Put on the armor of light

I am going to wear the same clothes for the entire month. What I mean is that for the whole season of Advent I am going to try to wear the armor of light. That’s my Advent intention. 

In his letter to the church in Rome a little less than 2000 years ago, one of Jesus’ close friends, a fellow named Paul, wrote, “It is time to lay aside the works of darkness and put on the armor of light.” I couldn’t agree more.

Armor can’t be pierced by the spears and arrows that are hurled your way. Light is a symbol of the ever-presence of God’s love as your source and your sustenance. Thus the Armor of Light is the impenetrable clothing of Grace that followers of Jesus are called to wear that we might shine against the darkness. When we dress in the armor of light the darkness is simply a backdrop against which our lights shine all the brighter. 

One of my early lessons on how to wear the armor of light came from my mother.  

I grew up in a church a lot like Good Shepherd. St. David’s was a big, active, vibrant church just north of Atlanta with scores of little children and their families. My dad was the priest, and my mom was in charge of the church’s nursery. When you turned 12 years old you could apply to work for my mom in the nursery taking care of all the children who came our way while their parents went to church. 

Keeping the nursery was serious work, and my mom trained us for the task. One thing she taught us has stuck with me all these years later. 

She said, “The children in our care will misbehave to some degree. Someone will throw a toy, someone will bonk someone else’s head, someone will take their neighbor’s snack. Someone will pitch a fit. That’s just what happens with little children. It’s no problem. When any of those things happen you redirect the child, jolly them up, and move on. This is the most important part: when their parent comes to pick them up from us after church we do NOT report the misbehavior of the child to the parent. You simply say, Thank you for entrusting us with your child. She was wonderful.”

I remember asking her why we shouldn’t report the misbehavior of the child to the parent. She said simply and powerfully, “Because they already know.”

I said, “What do you mean?”

She said, “These parents know their children. They know their struggles. The struggles of their children keep them up at night. And all week long the child’s school, some of the neighbors, maybe even some family members have reported on the child’s struggles to the parent. The parent knows. So, we are not going to pile on. Their church is not going to be one more voice in their harried, worried lives that tells them what they already know all too well about their child’s difficulties.

That’s why, said my mom, when the parents pick their kids up from us we say, “They were great. " We had such fun!”

Looking back some 38 years later I can see so clearly that my mom was teaching us how to put on the armor of light so that we at the tender age of 12 could be lights shining hopefully against the darkness for some young parents who had miraculously managed to get themselves and their little children to church. 

I don’t know anyone who needs to be told yet again what’s wrong with them. No one. No one needs our criticism or our reporting on what’s wrong. Everyone I know needs someone in light-soaked armor to walk alongside them as they make their way through the darkness. We are those people. Put on the armor of light. The world needs our hope.