March 24, 2026
The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness
did not overtake it. John 1:5
One of the jobs of a pastor is often to be the last one out of the building. This is a duty that is shared by me and other staff members.
It means that when a program or concert or meeting is over, we start locking up doors and turning off lights and just checking that everything is ready for the night.
The last place I always check is the sanctuary, as it is on the way to the front or back parking lot . . . depending on where I parked.
When the lights are off at night and I step into the sanctuary, I can still see so clearly our “eternal light” that is there. This was a gift given by the Killian family in memory of Bill, who died in January of 2024.
Sometimes during the daytime and when the sanctuary is fully lit, it’s harder to see this light. But at nighttime, you can see it perfectly. It reminds me of Bill and the steady strength of his life, but it also reminds me that the light of Christ is always with us.
I have on occasion teased our custodian, Keylor Mendoza, that he has to transfer the light from one candle to the next, or I have to travel back to Jerusalem to re-light the candle that I got from the church of the Holy Sepulcher and bring that candle all the way back to Ohio. I’m not sure he believes me . . . nor should he.
So it’s about 9:30 p.m. on a Tuesday night. We have finished a long but productive church council meeting. Everyone is headed home, and I do one last check through the building. All the lights are off except for the side lights in the sanctuary. So I go in and flip off those lights, and my eyes go immediately to the front right of the sanctuary where the eternal light glows in the midst of the darkness.
On this night, I slip into one of the back pews. I say a prayer for Bill and his family, and I remember all the families with recent losses. I say a prayer for members of our congregation that are struggling with illnesses and for family and friends who are in the midst of so much “stuff.”
And I look at the candle that is burning, and I remember the light of Christ that penetrates all the darkness of this world. And I remember that even in this dark season of the church year, Easter is coming. And with Easter there will be light and life and hope and resurrection and joy. And I think to myself, I can’t wait to get there!
Waiting in the light of Christ,
Pastor John D. Morris, Senior Pastor
did not overtake it. John 1:5
One of the jobs of a pastor is often to be the last one out of the building. This is a duty that is shared by me and other staff members.
It means that when a program or concert or meeting is over, we start locking up doors and turning off lights and just checking that everything is ready for the night.
The last place I always check is the sanctuary, as it is on the way to the front or back parking lot . . . depending on where I parked.
When the lights are off at night and I step into the sanctuary, I can still see so clearly our “eternal light” that is there. This was a gift given by the Killian family in memory of Bill, who died in January of 2024.
Sometimes during the daytime and when the sanctuary is fully lit, it’s harder to see this light. But at nighttime, you can see it perfectly. It reminds me of Bill and the steady strength of his life, but it also reminds me that the light of Christ is always with us.
I have on occasion teased our custodian, Keylor Mendoza, that he has to transfer the light from one candle to the next, or I have to travel back to Jerusalem to re-light the candle that I got from the church of the Holy Sepulcher and bring that candle all the way back to Ohio. I’m not sure he believes me . . . nor should he.
So it’s about 9:30 p.m. on a Tuesday night. We have finished a long but productive church council meeting. Everyone is headed home, and I do one last check through the building. All the lights are off except for the side lights in the sanctuary. So I go in and flip off those lights, and my eyes go immediately to the front right of the sanctuary where the eternal light glows in the midst of the darkness.
On this night, I slip into one of the back pews. I say a prayer for Bill and his family, and I remember all the families with recent losses. I say a prayer for members of our congregation that are struggling with illnesses and for family and friends who are in the midst of so much “stuff.”
And I look at the candle that is burning, and I remember the light of Christ that penetrates all the darkness of this world. And I remember that even in this dark season of the church year, Easter is coming. And with Easter there will be light and life and hope and resurrection and joy. And I think to myself, I can’t wait to get there!
Waiting in the light of Christ,
Pastor John D. Morris, Senior Pastor