Let my light shine . . . to glorify God? No way! 

First, I was painfully shy. Literally. The thought of having to talk with people often made me feel sick, whether at school, work, or in social settings. I certainly wouldn’t choose to draw attention to myself. 

Second, I wasn’t convinced there was a God. While I respected the Bible and Jesus’ teachings, neither they, nor my father (a Presbyterian minister I love and admire, but didn’t always agree with), nor the church I attended while growing up, had satisfactorily answered the questions I had about God’s existence.

When I got to college, a new friend introduced me to Christian Science. I found it answered many of my questions. But I drifted away after my freshman year. Later, after working in the “real world” for several years, I was somewhat cynical along with my agnostic friends. If there was a God, either He wasn’t almighty and loving, or He wasn’t doing a very good job of running His creation.

If you had asked me about Jesus’ Sermon on the Mount, I would have said I’m fine with being “the salt of the earth,” but no way would I follow the rest of that section, which says: “Ye are the light of the world. A city that is set on an hill cannot be hid. Neither do men light a candle, and put it under a bushel, but on a candlestick; and it giveth light unto all that are in the house. Let your light so shine before men, that they may see your good works, and glorify your Father which is in heaven” (Matt. 5:14–16).

So, had you predicted I would soon be volunteering as a prison chaplain, I would have laughed and replied, “Never!”

Darkness has never triumphed over light. Had you predicted I would soon be volunteering as a prison chaplain, I would have laughed and replied, “Never!”

But one day, a slipped disc laid me up in bed for a week, giving me plenty of time to think. At work, I was in the middle of a construction project that seemed doomed to fail. At home, I was mourning the death of my grandmother. So that week I was really wrestling with big questions about life and love, and I turned back to Christian Science for answers. I found some, and they led to a dramatic turnaround on that building project. I wanted to learn more.

Since I didn’t know any Christian Scientists who might help me, when my back improved I went to a Christian Science Reading Room. That led to my going to church. I was still shy. I’d arrive late, sit at the back, and leave during the last hymn so I wouldn’t have to talk with anyone. Yet church meant a lot to me, especially the weekly testimony meetings. I loved hearing how people lived this practical Christianity in their own lives. I became convinced that God does exist, is almighty and loving, and cares for His creation beautifully. 

Soon I found myself yearning to share my own experiences at those testimony meetings. After all, I was really grateful for how much other people’s testimonies had helped me, and it only seemed fair that I reciprocate. But that painful shyness stopped me; and it didn’t lose its grip until one evening as I listened to a man originally from Japan give a testimony in broken English. It was so heartwarming. His face was radiant, and his joy and gratitude came through loud and clear. Even though I couldn’t fully understand what he was saying, I felt touched by the Christ.

At that moment, it was as though God was saying to me, “What are you waiting for? It doesn’t matter how well you speak. Just share what you’re grateful for!” I realized that I could let my light shine just as that man had done. Light doesn’t have an age or a level of maturity. It just shines, helping anyone around it see more clearly. No matter how small, it helps to dispel darkness. With shaky legs and voice, I gave my first testimony that night. And I’ve testified many times since.

I might add here that my back, which used to go out a couple of times a year, was permanently healed after treatment by a Christian Science practitioner a couple of years later—but that’s another testimony.

Another man in that congregation regularly gave testimonies about his work as a volunteer prison chaplain. He let his love for the inmates shine. The more I heard, the more I found myself hoping I could join him. I spoke with him, and he was very encouraging. While that kind of chaplain doesn’t need formal theological training (unlike military chaplains), I had taken class instruction in Christian Science by that time, which was good preparation for sharing its ideas with others. 

Soon, I was accepted for the program by both the Christian Science sponsoring committee and by state officials. But much to my surprise, rather than being teamed up with an experienced chaplain in an established program, the committee asked me to start a program in the state’s women’s prison. Having to trailblaze at a facility where no one was even asking for Christian Science activities was way outside my comfort zone, and I prayed long and hard.

