Division, dissension, bitterness, hatred, prejudice, war, natural disasters, and loneliness all seem to be having their day. It’s hard to watch.
Job put it this way—and he put it well: “Why do the wicked have it so good, live to a ripe old age and get rich? They get to see their children succeed, get to watch and enjoy their grandchildren. Their homes are peaceful and free from fear; they never experience God’s disciplining rod.” (Job 21)
I feel it. And my guess is, so do you.
So, what now?
Solspeil.
Tucked away in Norway is the town of Rjukan. Beautiful, but blocked from the sun in the winter. So, in 1913, the town’s founder, Sam Eyde, came up with an idea: mirrors. Solspeil. Three giant mirrors, placed on a nearby mountain, reflecting the sunlight that winter hid. Mirrors that redirect the powerful rays of the sun into the town square below. Sunshine in the darkness.
Solspeil.
Not the production of light, but the distribution — the conveying of light into the bleak and oppressive darkness. Into the hopeless winter.
I fear that darkness is having its day because we’ve put our mirrors away, or perhaps more accurately, we’ve shifted them.
This is not a question of the trustworthiness of the sun. The power hasn’t waned. We have.
We’ve faced our mirrors in another direction. Toward comfort. Toward accumulation. Toward politics. Toward other leaders. Toward family. Toward position or accomplishment. Toward platforms or policies—even good ones.
Whatever we’ve turned our mirrors toward, it’s not working.
There is no light but Jesus. None.
He made the light personal. And the darkness lashed out. The darkness thought it had won. Light extinguished. Hope vanquished. Mirrors without a light to reflect.
“This is the crisis we’re in: God-light streamed into the world, but men and women everywhere ran for the darkness. They went for the darkness because they were not really interested in pleasing God.”(John 3:19, MSG)
Then. Victory. Resurrection light.
“The Light shines in the darkness. The darkness has never been able to
put out the Light.” (John 1:5)
Never extinguished. Never overcome.
And now, Solspeil.
Jesus put it this way: “You
are the light of the world. A city set on a hill cannot be hidden. Nor do
people light a lamp and put it under a basket, but on a stand, and it gives
light to all in the house. In the same way, let your light shine before others,
so that they may see your good works and give glory to your Father who is in
heaven.”(Matthew 5:14–16, ESV)
It’s time to point our mirrors back to the only source of light. It’s time to
reflect what no human, government, peace treaty, stock market surge, or
political party could ever deliver… LIGHT.
68 teams, all with lofty ambitions, and millions of people pouring time and energy—emotion, too—into making bracket predictions and forecasting outcomes.
Our family is no exception.
After the first weekend of play, when the pool of potential national champions shrank to just 16, I had a conversation with Abe, our ten-year-old grandson. While Abe doesn’t invest much mental energy during the regular NCAA men’s basketball season, he’s always eager to fill out a paper bracket and compete for the family crown.
After a brief chat with Abe, I asked how his bracket was holding up. His expression shifted immediately. “Not very good,” he replied. “Why is that?” I asked. “Because I picked Kansas to win.”
Enough said. In fact, Kansas had already been eliminated in their first-round matchup against Arkansas. The Jayhawks, who have made the tournament for 35 straight years, had an unusually disappointing season. Their regular season record was 21-12, and despite being voted the top college team in the country that fall, they had fallen completely out of the top 25 rankings by season’s end. This was not a typical Kansas basketball season.
Abe hadn’t noticed. Nor did he really care when filling out his bracket. Although he’s never lived anywhere but Colorado, his mom has been a lifelong KU supporter since her childhood years in Lenexa, Kansas. That loyalty was contagious. For Abe, it wasn’t about records, predictions, or probabilities. It was about affinity and commitment.
His was a loyalty that didn’t consult reality. And so, with confidence and hope, he penciled Kansas—a #7 seed—straight through to the championship.
Ironically, I found myself admiring my ten-year-old grandson. Loyalty trumped statistics. Commitment outpaced logic. He wanted the Jayhawks to win the national championship—not because he knew the players on the team, or because he felt confident in Bill Self, the KU coach, but because Kansas was his team. It was his mom’s team.
Misplaced optimism? Perhaps. But also a beacon of light—a loyalty that transcends regular season records and performance based rewards.
It
reminded me of a deeper loyalty, anchored not in sports, but in the love of God
and His boundless grace.
“My
sheep hear my voice, and I know them, and they follow me. I give them eternal
life, and they will never perish, and no one will snatch them out of my hand.
My Father, who has given them to me, is greater than all, and no one is able to
snatch them out of the Father’s hand. I and the Father are one.” (John 10:27–30, ESV)
With all our flaws, imperfections, and sometimes disappointing seasons, God’s
grace declares us “His own.” We are His beloved. His champions. Safe in His
hand.
He doesn’t check with Las Vegas before making His selection. He checks with the
perfect work of Christ, and then He writes our name.
Flawed, broken, sinful—but forgiven. Children of the Father. Beloved.
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