Delivered by Amy Higgins on November 19, 2023

Scripture: 1 Thessalonians 5:1-11

There was a little girl who was born into New York society. Her father’s family at that point was far removed from their poor immigrant ancestor. Her mother was a socialite admired for her beauty. But that beauty was merely physical for the little girl could not recall her mother ever making her feel anything except ugly. This child’s own mother called her “Granny” not just because of her looks but also the way she acted. Was it her nature or was it the role she was assigned to be not a daughter, but a parent to her alcoholic father and to her mother who was too delicate to handle anything less than a perfect high society life? Whatever the reason, the emotional and psychological toll it took on this little girl set her on a path to find the acceptance of others and her own self-confidence. 

“But you, beloved, are not in darkness…for you are all children of the light and children of the day; we are not of the night or of the darkness.” Paul tells to the Thessalonians the day of the Lord will come like a thief in the night, but we don’t have to worry because we are children of the light, not the darkness. But what about in the meantime? By the age of nine the little girl was orphaned. Her mother and father passed away less than two years apart. Her complicated relationships with her parents complicated her grief. Years later an aunt suggested the attend a London boarding school. This aunt, saw a light somewhere deep inside this young girl and knew from her own experience that the headmistress of this particular school would not only help the young girl find this light within herself, but also how to shine her light to illuminate the lives of others. The few years spent under the loving guidance of this headmistress would not only change the course of the girl’s life but would have a lasting impact on the world and generations of girls to come.  

Paul mentions seasons in the beginning of the passage. We all have seasons in our lives. Individual seasons, those in our country, the world, in the church. Some seasons are positive, like the girl’s time at boarding school, while other seasons are trying. That sad little rich girl who couldn’t get affection from her own parents, thrived at boarding school. She was admired not only by her teachers, but also her fellow students. The self-proclaimed ugly duckling was popular for the first time in her life and came home with a new confidence and purpose. She could have taken her place in High Society, but she was called to serve others, to give as had been given to her. Despite her wealth and privilege, she knew heartache and struggle and the empathy and compassion it created in her would lead her to help others. 

She took a job as a teacher in the poorest part of New York City. One day a student became sick and she asked her fiancé to help her carry the child home to the tenement where he lived. Until that day, Eleanor’s fiancé had no idea anyone lived any differently they did.  This experience coupled with his own difficult decade long season battling polio, would give President Franklin Roosevelt the compassion and determination to see the country through the Great Depression. Every season has a purpose. No, it isn’t pretty to see the trees bare and the grass brown, but even winter has its purpose. The bridge it provides between fall and spring is not unlike the transitions we experience. There’s a quote by an unknown source that says, “Every next level of your life, will demand a different you.” But it’s a process. We don’t just time jump to the next phase or season of life. There’s a transition. A penumbra.

Scientifically, a penumbra is an area of partial illumination between the perfect shadow on all sides and the full light. In law, it means that there are rights that are implied within rights that are explicitly stated. That is to say, they exist in the shadows of other portions of the Constitution. Seeing the Constitution in this way allows for looking at its parts and seeing how their relationship to each other creates the whole. I heard someone describe the penumbra as the space between what we can see and what we cannot see. It is the space between who we are and who we can become.

If you haven’t figured out by now, I love Eleanor Roosevelt. A biography on her came out a few years ago and I was disappointed with the cover photo they used. Good pictures of her can hard to find, but they do exist, and I didn’t think this was one of them. But as I read the book, I began to study the picture. I’m not sure her age, maybe late twenties. Definitely prior to becoming First Lady. But she’s in half shadow and half light. Whatever point in her life this is, it’s the place between who she was and who she will become. The penumbra.

As First Lady, Eleanor Roosevelt championed the betterment of everything from working conditions for farmers and mine workers to women’s rights and desegregation. Once Mrs. Roosevelt attended a meeting of the NAACP. And while there were other white people there who also believed in improving the rights of colored people, the seating was still segregated. Mrs. Roosevelt seated herself on the front row in the colored section. When a police officer informed her she had to move to the white section, she picked up her chair and sat in the aisle. Well behaved women, don’t make history, do they? Whether we are pushed into the penumbra or choose to step into it, we cannot fulfill our promise without moving through it. 

I imagine it was this perspective and her skill of bringing others with her into that space of possibility that led her to be asked to be the first chairperson of the newly formed United Nations’ Commission on Human Rights. Their first task: to draft the Universal Declaration of Human Rights. Universal. A Declaration of Human Rights for EVERY person in the world. This was no small feat. The commission was made up of 18 people from various religious, national, and political backgrounds.     

  Now, my grandfather and his brothers were not world leaders, but I think today’s leaders could learn something from them as well. As many of you know, my grandfather was a Methodist minister. He had three brothers and they loved to debate.  But it was not just that they liked to debate, it was how they debated. They would pair up, two against two and as they debated, they would go around and around switching sides until they had all gotten back to their original positions. Those older than I describe watching it as both frustrating and fascinating. I wish I had been old enough at the time to understand just what they were doing.  

In To Kill A Mockingbird, when Atticus Finch tells his young daughter, Scout, “You never really understand a person until you consider things from his point of view…until you climb into his skin and walk around in it”, I find my grandfather. I wasn’t able to learn this debating skill from him, but I can see what an invaluable gift it was. And it isn’t just that they had this skill, it’s that they were open and willing to use it. Whether it’s in debate or just stopping to consider someone else’s point of view, what if we all could see both sides?

Paul ends this passage telling the Thessalonians, and us, to encourage and build up one another. If we are unable to see another side, how can we encourage, how can we see another’s light? And how brightly does our own light shine if we refuse to understand someone who doesn’t meet our expectations or think exactly as we do? As my grandfather and his brothers proved we don’t have to be world renowned leaders to make a difference. Each and every one of us has a purpose and a promise to fulfill. When I imagine the drafting of the Universal Declaration of Human Rights and all those people from all over the world meeting together, I think about Pentecost. The part of Pentecost I love is when they began to speak languages other than their own. Pentecost is not only the birth of the church, but a penumbra of promise and possibility because they were finally able to understand each other. It happened then and has many times since. And if we are willing to step into the penumbra, moving from who we were to who God calls us to be, and encourage one another to join us there, it can happen again.