The Light in the Darkness 12-17-23
The Light in the Darkness
Is 61:1-4, 8-11; John 1:6-8, 19-28
Is 61:1-4, 8-11
The spirit of the Lord God is upon me, because the Lord has anointed me; he has sent me to bring good news to the oppressed, to bind up the brokenhearted, to proclaim liberty to the captives, and release to the prisoners; to proclaim the year of the Lord’s favor, and the day of vengeance of our God; to comfort all who mourn; to provide for those who mourn in Zion— to give them a garland instead of ashes, the oil of gladness instead of mourning, the mantle of praise instead of a faint spirit. They will be called oaks of righteousness, the planting of the Lord, to display his glory. They shall build up the ancient ruins, they shall raise up the former devastations; they shall repair the ruined cities, the devastations of many generations. For I the Lord love justice, I hate robbery and wrongdoing; I will faithfully give them their recompense, and I will make an everlasting covenant with them. Their descendants shall be known among the nations, and their offspring among the peoples; all who see them shall acknowledge that they are a people whom the Lord has blessed. I will greatly rejoice in the Lord, my whole being shall exult in my God; for he has clothed me with the garments of salvation, he has covered me with the robe of righteousness, as a bridegroom decks himself with a garland, and as a bride adorns herself with her jewels. For as the earth brings forth its shoots, and as a garden causes what is sown in it to spring up, so the Lord God will cause righteousness and praise to spring up before all the nations.
John 1:6-8, 19-28
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. This is the testimony given by John when the Jews sent priests and Levites from Jerusalem to ask him, “Who are you?” He confessed and did not deny it, but confessed, “I am not the Messiah.” And they asked him, “What then? Are you Elijah?” He said, “I am not.” “Are you the prophet?” He answered, “No.” Then they said to him, “Who are you? Let us have an answer for those who sent us. What do you say about yourself?” He said, “I am the voice of one crying out in the wilderness, ‘Make straight the way of the Lord,’” as the prophet Isaiah said. Now they had been sent from the Pharisees. They asked him, “Why then are you baptizing if you are neither the Messiah, nor Elijah, nor the prophet?” John answered them, “I baptize with water. Among you stands one whom you do not know, the one who is coming after me; I am not worthy to untie the thong of his sandal.” This took place in Bethany across the Jordan where John was baptizing.
Fluo-res-cence: the property of absorbing light of short wavelength and emitting light of longer wavelength. The illuminate one radiates love at frequencies higher than our blue eyes and red souls can see and so something ultraviolet is going on around us and in us and through us and our molecules quiver and warm; at one time I was young and wanted to light the world with gospel and the world would shine like glitter; after twenty years of dim effort and quavering and rarely flint spark I can see how it goes now with us; I am not the light and this is the gift I receive like an excised tumor clean; I am not the light though occasionally I fluoresce with the love supreme.
Prayer -
As a storeowner tacked a sign above his door, “Puppies for sale,” a little boy appeared and asked, “How much are you going to sell the puppies for?” The storeowner replied, “$50 each.” The little boy reached into his pocket and pulled out some change, “I have $2.37, can I have a look at them?” The storeowner smiled and whistled. Out of a kennel came Lady, followed by five balls of four-legged fur. One puppy limped and lagged considerably. “What’s wrong with that little dog,” the boy asked.
The storeowner explained that the puppy was born without a hip socket, and the vet told him that the puppy would limp for the rest of its life. The little boy’s face lit up, “That’s the puppy I want to buy!” The storeowner replied, “No, you don’t. If you really want him, I’ll give him to you.” The little boy didn’t hide his annoyance, “I don’t want you to give him to me. He’s worth every penny. I would like to give you $2.37 now, and give you 50 cents every month until he is paid for.
Taken aback, the storeowner minced no words, “Young man, you really don’t want to buy this puppy. This puppy is never going to be able to run and jump or play like other puppies!” The boy reached down and rolled up his pants leg to reveal a badly twisted, crippled left leg supported by a bulky metal brace. He looked up at the storeowner, “Well, I don’t run so well myself and this puppy needs someone who understands.” Light in the darkness.
When it seeks to tell us who Jesus is, John’s gospel begins at the same place as Gen 1:1. ‘In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God and the Word was God.’ ‘He was the beginning with God. All things came to life through him . . . What has come into being in him was life, and the life was the light of all people.’ That is why John could write later of Christ – “I am the light of the world,” that light that is the creating saving love of God for all peoples.
