 |
| Incarnation window at Boe Chapel, St. Olaf College |
There was a man sent from God, whose name was John. He came as a witness to testify to the light, so that all might believe through him. He himself was not the light, but he came to testify to the light. The true light, which enlightens everyone, was coming into the world.
He was in the world, and the world came into being through him; yet the world did not know him. He came to what was his own, and his own people did not accept him. But to all who received him, who believed in his name, he gave power to become children of God, who were born, not of blood or of the will of the flesh or of the will of man, but of God.
And the Word became flesh and lived among us, and we have seen his glory, the glory as of a father's only son, full of grace and truth. (John 1:1-14)
---
It started here last night.
It started with the one white Christ candle standing tall in the center of the Advent wreath, flickering brightly in the dim sanctuary.
It started. One candle flame, alive and dancing. And I tipped my candle toward it, and then there were two. And Pastor Miller tipped his candle toward mine, and then there were three.
We started at the inner corners of the sanctuary, holding our light so that others could receive it. And the light began to spread. A few candles grew into many, a few flames grew into a wave of fire. The dark night of the sanctuary became like dawn, full of brightness and heat, and we sang:
“Silent night, holy night, all is calm all is bright….Glories stream from heaven afar…Radiant beams from thy holy face, with the dawn of redeeming grace.”
The light from our candles lit the way through the night, and that light has now spread into the dawning of this Christmas Day. The moon has passed away into the morning sun, and the stars and angels have faded away into the brightness of God-in-the-flesh in his first day on earth all over again.
The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness has not overcome it.
* * *
That night when Mary and Joseph wandered the streets of Bethlehem, looking for shelter, it must have felt very dark. They had no place to rest and no place to keep warm. They were strangers in a city that should have felt like home. Homeless, hungry, cold, and in need, the dark night pressed in upon them…
...until a stable-lamp was lit. They came in out of the cold and dark. They nestled into a corner of a safe place, where cows and sheep held vigil. In the dim light of the stable, Christ was born, the light of the world.
The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness has not overcome it.
Out in the fields, the shepherds sat, nodding off in the black of nighttime. They kept one eye open amidst their dozing to fend off the shadows of wolves or thieves that would dare harm their flocks. Tired, overworked, exhausted, and poor, the night pressed in upon them…
…until the sky blazed with choirs of angels, praising God and singing “Glory to God in the highest, and peace on earth!” The shepherds, rich in joy and wonder, danced and leaped and rushed through the brightness to gaze upon the light of the Christ child in the manger.
The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness has not overcome it.
After nightfall and the doings of each day, we sit on our couches, and in the dark we watch the evening news. We endure reports of violence, whether in schools or in the Middle East or on the streets of Chicago. We see the darkness of hunger and poverty. We watch news anchors on location after storms and earthquakes and rebellions and protests. And like each generation before us, we say to ourselves, “we live in a dark time…”
…until we wake on Christmas morning, and the birds herald God’s new dawn over a world that has been changed, turned upside-down, because a baby has been born. Not just any baby, but Christ our Savior. He is our long-expected Jesus, born to set his people free, the son of righteousness who is risen with healing in his wings.
The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness has not overcome it.
* * *
Christmas Day has awoken upon this sanctuary. And in the dawning of this day, you notice that we have kept lighting candles around us, even in the daylight, adding to the splendor of this morning, light upon light. We light candles to remind us that Christ is born and that Christ is here.
We light the candles in front of the pulpit, telling us that Christ is present in the reading of scripture and the proclamation of God’s word.
We light the altar candles, which remind us that the light of Christ is present at the table, in the bread we eat and wine we drink, which nourishes us with God’s grace and forgiveness.
We light the four blue candles of the Advent wreath, remembering that even as we celebrate Christ’s birth today, we continue to wait for the day when Christ will come again.
We light Christ candle in the center of the Advent wreath, telling us that the light of Christ is once again born in the manger and in our hearts.
And today, a rare and special Christmas Day, we also light two other candles.
We light the tall Paschal candle – that strikes the fear of God into the hearts of the shorter acolytes who have to light it – because today we will celebrate a baptism. We will tell Harper Noelle that Christ is present in those waters, in which she will die to sin and rise again as an everlasting child of God.
And soon, we will light a baptismal candle and hold it in front of her curious eyes, and tell her that Jesus is the light of the world and pray that she, too, will let the light of Christ shine in her and through her that all might see God’s image in her.
The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness has not overcome it.
Every candle we light today says the same thing: Christ is here. But not only here. If I were to keep lighting candles in every place where Christ is present…
I would light a candle in the tents of homeless families and refugees and immigrants, for Christ, too, was a stranger in his own land.
I would light a candle at the feet of martyrs and prisoners and slaves and oppressed women, for Christ, too, suffered under the hands of unjust rulers.
I would light a candle inside every empty refrigerator and in every shelter and in every line winding out the door of a food pantry or soup kitchen, for Christ, the bread of life, is born today in Bethlehem, the aptly-named “city of bread.”
I would light a candle in office cubicles and on assembly lines, in fire houses and in police stations, in schools and in hospitals, for Christ lives in the gifts and vocations that each of us has been given.
I would light a candle by every cradle of every newborn, and by every gravestone of every saint who has gone before us, for Christ was born among us, and died, and rose again in blinding brightness.
If I were to keep lighting candles everywhere that Christ is present, the universe would look an awful lot like last night’s sanctuary.
One candle would become two, and then four, and four hundred, and then a thousand and beyond.
Because in Christ is life. And his holy life and love is the light of all people
The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness has not overcome it.
The light of Christ shines in the darkness, and the darkness will not overcome it.
For Christ was born in deepest night, and by his birth God dawned the deepest light.
This is why we celebrate Christmas. Why we need it, again and again each year, a thousand years back and a thousand years forward. Because we need this beautiful, fragile reminder that there is no place so dark that Christ’s light cannot shine, there is no corner so hidden that Christ’s light cannot illumine it.
The true light, which enlightens everyone, has come into the world.
The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness will never overcome it.
And we have seen the Word-made-flesh who lived among us, and we have seen his brilliant shining glory, the glory as of a father's only son, full of grace and truth and light.
No comments:
Post a Comment