Light; darkness
One brisk fall night in New Hampshire, I saw my first real Aurora Borealis.
Great organ pipes of color, streaming in majestic waves, lit up the deep
midnight blue sky. My family and I stood, awed by the beauty of God’s Glory, his
aura, for nearly an hour before the light show faded away and the darkness
settled in around us.
Darkness; light
A few years later, the darkness of depression hung heavy on my shoulders. My
prayers had diminished to a litany of “help me, help me.” I couldn’t see or hear
Jesus. He had until then been my constant friend since early childhood. I was
lost in the dark. A chance came along to join some women from St. Luke’s on a
weekend retreat, and I grabbed it, much as one reaches for a flashlight when the
power goes off.
That weekend, on my knees, I reluctantly completed what I thought was a hokey
assignment from the retreat leader—I wrote a letter to Jesus. It started
something like this. “Dear Jesus: I thought you were my friend. WHERE ARE YOU? “
And I poured out my anger, frustration and sadness. The experience didn’t end
there, however. We were then told to write Jesus’ answer to our letter. On my
knees once more, I heard the voice of Jesus say, “Sandra, I’ve always been
here—you are the one who was lost.” And the light came on, giving me life again.
Darkness; light
A 20th Century composer, Arthur Hoeneger, wrote a Christmas Cantata in which
I was privileged to sing many years ago. The Cantata requires a chorus, a boys’
choir, and a full orchestra. It also requires a very low C below low C organ
pipe. Our organ didn’t have one, so the choir built one out of wood. It was
about this big and ran from the organ ½ way down the center aisle of the church.
People had to climb over it when they entered the pews.
The Cantata begins with only the very low, mournful sound of that single pipe
for several bars. The note vibrates under everyone’s feet. Then the basses and
tenors begin to sing a dissonant moaning sound for a few measures. Finally the
sopranos and altos join them in a high-pitched wailing. Darkness and chaos
reign. Just when the ears can’t take another minute of the moaning and wailing
and the chills in the legs from that enormous pipe, everything stops. There is a
long, pregnant pause of complete silence.
Then, from the balcony, behind the congregation, comes the high sweet tones
of the boys’ choir, singing, “Do not be afraid; light has come into the world;
our Savior is born.”
Darkness; light
And the Word was made flesh; the true light that gives light to every person
came into the world.
Darkness, whether emotional or physical, can sap the very life out of a
person. In first century Palestine, the lives of the peasants were bleak. Living
was at a subsistence level for most people. A large part of the population lived
their lives huddled outside the walls of the city, and in the city conditions
were worse. The Roman elite and the temple priests bled the people and the
countryside dry through tribute and taxation. The people felt they were in
chaos, in darkness. Isaiah had promised a messiah, but where was he?
Darkness; light
Into this gloom came the light of a star and the sound of a cosmic choir of
angels. This Light of life still comes to us to dispel the darkness. But it’s a
funny thing about this Light—it has to be received before it relieves the
darkness. Hearts and eyes and ears must be open. Also, the Light reveals what
was hidden in the darkness. Most of you know that the downside of sunlight
streaming through your windows, brightening up the room, is that it spotlights
the dust on the surfaces and the grunge on the windows.
He came to his own, but his own did not receive him.
The light that is Christ illumines our hearts if we are brave enough to let
it in. I say “brave”, because those dust balls and dirty fingerprints are going
to be exposed under that clear light. Am I harboring anger against my brother or
sister, anger that is curled up in little balls in the corners? Are there the
dirty fingerprints of pride smudging my heart? What are those scuff marks;
sloth, arrogance, false humility? Paul reflects our dilemma in Romans. “For we
know the law is spiritual, but I am of the flesh. For I do not do what I want,
but I do the very thing I hate.”
These unclean spots are part of humanity’s condition. We all have them. Just
like dusting and window washing are necessary when that spring sun shines into
our homes, we need to keep cleaning our spots away through repentance. Then the
Lord God will be our Light. Light; darkness Sometimes the Light of Christ comes
to us in magnificent colors, like the Aurora. Or the fragrance of balsam needles
sprinkled on the top of a hot wood stove fills our nostrils and suddenly the
light of Christmas is upon us. Perhaps we find ourselves overcome by the happy
laughter, the warmth and love enveloping us at a family gathering. Or on a long
and tedious trip, we are startled by the sight of a hundred hot air balloons
rising out of a valley.
These times we catch our breath, overwhelmed by the majesty of the Light. It
is as if a revelation or vision of God has been visited upon us. We spiritually,
or literally, fall on our knees in praise. This light bursts upon us and we are,
as C. S. Lewis wrote, “Surprised by Joy.”
Light; darkness
More often, Jesus creeps quietly into our hearts, filling the corners,
lighting up our lives, lifting our mood, opening us up to others. This light
comes in commonplace forms. We sweep away the pride and fear and reach out to
our needy neighbor in love. We find the courage to risk embracing the dirty
homeless man, buying him a meal or giving him a blanket. We smile this light of
Christ at the harried young woman in line at the bank. Christ has lighted up the
commonplace with love and pushed away the dark. Light; darkness
Then there are the times when this light, which exists before, beyond, and
outside of time, brings to us the knowledge of God’s all-encompassing creative
Word that was and is. And we take on a little of the very essence of John the
Baptist. John was not the Light, says the writer, but one who was sent by God to
testify to the Light. He was the one who swore to the truth of the message. God
took John’s talent for prophecy and utilized it to send this life-giving message
to the people: The Word, who made all things, had come to heal a broken world.
God, seeking relationship with the people, responded to their yearning by
sending John to witness to the Light of God’s Glory.
God also uses our talents to bring the Light to those who still live in
darkness. Through our relationships with Christ, God helps us to build
relationships with those who haven’t heard the Word. We share this Word, The
Word, with others; from the pulpit; through story and song; in dance; or in
quiet moments around the Scriptures. Our own creativity leaps and dances, and
our Eucharist sings.
Darkness; Light
When the light bursts though the chaos of our lives, we worship through
service at the soup kitchen or thrift shop, or volunteering at the hospital, or
in a literacy program. We dispel the darkness by participating in a Community
Credit Union of Hope. There is no end—absolutely no end—to what can be
accomplished when we receive the Light of Jesus Christ.
To be a messenger for God, to be open to the light, we must spring clean our
hearts, our minds, and our lives. It is the routine of daily prayer and praise
that cleanses the corners. It is corporate worship that helps us to wipe away
the dirty fingerprints. It is the living out of our baptismal vows, dying with
Christ and rising in new life with him, that makes ready our souls and bodies
for the light of life.
Then we who are his WILL know him. Then the Glory of God, the great organ
pipes of Christ’s light, and the colors of the Holy Spirit will fill our lives.
And as it says in Revelation, “Night shall be no more; they shall need no light
or lamp or sun, for the Lord God will be their light, and they shall reign
forever and ever.” Amen
