Loading...A month or so ago, a lot of us were sitting in the dark – literally – as our power went out after a horrific wind storm that leveled more than 800 trees in Spokane. In our neighborhood it was eight days before the lights came on again. In some places it was longer.
One thing I learned as I lived in a cold, dark house for more than a week, was the power of light – the need for light – the longing for light. Ironically, the book I was reading that week was called “Learning to Walk in the Dark” by Barbara Brown Taylor. (Of course I was reading it by flashlight.)
My neighbors, some of whom suffered severe damage to their homes and yards) suggested that we had a mild form of PTSD after that week, glancing nervously at trees as they swayed in the slightest breeze and wincing every time a light flickered. I carried a small flashlight in my pocket for a couple of weeks – just in case.
Of course in the bigger, global picture, a week’s power outage isn’t a tragedy. It’s just a brief inconvenience in our mostly uneventful lives. Millions of people live with much more disruption than this on a regular basis. But light means a lot to us – particularly in this dark winter season.
The reading we heard from Isaiah tonight – a song of celebration – is a familiar one we hear every Christmas. Often we skip right past it and to the gospel. But this glimpse into the ancient Near East really provides a foundation for the great celebration of the gospel.
Here is what was going on. The people of whom Isaiah writes lived in the northern part of what is now Israel – very close to the border with what is now Syria. This is also where Jesus spent much of his ministry hundreds of year later as he and his disciples traveled around Galilee.
This little piece of Isaiah is a song of celebration and hope, focusing on the birth of a new king. The people of that region were living in a war zone, attacked relentlessly by the Assyrian army. They lived with suffering, with injustice, with violence, with great worry.
What Isaiah offers in this prophetic moment is good news. The weight of oppression will be lifted. There will be light and peace and hope in this dark period of their history. And it is God who brings this about.
“For a child has been born for us, a son given to us; authority rests on his shoulders and he is named Wonderful Counselor, Mighty God, Everlasting Father, Prince of Peace.”
The Christian community looks to that passage from Isaiah and sees in it a foreshadowing of the birth of Jesus – also born to be light in the darkness, a messenger of peace, a savior who is God among us – Emmanuel.
Our world has the same longings as those people of ancient Israel – both in the time of Isaiah and in the time of the birth of Jesus. Light, peace, hope. The Christmas story gives us Mary giving birth in a stable in the darkness and cold of winter –to a fragile, vulnerable, ever-so-human son.
But this is no ordinary baby. Eleonore Stump reminds us of the contrasts in that cherished story: "There is darkness in the night and yet the radiance of God’s love is in the child. The winter is cold but the baby brings the fire of God’s love to earth. The baby is so small and helpless; yet he is the Word, who in the beginning was God and was with God . . .The child is poor and lowly in origin, and yet it is the king of kings who is born into it.”
And it is just those contrasts that remind us of the longings of our own hearts. Sometimes our hearts are dark and cold – a kind of winter, yet we long for light and warmth in ourselves, in others and in God. We yearn for love but also resist it.
This vulnerable baby born in a stable breaks into our hearts to open us to the light of God. The hope of God. The peace of God. The love of God. But more than that, the birth of Jesus awakens in us a hope that is to be shared with others. A light that lights the darkness of others.
It is the custom here as we conclude our worship to light and hold a candle – a tiny light in a darkened church. A symbol of the light of Christ that we carry into the world with us. This light is meant to be shared through our own compassion, our own sense of caring, our own work to bring about justice and peace in our world.
I always remember the several Christmases I spent at Holy Trinity Church in the West Central neighborhood where we, too, lighted those individual candles before departing. Even though we extinguished the candles before leaving the building (mostly for safety reasons), I always felt like I was carrying just a tiny bit of the light of Christ and into that very challenging neighborhood when I left. But not just there, but into a troubled world that in so many places longs for peace and justice and safety and security. This year the desperation of refugees fleeing war, the anguish of those feeling the pain of racism, the struggle for dignity among the chronically poor all are all among us. The message of hope, the illumination of light in the darkness are needed as much or more today as in biblical times. And we are the messengers.
It is a daunting job, but it is our joy to spread good news that we have received. As you light your candle tonight, think of these words from a Hindu saint: "Don't be discouraged by your incapacity to dispel darkness from the world. Light your candle and step forward."
Alleluia! For us a child is born. Come let us adore him.
