. I would not presume myself to be any sort of blessing to the many. Planted in the soil behind this bush, I remain low, if not useful. Men exalted are men endangered. Good night.
Lost in thought and tripping over the tombstones, I came to the third light, a candle called Lord Too Lazy.
Me: Sir, I am delighted to have found you in a proper place! I had a rather odd conversation with one unwilling to take his stand. That said, may I ask why you burn so slightly? To be frank, I did not know anyone could flicker so faintly and still burn. I could hardly perceive you from a distance, and even standing close, I see more smoke than flame. May I fan you from this smolder?
Too Lazy: No, my dear boy, rest and relaxation is most strategic in the end. Others spark and flash — and fall, like shooting stars. They burn out because they blaze too quickly and glow far beyond wisdom’s moderation.
Me: But sir, you seem all but extinguished. What of others’ good?
Too Lazy: To the eyes of the overly ambitious and legalistic, a sufficient flame always looks spent and sooty. These expect a man to volunteer to be quickly consumed, soon a melted puddle of wax, for “the good of others.” Candles are not meant to burn themselves out or diminish into nubs. No. I shall not exert myself to death even for the good of others. The good I offer is a flicker, long living.
I did not get to respond because just then I awoke out of that dim land.
The Bible still lay open before me on my desk:
You are the light of the world. A city set on a hill cannot be hidden. Nor do people light a lamp and put it under a basket, but on a stand, and it gives light to all in the house. In the same way, let your light shine before others, so that they may see your good works and give glory to your Father who is in heaven. (Matthew 5:14–16)
Desiring God