SermonStudio

It was in the days of sail, long before electricity, when oil
lit the lighthouses along the coast of downeast Maine. Jarrod
lived with his Uncle Ephraim, the lighthouse keeper at the Dorris
Island lighthouse off Portland. Because the island was
uninhabited except for Uncle Ephraim and Jarrod, they were alone
most of the time unless Mr. Toomey came from the mainland to
deliver supplies. It was lonely, but Jarrod knew Uncle Ephraim's
job was important, because it was his light that kept the coastal
schooners from the rocks and shoals and certain destruction.
Both Jarrod and his uncle were lonely. To deal with it, Jarrod
read a lot; Uncle Ephraim drank. The boy tried to keep Ephraim
from drinking -- though it seldom worked -- by asking him questions
about being a lighthouse keeper. That was Ephraim's "calling,"
which not only gave him the greatest life satisfaction but which,
he declared -- next to being a member of a coastal lifesaving
station's crew -- was the most vital job in the coast.
"Never let the light go out," the old man urged his young
charge. "Many lives depend on us, on this light. While you're
here you must devote your life to its keeping."
Though he wasn't the actual lighthouse keeper himself, young
Jarrod heeded his uncle's words as a sacred trust. Jarrod was
only nine, and this was his uncle's job, but Jarrod imagined
himself to be the assistant lighthouse keeper. He paid attention
and learned how to fill the lamp bowl properly.
Uncle Ephraim began to drink more heavily and more often. He
complained of pains in his side and stomach. More liquor was the
only medicine that seemed to cure the aches,

but it also practically incapacitated him at times. Jarrod tried
to keep him talking, even scolded him about his "calling," about
his responsibility, but it was to no avail. Ephraim kept
drinking.
One black night Jarrod checked to see if the dory was secure,
then stood outside a moment and looked up at the light. When he
did, he saw something flicker.
The light! The oil was low and almost gone! He'd only seen it
that way once before, when Uncle Ephraim had let it get down so
he could show him what the danger signs were. Yes, Uncle Ephraim
was an excellent lighthouse keeper and knew the job well. But now
Uncle Ephraim was in a heavy drunken sleep. Jarrod ran inside.
"Uncle Ephraim, Uncle Ephraim!" he yelled. The old man only
grunted soddenly. "Uncle Ephraim, the light! It's going out!"
Jarrod yelled again. "You've got to fill the bowl, Uncle
Ephraim!"
The breakers sounded louder outside, their crashing muffling
the old man's response. It sounded like he'd said, "You, boy."
"Me, Uncle? Should I do it? Can't you?"
The answer the second time sounded like he said, "You, boy."
Ephraim tried to stand up, the liquor was having its effect.
"Uncle Ephraim," Jarrod said, "Uncle Ephraim, that light's got
to be kept lit for the sake of the schooners."
Even though he could no longer do it himself, Ephraim still
knew, that the light had to be kept burning as a beacon or souls
would be lost at sea. He wiped his mouth with the back of his
sleeve, straightened himself up as best he could, and said
through thick lips, "Jarrod, it's your job now. Take the oil and
fill the bowl. Keep the lamp lighted." The old man fell off to
sleep then.
Young Jarrod answered the call. He filled the lamp bowl with
oil and kept the beacon burning. No ships were lost that night.