The Lighthouse That Wasn't Built for Itself

In 1822, workers finished constructing the Tuskar Rock Lighthouse off the southeast coast of Ireland. It sat on a jagged outcrop battered by Atlantic storms, miles from the nearest village. No one lived there by choice. The keepers endured isolation, howling winds, and waves that shook the tower to its foundation.

But here's what strikes me: that lighthouse was never built for the people inside it. Every brick, every pane of glass, every carefully trimmed wick existed for one purpose — to cast light outward so that ships from Liverpool, from Le Havre, from ports across the world could find safe passage.

The keepers understood this. Their blessing — the flame, the fuel, the shelter of those thick walls — was never meant to stay contained. It was given so it could reach others.

This is the heartbeat of Psalm 67. "May God be gracious to us and bless us and make His face shine on us — so that Your ways may be known on earth, Your salvation among all nations." That little word "so" changes everything. God's blessing carries a purpose beyond the one who receives it. El Shaddai does not shine His face upon us so we can huddle around the warmth. He blesses us so that every nation, every people, every distant ship on a dark sea might see the light and find their way to Him.

The blessing was never meant to stay inside the tower.