Weapons of Light
Our stories, songs, paintings, and ideas aren’t just works of art. They are also holy weapons that help topple the world’s Babel pretense. This proclamation from last week’s reading (Enough Babel Pretense) resonated with many of you. So now, let’s take a deeper dive into how this works…and why.
None of us get through life without scars. Betrayal from those we trusted. Silence when we needed support. Conditional love based on our performance. Though many of these wounds are invisible, they cut deep. They feel like a sign of weakness, a source of shame, or represent a past we’d rather forget.
The world tells us to hide our scars. But Jesus offers something better. To heal our broken hearts and shattered stories. (Isaiah 61:1) That is where our weapons of light are first forged—in the holy fire where God transforms the scars of our story.
I offer an imaginative glimpse of what this looks like in my allegory, The Story of With.
In the following scene, Mia addresses a rooftop gathering of creatives who are under a fog (literally and spiritually) about their true calling. Allow these words to clear the fog for your heart and art as well.
“Friends, we can’t trust our eyes at this moment. It appears to each of us that we’re alone. But we aren’t. We are a fellowship.” She stared into the fog. “I was wrong. I don’t want to do this on my own. Not the pain or the celebrations. I need you. More than that, I want you by my side in this journey.”
The glow from her palm grew brighter. Small rays of light ebbed from her fingertips and began to cut through the mist. Mia raised her voice. “Each of you must proclaim your identity as a son or daughter of the Creator. Speak it aloud. Let the scars of your story be heard by others. Doing so diffuses the enemy’s lies and our wounds become weapons of light.”
She could hear voices within the mist. People were sharing their stories. As they did, they became visible again. Flickers of gold light shimmered and began to dismantle the fog. Ribbons of kintsugi swirled between and among the people, drawing them together.
In the fog, each person felt alone. But as it thinned, it was clear others had been near them the entire time. Mia was with an architect, dentist, barista, and high school coach. There was nothing remarkable in the appearance of anyone there . . . or in any other group. They were ordinary people she wouldn’t have given a second glance to back in the real world. But here, they were titans, generals, and legends in the making. She was amazed at the journeys each braved to be on the rooftop with her. She was overcome with emotion at the countless stories of rescue and redemption…Mia moved to the middle of the gathering. “Everyone raise your arms skyward. Father of Lights, we embrace our place here with You. Only your light and only your presence here. Let us see each other as You see us.”
At that moment, luminous gold light burst forth from each person’s scars. It sliced through the remaining mist. The bohemians were light bearers, beaming with the healing power of kintsugi. The scars that once separated them were now the bond that connected them. The entire rooftop was bathed in light, outshining even the stars above them. In that moment, the bohemian gathering shifted from a festive party to a fellowship of creative warriors looking out for one another.
Want More? Order your copy of The Story of With here.
