“A Light Bulb Moment” is a sermon interpretation of Luke 3: 7-18.
My wife, Jan, and I were in the capitol city of Nicaragua, with a group of people from Lutheran world hunger. We were there for an immersion experience, to see what was happening. It was a very hot, hot day, in Managua, the capitol city. We were sitting in a shaded park, and there was a little stand that sold pop and candy across the street from us. We went over to get a coke. There were no beggars, no tourists, no vacationers. Barbara, a very bright woman, a pastor, a graduate of Yale Divinity School, was standing in line, waiting. A young boy came up to her and looked right at her, almost like staring. Pretty soon Barbara could not ignore this little boy any longer. She looked down at him and said, “Do you want a coke?” “No,” said the boy. “I want some bread for my family.” Barbara was upset, flustered by this situation and the boy. With the boy, she walked over to another stand that sold bread and bought the boy some loaves of bread. Later that night, as we gathered together for group discussion and prayers, Barbara asked, “What can I do? What can I do about all the little boys and girls on this earth who are asking for a loaf of bread?” In that one light bulb moment, in that one sentence, God got through to her and she asked, “What can I do?”

It seems so often in life that our hearts are open for just a moment. For just a second, a light flickers on in a film clip, for just a paragraph in a book, for a sentence within a conversation at a coke stand. For just a moment, the light bursts into the darkness of our minds and hearts, God gets inside of us where there seems to be an inner conversation going on. When the light of God gets into our hearts and souls for just a moment, God works on us and we ask ourselves, “What can I do? What can I do?

John the Baptist didn’t get paid to preach at weddings; he didn’t get paid to preach for funerals; he didn’t get paid to preach on Sunday mornings. Instead of his salary being paid for by the congregation, John the Baptist lived out on the desert, on locusts and wild honey. He wasn’t influenced by lobbyists, wasn’t out for political gain, didn’t sell his soul to the highest bidder or slant his message to increase his ratings. He told the absolute truth about God. He told the absolute truth about human beings. He didn’t have anything to prove or impress people with. He stood in front of the crowds, not wanting to win friends and influence people, not wanting to show the crowds how clever he was, not wanting to get people to experience the power of positive thinking.

John the Baptist, preached in such a way that he upset people or rattled them. He said to the crowds, “You people act like two bit phonies, pretending you’re so pious, pretending you’re so religiously impeccable. Why don’t people get freed up from your religion: so shallow, so insipid, so sentimental. If I had the kind of inner religion that so many of you have, I would be embarrassed to call myself religious at all. Why don’t you show that you have genuinely changed?”

One group of people was defensive and said, “Get off our backs. Who do you think you are? We’re good Jews. Or today, we’re good Presbyterians; we’re good Methodists; we’re good Lutherans. Who do you think you are to talk to us like that? Don’t you know who you are talking to?”

But there was another group there that day, and I am not sure what happened. Maybe it was for a second, maybe a paragraph, maybe two or three sentences that connected and the light came on. Something that John the Baptist said got through to them, got inside of them, and therefore they asked the personal question, “What can I do? What can we do to change? What can I do to change for the better?” When you authentically ask that question, it is a sign that God has gotten through to you.

Then God gets very specific in the answers and John the Baptist got very specific in his answers. Those who had clothing, food and blankets asked, “What can we do? And John responded bluntly, “If you have two coats, give one away to the needy. If you have two cupboards of food, give one away to the hungry. If you have two blankets, give one to a person who is cold at night. The tax collectors asked, “What can we do?” And John again responded bluntly, “Don’t cheat people.” The soldiers asked, “What can we do?” John again replied bluntly and specifically, “No violence. No raping. No torture.”

You see, anytime the Spirit of God goes to work on you and turns on the light bulb, even for a few moments, you begin to ask that question, “What can I do? What can we do?” God may move inside of you during a second in a film clip, or a paragraph in a book or a two-minute conversation standing in line; and when that flickering light of God turns on inside of you and me, we ask, “What I can do? What can I do to change? What can I do to make it better?”

Last Saturday, I was at the men’s breakfast at church and we men were talking about the Christmas that is already upon us. The men started pontificating like men will often do. They muttered, “Christmas costs too much,” “All the bills show up in January,” “We’re too materialistic,” or “Why can’t we have this Christmas generosity all year long and not just for a few days in December.” To all of this muttering and blubbering, one man suggested, “A trip of thousand miles begins with the first step.” Miraculously, the conversation shifted dramatically and the men began talking about taking the first step in their path to increased generosity. One man told a story about caring for his elderly grandma. Another talked about working with the young men at the juvenile court. Still another told of caring for a handicapped person for years.

Finally, someone looked at Floyd, good old Floyd Leinenger, mid eighties, wearing a red bow tie, using a walker, having a face with pronounced deformities with his caved in jaw. One knowing man asked, “Tell us your story, Floyd?” Floyd, in his high pitched voice, quietly said, “My wife and I were married for thirty years. We couldn’t have any children so we raised seventy-two foster children.” Silence. Stone silence. And then the miracle happened. All the men began clapping and clapping and clapping. … It was just for a moment, for a minute, for a fraction of time, and God walked into the hearts of us men. We were clapping and smiling at Floyd, and we thought, “What can I do … to be more like Floyd? What can I do … to be more generous? What can I do … to be more giving like Floyd?” Not out of guilt that I didn’t sponsor seventy-two foster children. Shame on me. Not out of competition. I should be as generous as Floyd. Not at all. As Floyd told his stories of the seventy-two foster children, we all listened quietly as church mice. As he talked, we privately asked our selves the inner questions: “Christmas is coming. What can I do … to change? To be more generous? What can we do to be more like Floyd?” What questions we were asking in our inner selves on that Saturday morning.

When we ask that question, God gets specific. God lists specific actions and behaviors. God said to those who were well dressed, “If you have two coats, give one away. If your cupboard is full of food, give half to the hungry. If you have two blankets, give one who is cold at night. If you are in business, stop cheating. If you are a soldier, stop violence and brutality.” In other words, God’s Word, through John the Baptist, a true prophet, became very specific. That’s the way God is: God always gets specific with our lives.

I, too, would like to be specific. You ask the question, “What can I do? What can I do to live a more holy life?”

Rev. Edward Markquart sermon, edited by Ministry Depot