Grace to you in Jesus’ name. Amen.

Opening: Lost in the Dark

The man crosses into a dense forest where the tree canopy blocks out nearly all of what little light there is. The darkness is disorienting, and he struggles to follow the path. He fears he’ll be lost in the wood with now way out.

Just as panic nearly begins to set in, he sees a lantern flickering in the distance. Moving toward the light, he finds another traveler holding the light high, lighting up the way forward. The traveler explains the light is a guide, showing the safe path through the dark forest. The man walks along side the traveler, grateful for the companionship and the calm and peace the light provides. As they journey together, the man realizes the light not only guides. It also reveals the beauty hidden in the shadows.

The Darkness We Know Too Well

Let’s start with that man born blind in John 9. Picture him sitting by the roadside, day after day, hearing footsteps pass by, never seeing the faces. The disciples see him and ask Jesus, “Who sinned? This man or his parents?” They’re looking for a reason, someone to blame.

Jesus stops them cold: “Neither.” He says, “This happened so God’s works might be displayed in him.” Then He spits on the ground, makes mud, rubs it on the man’s eyes, and says, “Go wash in the pool of Siloam.” The man does and, for the first time, he sees.

But it doesn’t end there. The Pharisees get wind of this miracle, and they’re not happy. “This Jesus can’t be from God,” they say. “He healed on the Sabbath!”

They question the man, his parents, anyone they can find. They’re digging for dirt, but the man just keeps saying, “All I know is I was blind, and now I see.” The Pharisees can’t stand it. They kick him out. Blindness isn’t just his problem, though. It’s theirs too. They’re blind to who Jesus really is.

Doesn’t that sound familiar? We’ve all got our own kind of blindness. Maybe it’s not physical though that is very real for some, but it can also be spiritual. Think about the rich man in Luke 16, the parable of poor Lazarus. The rich man, he’s got everything: fine clothes, big feasts, a gated house. And right outside his door is Lazarus, covered in sores, begging for crumbs. The rich man walks by him everyday, but he doesn’t see him. Not really. Even in death, he’s blind—crying out from torment, “Send Lazarus to help me!” Too late. He had Moses and the Prophets, Jesus says. He had the truth, but he wouldn’t look.

What about us? Who’s the Lazarus at our doorstep? The neighbor struggling to pay bills? The friend who’s hurting but too proud to say it? We get busy, distracted, comfortable, and we miss them right there in front of us. People walking around in this town, or even members of our own congregation. Ephesians 5 hits us square: “You were darkness.” Not just in it, you were it. Darkness hides sin. It numbs us to others. It whispers, “Don’t worry about that. Look out for yourself.” And we listen. If there is twinge of guilt in those words, that’s the Law talking. It shows us where we fall short, where we stumble in the dark.

The Light That Finds Us

But here’s the good news. Jesus doesn’t leave us there. Back to John 9, after the Pharisees toss that healed man out, Jesus finds him. “Do you believe in the Son of Man?” He asks.

The man says, “Who is He, Lord? Tell me so I can believe.”

Jesus says, “You’re looking at Him.” And the man worships. From blind beggar to believer, just like that. The light of Christ opens his eyes, not just to see the world, but to see His Savior, and yours.

That’s what Jesus does for us. You and I, we’re like Lazarus in a way, aren’t we? Not the beggar, but dead in our sins, helpless on our own. Ephesians 5:14 sings it out:

Awake, O sleeper, and rise from the dead, and Christ will shine on you.

Jesus doesn’t wait for us to stumble into Him. He comes to find us. He’s looking out for us. Searching for us to save us. He takes our darkness: every selfish thought, every ignored need, every sin, and carries it to the cross. That’s what Lent is pointing us toward: the cross where He trades our night for His day, our blindness for His sight. He invites us to walk out of darkness into His marvelous light.¹

That is what that black cross is all about. It is our physical act of joining Jesus as He nails our sins to the cross. That is where our sins belong, but because of Jesus you don’t.

Psalm 34:15 says:

The eyes of the Lord
are toward the righteous
and His ears toward their cry.

God sees you. When we’re lost in the dark, dank, forest of life, He’s the one holding the lantern high. Easter is coming. That resurrection dawn when the light breaks through once and for all and burns away the darkness once and for all. Walk into that light. Christ’s victory over death says, “You don’t have to stay in the dark. He has made you to be light in the Lord.²”

Walking It Out

So what do we do with this light? Ephesians 5:8 doesn’t just say “you are light”—it also says, “Walk as children of light.” It’s not enough to see it. We’ve got to live it. Let me give you three ways—simple, but real:

1. Look for the Lazaruses around you. Who’s hurting near you? Maybe it’s a kind word to a cashier who you can tell is having a rough day. Maybe it’s a meal for a family stretched thin. Walking in the light means seeing the a need and stepping in when you can.

2. Shine the light on yourself. What’s hiding in your shadows? A grudge you’re nursing? A habit you excuse? Bring it to Jesus. Confess it. Write it on a card. Nail it to the cross and let His light clean it out.

3. Share the light. The rich man wanted to warn his brothers, but it was too late. We’ve still got time, but no one knows how much. Tell someone about Jesus: your kids, your coworker, your friend. Don’t wait. I hate those “wish I had” thoughts.

Closing: The Lantern Ahead

Let’s go back to that forest. The traveler’s scared, stumbling, and lost. Then he sees the lantern, hears the voice: “Follow the light.” He steps forward, and the path opens up. The trees thin out. The glow shows him a way he never knew was there. He turns to thank the stranger, and the stranger smiles. “Keep walking,” he says. “The light’s not going anywhere.”

The light leads the man to the edge of the forest and then out, but he knows there are still challenges ahead. How will he continue to follow the light in the days to come? How will he find the courage to press on? Join us on Wednesday as we explore “Trusting in God’s Timing.”

Amen.

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NOTES

11 Peter 2:9