To Proclaim the Excellencies

A foretaste of resurrection. I suppose that’s what you could call an alarm at 3:15am, designed to waken those with just about as much mobility as a corpse. Though I imagine the actual resurrection will be a much more joyous affair, with a tad fewer annoyed tones from disgruntled spouses.

Regardless, the trumpet pre-cursor soon accomplished its task and this bleary-eyed couple were soon on their way to Dublin Airport, headed for a day-trip to speak at a missions conference in Glasgow.

As we completed the usual ritual of belts off, liquids out, laptops out, walk through, laptops in, liquids in, belts on, my enthusiasm started to grow. Probably not too many plane fanatics awake right then, much less those who love first-wave departures, but I’m a special case. Before full-time ministry I worked as an aircraft mechanic, and I still love early mornings at an airport.

Soon we’d found the area where our gate was and set about buying some over-priced and underwhelming coffee. As we waited for the disinterested barista to deliver our order we looked around. Seated beside the counter a group of men enjoyed their 6am alcohol. Behind us, a woman wailed in despair as the resolute sentries at her gate assured her that it was closed. Around us, people shuffled around like zombies, having not yet had their caffeine fix to counteract the effects of early rising. Overall a despairing sight. A buzz of energy-less movement. I looked outside to see what aircraft were parked nearby. It was a dark morning out there too.

Soon we were seated on our aircraft, taxiing in the darkness to hold our position on the runway. The engines spooled, the brakes released, and before we knew it we were climbing into the black ether. But then things changed. The two CFM56-7b engines pulled us from the darkness of a land where the sun had not yet risen, pierced through the thick layer of cloud covering the earth, and into a glorious vista. The early morning rays of golden sunlight rippled across the blanket of white cloud, creating an awe-inducing scene. Unfortunately, the flight to Glasgow is incredibly short and, before I could enjoy it too much, the seatbelt light came on, the aircraft started descending, and we once again pierced the thick shroud to land at a dark Glasgow airport. Interestingly, the sun had still not yet risen there.

And as I made my way to the missions conference, it struck me that what I had experienced was a micro view of the task I was soon to embark on. In a few months I would be heading across the world to South Asia with my family to share the gospel in that land. But how had I got to that point? Well, fundamentally there was a time, as I lived in the land of Ireland (in a land that was once known as the island of saints and scholars, and now is far from it), where all I knew was the darkness. But God had reached in. He had called me out of that darkness, into his marvellous light! But then transplanted me into another land where the sun had not yet risen, to there proclaim his excellencies as Peter tells us in his letter.

I lived near Glasgow for a while. I know that the sun doesn’t shine much there, and that it may be hard to convince others that there really is a glorious vista up beyond the covering. I know that sometimes it even grew dim in my own memory, as the grey, dreary days under the clouds passed by. But every now and then the clouds would part, the light broke through, and I was reminded of the glory above.

It is true. The land is dark. But there is One who can pull us to glory, and then send us on to proclaim his excellencies to others in lands where the sun has not yet risen.

“But you are a chosen race, a royal priesthood, a holy nation, a people for his own possession, that you may proclaim the excellencies of him who called you out of darkness into his marvelous light.”

– 1 Pet 2:9