Shadows and Light

“You must forgive me, I am confused by shadows,” says the somewhat delirious, but endearing, character Don Quixote in Man of La Mancha. After a life full of chasing windmills, seeing in others what they could not see in themselves, and even calling one by another name, he struggles to find his home between the world he knows and the one he dreams, as impossible as the latter may be. In the end, like us, he is confused by shadows.

One of the occupational hazards of being a preacher is you remember some of your sermons. One that stands out for me was delivered in a gymnasium that served also as the chapel and theater. Lights were set up for a production later that week, and I asked that the spotlights be turned on and pointed at me as I delivered the sermon. The woman I asked to do this must have thought my ego had finally won the day, but my purpose was not to shine light on me so much as to create shadows behind. Facing the congregation of students and faculty, I spoke of shadows and light, and with each move I made, walking across the stage or moving my hands, my shadow did the same on the wall behind. I can still remember the look of amazement in the younger students’ eyes as they pointed at my shadow and made the connection between what I was saying and what was going on behind me. “As long as I face the light,” I said, “I can’t see the shadows.” 

I still believe that’s true, but it sure is hard. There are many sources of light, and each casts its own shadow. Like Peter Pan, we can turn and play with our shadows, but, in the end, we’re liable to get confused. Shadows can seem so real, when, in fact, they exist only because of the light. Sometimes I look at others and see their shadows and not the light on their faces, just as they sometimes look behind me. 

What a less-confusing world it would be if we learned to turn from our shadows (and the shadows of others) and faced the light.