Casting a Shadow

Now many signs and wonders were done among the people through the apostles. And they were all together in Solomon’s Portico. None of the rest dared to join them, but the people held them in high esteem. Yet more than ever believers were added to the Lord, great numbers of both men and women, so that they even carried out the sick into the streets, and laid them on cots and mats, in order that Peter’s shadow might fall on some of them as he came by. A great number of people would also gather from the towns around Jerusalem, bringing the sick and those tormented by unclean spirits, and they were all cured.

Let’s think about shadows. The word shadow appears many times in the Bible.[1] One kind of shadow is mostly negative. “My days are like an evening shadow; I wither away like grass,” says the psalmist. (Psalm 102.11) In other words, earthly life passes by us quickly and often seems as insubstantial as a shadow. Or the shadow represents the dark and fearful side of life, “the valley of the shadow of death,” as Psalm 23 famously puts it.[2]

Many other verses describe a positive notion of shadow. The psalmist says, “Be merciful to me, O God, be merciful to me, for in you my soul takes refuge; in the shadow of your wings I will take refuge, until the destroying storms pass by.” (Psalm 57.1) Or again, “For you, [O Lord] have been my help, and in the shadow of your wings I sing for joy.” (Psalm 63.7) Like a mother bird protecting her young, in the shadow of the wings of God we find refuge, healing, and joy.[3]

After the crucifixion and resurrection of Jesus, after his ascension and the coming of the Holy Spirit at Pentecost, the early Christians experienced an amazing filling of God’s power. So the apostle Peter strode through Jerusalem and the sick were carried out into the streets so that Peter’s shadow might pass over them. And all were healed, the text says. What kind of shadow did Peter cast? Clearly it was the shadow of God: the healing, protecting, joy-producing shadow of the Almighty.

All of which set me to wondering what kind of shadow we cast. When the shadows of our lives fall upon someone, what happens to them? Do they shudder, even unconsciously, as in the valley of the shadow? Or do they find in our shadows the refuge, healing, and joy of God? What shadow do we cast?

The image of shadow always brings to my mind a wonderful story by one of my favorite writers, Loren Eiseley (1907-1977), and I’m reminded of this story almost daily by the big, black crows that are so plentiful around my neighborhood. In his book The Immense Journey, the naturalist Eiseley described something he saw while in the woods one day.

“I leaned against a stump at the edge of a small glade and fell asleep. When I awoke, dimly aware of some commotion and outcry in the clearing, the light was slanting down through the pines in such a way that the glade was lit like some vast cathedral. I could see the dust motes of wood pollen in the long shaft of light, and there on the extended branch sat an enormous raven with a red and squirming nestling in his beak. The sound that awoke me was the outraged cries of the nestling’s parents, who flew helplessly in circles about the clearing.

“The sleek black monster was indifferent to them. He gulped, whetted his beak on the dead branch a moment and sat still. Up to that point the little tragedy had followed the usual pattern. But suddenly, out of all that area of woodland, a soft sound of complaint began to rise. Into the glade fluttered small birds of half a dozen varieties drawn by the anguished outcries of the tiny parents. No one dared to attack the raven. But they cried there in some instinctive common misery. The bereaved and the unbereaved. The glade filled with their soft rustling and their cries. They fluttered as though to point their wings at the murderer. There was a dim intangible ethic he had violated, that they knew. He was a bird of death. And he, the murderer, the black bird at the heart of life, sat on there, glistening in the common light, formidable, unmoving, unperturbed, untouchable.”

What a powerful image that is of the shadow of death. But it’s not the end of the story. For in God’s way life doesn’t end in death but in greater life.

“There the black bird sat, formidable, unmoving, unperturbed. The sighing of the little birds died. It was then I saw the judgment. It was the judgment of life against death. I will never see it again so forcefully presented. I will never hear it again in notes so poignantly prolonged. For in the midst of protest, they forgot the violence. There, in that clearing, the crystal note of a song sparrow lifted hesitantly in the hush. And finally, after painful fluttering, another took the song, and then another, the song passing from one bird to another, doubtfully at first, as though some evil things were being slowly forgotten. Till suddenly they took heart and sang from many throats, joyously together as birds are known to sing. They sang because life is sweet and sunlight beautiful. They sang under the brooding shadow of the raven. In simple truth they had forgotten the raven for they were the singers of life, and not of death.”[4]

We know that even in the valley of the shadow of the raven, nothing can shake us loose from God’s loving embrace. But the question this morning is not that. The question today is what shadows do our lives cast? In the shadows of our lives do others find the healing and hope that come from God alone?

A friend of mine named Doug Kelly was for a time the executive of the Synod of Alaska-Northwest and he tells this story of growing up in a church in Texas. There was an older man in that congregation, rather quiet and unassuming. Doug didn’t really know him that well.

Some years later Doug worked for a time at that church and one of his jobs was to clean out closets and storage areas. Amidst all the clutter he happened across several dusty boxes of old financial records. Out of curiosity he read through some of ledgers that recorded checks received by the church. He discovered many entries that said:

Sometime later when that man was near death, Doug visited him and asked why he never told him about these secret gifts. “It wasn’t important that you knew from whom the gifts came,” the man said. “It was only important that you got to places where you could learn of God’s love.” And so the quiet shadow of that man changed Doug’s whole life.

Do our lives cast shadows like that? I hope they do and we can give thanks for all who have cast shadows of blessing over our lives.

In a moment we will renew the baptismal covenant with our confirmands. In doing so we honor these young women and men and give thanks to God for their growing lives of faith. But we are also acknowledging many — parents, Sunday School teachers, youth group leaders, pastors, family, and teachers, and many unknown others — who have over the years cast godly shadows so that these confirmands have learned of God’s love. Thanks be to God.

[1] Some 36 times in the NRSV, 29 in the OT and 7 in the NT.

[2] The NRSV translates the phrase as “the darkest valley” with a footnote of the more traditional rendering.

[3] See also: “Guard me as the apple of the eye; hide me in the shadow of your wings.” (Psalm 17.8) “How precious is your steadfast love, O God! All people may take refuge in the shadow of your wings.” (Psalm 36.7)

[4] Loren Eiseley, The Immense Journey (New York: Vintage Books, 1957) 174-175.