There was once a man who carried a lantern through the woods.
Not an ordinary lantern…this one burned with a white-blue flame that whispered to the trees. It lit the way not only for him, but for others who followed behind, drawn to its glow like moths to mercy.
And the man? He was glad to carry it.
He loved its light.
He loved the way it made the path clearer.
He loved the way others gathered round, saying, “Ah, you see! This man helps us see when we do not know the way!”
But here was his secret:
He never believed the light belonged to him.
And he was right. It didn’t.
The light was the gift of the Lantern-Maker.
Still, there was something hidden inside the lantern bearer’s soul.
A voice. A hunger.
A need not only to carry the light… but to be thanked for carrying it.
Not from everyone. Not always.
But from…someone. Sometimes.
Just enough to make the ache bearable.
For the road was hard and long. And the journey perlilous.
The light bearer felt that a little bit of affirmation from others would make the journey a little more bearable.
Sometimes this came from thankful travelers.
And yet, often… it did not.
And so, when the others would pass him by without noticing…
When they would gather round a newer lantern bearer with shinier boots and a louder voice…
When they would speak as if he had vanished from the path entirely…
Something small and sharp began to grow inside his ribs.
A quiet ache.
A dull pain.
He still carried the lantern.
He still lit the way.
But now… his hand began to tremble.
One night, in a fit of weariness, the man whispered to the Lantern-Maker:
“Why did you give me this light if no one cares that I’m the one holding it?”
And the Lantern-Maker—who had been walking silently beside him all along—finally spoke:
“Ah. But you were never meant to hold the lantern. You were meant to become it.”
And in that moment, the man looked down and saw—
his own chest was glowing.
His own body, worn and scarred and full of ache, had begun to carry the fire.
The lantern itself had cracked, the handle broken…
But the man himself had become the vessel.
And that’s when the truth came:
He had spent so long wondering why he wasn’t seen…
He didn’t realize he was becoming the very thing they were meant to see.
But only the fire mattered.
Not the hand.
Not the praise.
Only the fire.
And now, the fable’s lesson:
A lesson for anyone who feels the burden to carry the light.
To serve Christ and point others to Him.
Your greatest danger is not failure.
It is not sin.
It is not pride in the traditional sense.
It is this: the quiet temptation to let discouragement about being unappreciated slowly turn your ministry into a performance rather than a priesthood.
You want so deeply to be appreciated for what you give… and that is holy.
But if you are not careful, the ache to be affirmed can twist the joy of offering into a subtle bitterness.
Beware the slow rot of unthanked holiness… it turns servants into cynics, and altars into stages.
The lantern grows heavy when it’s carried both for the sake of Christ… and for the sake of applause.
You are already becoming the light. (Matthew 5:14-16)
But the danger is in forgetting that the more luminous you become, the less likely it is that people will even see you.
They will see the Christ-light shining through your cracks.
And that, in the end, is purity of heart. The pure desire of ministry.
But it will not feel like enough… unless you let it be.
I’ll end with these powerful lyrics from Josh White.
O Lord, I am like the moon
Without the Sun I hang in darkness too
So be the light, the light that shines through
Reflect off me the love that comes from You
And it all comes down to this
Jesus, I must confess
I won’t be afraid to step into Your flame
To burn, to burn in You my love
To burn in You my love
To burn in You my love
–
You are becoming the light…not the source, but the reflection.
Not the sun, but the moon baptized in sunlight.
And the world will not see you.
They will see the glow. They will see Christ.
