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Introduction

He was so right, and I wish I could go back in time to tell him how wrong I was.

It was a bitterly cold night in Harlem when I met this gentleman, a man whose name I am embarrassed to say I don’t remember. Coming up from the subway that evening, I was in no mood for conversation. It couldn’t have been past 5:00 p.m., but already it was mostly dark, one of those short days of the year that feel so very long.

The day at the office had been mostly disappointing. I wanted to get home, slump into the armchair, and zone out on ESPN. But I couldn’t avoid him.

“Father, I need to talk to you,” he forcefully blurted out, in Spanish, just loud enough and in the perfect tone to make sure everyone around us knew I heard him. He didn’t bother to stand up or even move his head. Seated, with his back and head against a building, and with his forearms resting on his bent knees, he waited for me to come to him.

“How can I help you, sir?” I asked.

“Have a seat, Father, next to me.”

He was sitting on a wet, partly shoveled sidewalk at Broadway and 116th Street.

“But, sir, I need to get home,” I told him. “I’ve got someone waiting for me at the church. But … are you cold? I can send someone to get you some food and into a shelter for the night?”

“Have a seat, Father. By the way, your Spanish isn’t too bad for a gringo.”

I wasn’t in the mood for compliments either.

“Father, you asked me how you could help me, and I’m telling you. Sit down next to me. I want to talk to you. I just got here on a bus from Chicago.”

I knew the right thing to do, but convinced myself otherwise, with the perfect excuse. The safe thing to do — in a big city like New York, when it’s dark and cold — is to tell the person you’re in a hurry. After all, you never know….

But he didn’t give me time to give a definitive “no.” I’m sure he saw it coming.

“Father, here’s what I would have told you if you had time. I just got word from home that my son got accepted here at Columbia University,” pointing just to his left, to the main gates of the university at 116th and Broadway. “He’ll be coming to New York City in six months. I haven’t seen him in eight years since I left my country.”

The glow of paternal pride on his face verified his authenticity.

“Oh my goodness,” I responded. “Congratulations!”

At this point, I truly wanted to stay and get to know more, but I had painted myself so forcefully into a corner of busyness, of needing to go home, that I couldn’t reverse my story with the slightest bit of grace.

I asked him his name, shook his hand firmly, and went on my way. He smiled graciously.

This man’s story still haunts me. I blew it. I didn’t have time to celebrate a miracle, or even to remember his name.

Looking back on it now, I’m certain this man wasn’t homeless. And he wasn’t cold. He had traveled across the country by bus in order to see, touch, and sit down on the rock-solid, hallowed ground of his son’s future, of his whole family’s future. For eight long years, he had toiled far from family so that one day his son might have a better life than him. That dream was coming to life right then and there, and he was eager to share the sacred moment with me. But I was busy.

I have no idea what I could have offered him had I taken the time to listen, but I know I missed a sacred moment, a God moment for me or for him, or for both. In this case, thankfully, the big story didn’t depend on me. I was at the end of a long chain of sacred moments that were not missed, by a father and mother who gave up almost everything, including being together, for the sake of their son. And they changed the world, because they changed the world for him.

At the heart of such unconditional love is a conviction that you and I can make a difference. In the light of faith, that conviction is fortified by another conviction: that God has placed us on this earth to know him and love him and work with him to fulfill a mission of love toward all of God’s children. Because God knew us before he formed us in our mother’s womb, and wanted us, we know this mission is uniquely ours and nobody can do it for us.

Perhaps nobody has understood this life-changing truth of life-purpose better than Father James Keller, M.M. One day, in an empty, dark opera house, Father Keller witnessed the manager strike a match on his way to turn on the house lights. That little flame pierced the darkness and lit up the whole place! This was a moment of special grace in the life of this priest.

“What if,” Father Keller thought, “what if all of us were to light a candle in this world of darkness. We could change the world.” Father Keller made a decision there and then to dedicate the rest of his life to spreading the word that nobody is like you, and that you can make a difference for the good.