Nine months later, I was cleared to serve as a chaplain at the women’s prison. In a departure from the normal process, the superintendent warmly met with me and asked about Christian Science and about Mary Baker Eddy, with whom she was unfamiliar. She suggested I prepare a one-page overview that she would circulate among the inmates. She felt that they would connect with Mary Baker Eddy’s life, since many of them had also experienced poor health, having children taken away from them, difficult marriages ending in divorce, employment difficulties, and problems finding a home. 

At the same time, I received a call from a Christian Scientist who asked if I would visit her son’s girlfriend, who had just been sent to that prison. As a result, I saw two people during my first visit. 

The first woman was nine months pregnant, and was facing a scheduled Caesarean section within the week. A devout Christian, she had felt impelled to visit with me to find out if there was anything Christian Science could do to help her overcome her fear of childbirth. Previous births had been very painful for her.

It was tempting to think I was out of my depth as a young woman who had never given birth and was still relatively new to Christian Science. But as I reached out in prayer to God, I recalled that there was a testimony about painless childbirth in the Science and Health chapter titled “Fruitage.” I found it on page 611, and showed it to the woman. She read it and said, “That makes sense.” I asked if she’d like me to pray with her, but she said, “No, thanks.” She said she’d gotten what she needed from that testimony. I gave her a copy of Science and Health (she already had a Bible), and wished her well. 

When I next saw the woman, she was so grateful. She’d had her own experience of painless childbirth! She continued to request weekly visits, asked lots of deep questions, and then shared the insights she was gaining from the Bible and Science and Health with others. When she was transferred to a co-ed minimum-security prison in preparation for release, she asked if I could start a program there. That worked out easily, and blessed many men and women, including me—enormously. 

The second woman I met that first day was new to the prison and fairly new to the Bible. She soon became an eager student of Christian Science and taught me a lot about letting my own light shine. She was so full of joy about the healings she experienced (physical, emotional, and legal difficulties) and over what she was learning, that she couldn’t stop sharing Christian Science with other inmates. She would offer to pray for them, and often reported healings. 

These experiences, along with others from my three years of meeting with prisoners, taught me that the reflected light of the Christ, Truth, always dispels darkness—not just in prison but anywhere someone may feel trapped by sickness, finances, unhealthy relationships, or other problems. Darkness has never triumphed over light. 

During those prison visits, which I loved but sometimes found challenging, I learned never to doubt that God is always with us as we let our light shine. Because the Christ is everywhere, we can glorify God anywhere. In my case, that has included doctors’ offices and hospice rooms with family and friends, inner-city youth programs, assisted living facilities, my legislators’ offices, and even airplane seats. Sometimes it involves talking explicitly about God; often it doesn’t. It may simply be a smile, a touch, or a silent thought filled with the light of the Christ.

I love that Jesus’ call was for candlelight—not lightning or a blinding spotlight. Candlelight is gentle, warm, and quiet, without being destructive. It needs some air to allow it to glow. But we may need to protect it from getting blown out by too much air. Maybe that’s why Jesus connected the candle metaphor to one about a city set on a hill. In his day, cities were built on hills with walls. They combined visibility with protection.

Surely, it’s significant that Jesus preached, “Ye are the light of the world.” I’ve recently learned that ye isn’t simply an old-fashioned way of saying you. It’s the plural of thou, and both are a sacred form of you. So he was referring to a group of people, not just to individuals. We don’t shine alone. When I went into those prisons, I was supported by mentors, sponsoring churches, the institutions’ professional chaplains and guards, and by the inmates’ own prayers and light. Also I found support by heeding statements from Mary Baker Eddy like this one: “Let us watch, work, and pray that this salt lose not its saltness, and that this light be not hid, but radiate and glow into noontide glory” (Science and Health, p. 367).

Today I realize that it was never really a question of choosing to let my light shine. It was never really a choice between shyness or self-exposure. It is about joining with others to pool our light and so let our good works be seen. By candlelight radiating out, rather than spotlights focusing in. By removing any “bushels” that hide our light. By watching, working, and praying so that all the world can see how the light of the Christ dispels shadows of fear, ignorance, and sin—and heals sickness. There are no shadows at “noontide.” Just the glorious light of God.