Following the Right Light

Homily for Sunday, February 22, 2026
The First Sunday in Lent
Romans 5:12-19

In her book, Learning to Walk in the Dark, Episcopal priest and author Barbara Brown Taylor tells the following story about walking with her husband on the beach:

A few years ago, Ed and I were exploring the dunes on… one of the barrier islands between the Atlantic Ocean and the mainland of South Georgia.  He was looking for the fossilized teeth of long-dead sharks.  I was looking for sand spurs so that I did not step on one.  This meant that neither of us was looking very far past our own feet, so the huge loggerhead turtle took us both by surprise.  She was still alive but just barely, her shell hot to the touch from the noonday sun…   She had come ashore during the night to lay her eggs, and when she had finished, she had looked around for the brightest horizon to lead her back to the sea.  Mistaking the distant lights on the mainland for the sky reflected on the ocean, she went the wrong way.  Judging by her tracks, she had dragged herself through the sand until… she could go no further.  We found her where she had given up, half cooked by the sun but still able to turn one eye up to look at us when we bent over her.  I buried her in cool sand while Ed ran to the ranger station.  An hour later she was on her back with tire chains around her front legs, being dragged behind a park service Jeep back toward the ocean...  Ed and I helped the ranger unchain her and flip her back over.  Then all three of us watched as she lay motionless in the surf. Every wave brought her life back to her, washing the sand from her eyes and making her shell shine again.  When a particularly large one broke over her, she lifted her head and tried her back legs. The next wave made her light enough to find a foothold, and she pushed off, back into the water that was her home.

It is easy in our world to be drawn to the wrong “lights,”“lights” that are not God and that cannot bring us the joy and peace that we seek.  Perhaps for a long time – perhaps for years – we have oriented our lives’ trajectory to these wrong “lights” and now find ourselves off-course.  Maybe now we are stuck in the sand with the sun beating down, and we are in danger of drying out.

The message of Lent is that it is possible to become unstuck.  We cannot become unstuck on our own – we need Jesus’ help.  But the message of Lent is that it is possible to become unstuck and that Jesus can help.

Two things:  First,Paul’s letter to the Romans.  Jesus can help us become unstuck because, as Paul writes, speaking of Adam and then of Jesus:

If the many died because of the one man’s trespass [Adam’s], much more surely have the grace of God and the free gift in the grace of the one man, Jesus Christ, abounded for the many…  If because of the one man’s trespass death exercised dominion through that one, much more surely will those who receive the abundance of grace and the free gift of righteousness exercise dominion in life through the one man, Jesus Christ.

And – as if to acknowledge that that might have been difficult to follow – Paul says again:

Just as one man’s trespass led to condemnation for all, so one man’s act of righteousness leads to justification for all.

If we have become stuck in sin because of one person, Adam; then reasons Paul it must be possible for all to become unstuck because of one person, Jesus.  If in our lives we find ourselves in some way stuck, held back from the joy and peace that we seek, Jesus can help us to become unstuck.

Second, some practical advice for when we find ourselves stuck.  Augustine speaks of sin in terms of attraction and love:  we are finite people with an infinite capacity to love, so (of course) at some point our attractions and loves are bound to get us into trouble. Instead of urging us not to love some things – to resist our human urge to love risks being counterproductive, for we are made to love –  Augustine urges us rather to “order our loves”so that our love for lesser things will not preclude the fulfillment that is to be had only in our greatest love, which is God.   “Our hearts are restless until they rest in God,” Augustine once famously wrote.  Which is to say:  we all have a God-shaped hole in our lives, and though we might try to fill that hole with lesser loves, ultimately only loving God will satisfy us.  Are we able to “order our loves” so that the lesser “lights” on shore do not distract us from the great light that is God out on the “open water”?   The “lights” on shore are not necessarily bad– they helped us get to the beach, after all – but to fully be alive and to swim in our natural environment (which is God), it helps to order our loves and to allow ourselves to see and be drawn to the light of God that is our “open water.”

If you’re still looking for a suggestion for a Lenten discipline, maybe consider not denying ourselves something – denying ourselves has its place, and you know best what might work for you – [but if you’re still looking for a suggestion for a Lenten discipline, maybe consider not denying ourselves something] but rather allowing ourselves to love something.  Only be wise about that love, making sure that the lesser “lights” do not distract us from knowing and loving the one great Light, who is Jesus Christ.  For he alone (to use Paul’s image) is the“one man” who (to use Barbara Brown Taylor’s image) has the power to flip us over, pull us out of the sand and lead us back to the surf that is our home in God.

If we had eyes to see, we would know that by his death and resurrection Jesus has already pulled us out of the sand and that we need not be stuck.  And it could be that this Lent, as we prepare to celebrate the events of Jesus’ Passion during Holy Week and his resurrection at Easter, Jesus is watching as we lay motionless in the surf, every wave bringing our life back to us, washing the sand from our eyes and making our shell shine again. And…

When a particularly large wave broke over her, she lifted her head and tried her back legs. The next wave made her light enough to find a foothold, and she pushed off, back into the water that was her home.