In 1945, he founded “The Christophers” organization — literally, from the Greek, meaning “Christ bearers.” His original plan of being a Maryknoll missionary in China became instead missionary work to the whole world. Through radio, movies, writing, and networking, he spread the word that you and I, with the help of God’s grace, can change the world. We can bring the light of Christ to an otherwise very dark world.

Father Keller died in 1977, but his message lives on in The Christophers, now an international family of individuals who take up the challenge to bring Christ into the world in whatever field they work, especially in those areas of great influence in our society, such as education, government, media, and entertainment. Father Keller wanted the organization to have very little structure so that every “Christopher” would take responsibility to change the world in his or her own way.

There are no membership applications, dues, or requirements. You know you are a “Christopher” if you are lighting a candle of love everywhere you go.

Over the last few years, I have come to know and love the Christophers’ message for its wonderful simplicity and depth. Furthermore, I think it is remarkably timely as a spiritual antidote for the geopolitical and cultural crisis we now face.

Father Keller spoke often about the need to confront communism as an existential threat to humanity. He didn’t take it lightly. He knew it would engulf the world if it were not stopped. And what was his solution? That little candle, again. The motto for the Christophers is the ancient Chinese proverb, “It’s better to light one candle than to curse the darkness.” Light can pierce and banish darkness. I don’t think it was a coincidence that the movement that ultimately led to the fall of Soviet communism was the Solidarity workers’ union that preached this same, positive truth. Through nonviolent, civil disobedience, Solidarity president Lech Walesa, with the support and leadership of St. John Paul II, and the political genius of Ronald Reagan and others, told the people they were right and their Soviet leaders were wrong. They told the growing membership that freedom, hope, and human rights were more powerful than the dictatorship of a few. In John Paul II’s words, “Do not be afraid!” Wait it out. Light a candle. Be light in the darkness.

That strategy was victorious.

Twenty-five years later, the world is much smaller and, dare I say, the problems are much bigger. Many people whom I trust, who are older and wiser than I, believe that we are living in more dangerous and chaotic times than any other period in our country’s history. I agree. In many ways the enemies of life and freedom today are even more vicious than the communist and Nazi regimes. While these fanatics hide behind pseudo-religious, Islamist ideologies, their actions have nothing to do with religion. They are brutal mass murderers who have silenced the voice of conscience and right reason. By their own admission, we know they will not stop until they have taken away our freedom or our lives.

The core of their power today is in the Middle East, but their digital and physical reach is now worldwide.

Besides the raw viciousness of these terrorists, what makes their threat so dangerous is that our arguments against them are weak. Secularization, on the one hand, and hyper-political partisanship, on the other, in the United States, Europe, and other Western countries have eroded our ability to coalesce around almost any costly cause of justice or even self-defense. If it comes with a price, we say it might not be worth it, right now. Secularization has made agreement on a basic moral code very difficult, and hyper-partisanship has transformed politics from the art of governance to a schoolyard rumble. In this atmosphere, our ability to explain to our citizens and to our enemies that freedom is worth fighting for is greatly diminished.

The answer? I think it’s time for us to relearn from Father Keller how to light more candles. In this book, you will find a selection of my favorite writings of Father Keller, with a brief Scripture passage and a prayer added at the end of most entries. I have divided them into eight themes that I hope will stir our consciences and awaken in us a spiritual creativity to make a difference where we are right now, or where God is calling us to go. The chapters are: (1) A Sense of Purpose, (2) The Power of Love, (3) Sharing the Faith, (4) The Witness of Life, (5) Pray Always, (6) Becoming Like Christ, (7) Living as a Christian, and (8) Trusting God.

I have written an introduction to each chapter, sharing what I have taken away from the selection of writings that follows. I hope my thoughts open for you a window into the soul of a man who, many years ago, had much to say about today.

I dedicate this book to The Christophers on their seventieth anniversary, and to all the Christ-bearers who faithfully bring light into the darkness.

— Father Jonathan Morris