The Art Of CelebrationНамуна

My Lighthouse

I have a lot in common with E.T. , the Great Gonzo and A.L.F.

Hopefully it's not so much in terms of a physical resemblance. But rather because we are all aliens, born in the 80's. I feel the need to clarify that I am not from another planet (despite my wife's suspicions!) but rather I am an Irishman living in Atlanta, Georgia.

There are a lot of things I love about my new home: my local Octane barista, the ambient jazz music in Houston's, the wonderful people of Passion City Church and the pleasingly "Netflix-ready" speed of my Wi-Fi connection. (Yes, I am that shallow sometimes!)

But for all of Atlanta's urban sophistication, I still miss my "wee" coastal home in Northern Ireland. I miss the salty ocean air. The sing-song cry of seagulls. And I really miss the lighthouse, which rests in the brackish waters of Donaghadee.

The lighthouse has always been a picture of constancy, steadfastness and hope to me. In all weather it radiates its guiding light to storm-battling sailors, a glowing promise of safe shores. It is peace in the midst of troubled seas.

The Israelites weren't exactly sea-faring people, but I could guess that the concept of the lighthouse would have resonated with them. On their faith-testing journey through the wilderness, the Lord was the "fire before" his people, cutting a divine path through the desert. His unwavering light restored their wavering confidence.

Our God has not changed. He still leads his people. In our questions, in our wrestling, in our doubts and in our hurting, he is still the darkness-scattering "fire before us."

But despite being a wonderful image, the lighthouse analogy falls short. Jesus is not just ahead of us calling us "safe to shore."

He is Immanuel: God with us.

He is present in the pain.

He is immanent, closer than a whisper, journeying by our side.