It was Amy’s first Christmas by herself since her beloved partner of ten years had died. In early November, the treatments ended and Amy stood by the bedside and said goodbye. Now she was alone, grieving, miserable. On this December night, snow was falling in the city and it seemed especially dark. ‘I had no idea it would hurt this much and for this long,’ Amy said to herself. I’ve got to get out of this apartment. These walls are closing in on me, she thought as she sank lower into her grief.
So she put on her coat, hat and gloves and walked out into the snowy December night. She walked a few blocks when an older woman, dressed in a tattered gray coat, came up to her and said, “Hey honey. Can’t you spare a few bucks for a poor old woman who’s got nowhere to go and nobody who cares?” Amy looked at her and thought for just a moment, you and me both sister, as she reached into her pocket and found five or six dollars which she handed to the old woman.
The woman looked at the money and seemed to sigh, “Thanks,” she said. Then Amy looked deeper into her purse and found a few more dollars and put that into the woman’s hand. The old lady brightened. “This is about the best news I’ve gotten in a long time,” she said to Amy. She put her arm around her in a half hug, turned and resumed her post on the corner, perhaps hopeful that tonight, with folks in more of a holiday spirit, she would find another generous soul.
Amy continued her walk down the sidewalk. As she did, the woman’s words stuck in her mind. This is about the best news I’ve gotten in a long time. She thought to herself, ‘Bet she doesn’t get much good news in her life. Living out here in the cold – begging for a handout. Light in the darkness.
Last week Mark’s gospel began with God sending a man whose name was John who indeed was not and is not the main event. To use John’s gospel’s own terms, John the Baptist wasn’t the Light, he was only a witness to the Light. The Light, as John’s gospel tells us, was Jesus. Jesus was, is and always will be the Light of the World.
John must have been quite a preacher because people who heard him thought he might be the messiah, the Christ. John is clear, ‘I’m just a voice,’ a fellow human being telling you the good news of the advent of the long awaited messiah. This is the beginning of John’s gospel and in a way, it’s also the beginning of the story of Christ. And when you think about it, it’s the beginning of your story and my story with Christ.
How did each of us get here in this church, standing on the threshold of Christmas, the mystery of the incarnation? You are here only because someone ‘sent from God’ told you the truth about Christ. Someone became a witness to you that the babe born in Bethlehem was your good news, the best news you’ll ever here.
Nobody is born Christian. This faith is not innate, natural, part of your genetic inheritance. You cannot think up this faith on your own by having a long walk in the woods, or by sitting quietly be a waterfalls. Someone must hand it over to you, tell you the story, attempt to help you see that this ancient story of Jesus is part of your story now. Somebody had to be like John the Baptist – a witness to the Light who pointed your gaze toward the light in the darkness.
Maybe your witness was a beloved grandmother like mine who shared her Light with me. Perhaps your witness was somebody who sat on the side of the bed in a dormitory room in college and argued with you into the night and overcame your doubts. Or maybe your witness was a writer of a book, someone who you never met, who wrote just the right words when you were wondering if there was something more. Or a youth minister or two who for the life of them wouldn’t let you escape experiencing what God’s grace looked and felt like. You and I wouldn’t be here this Sunday morning, affirming this faith, expecting the advent of the Messiah if someone had not been your John the Baptist, my witness, our giver of the gift of the Good News.
There’s something about this God whereby God chooses to make connection with humanity, to speak to us, through ordinary people like John the Baptist, my grandmother or Ernie Davis my youth minister. Ordinary folk are ‘sent from God’ like John to witness to the Light. If someone had not been a witness to you, you’d still be in the dark, so to speak.
Amy walked down the street then suddenly stopped and turned around and headed back to the street corner where the old lady still stood. ‘Hi, remember me?’ Amy said to her. The woman turned around and brightened, even in the snow, and cold and darkness. ‘Of course dear, how could I forget you and your kindness?’ ‘You said something to me that has stuck in my mind,’ Amy said. ‘I said something? You remember something I said,’ asked the old woman in amazement. ‘You said, This is about the best news I’ve gotten in a long time.’ ‘That sounds to me like you’ve been needing some good news. You shined a light on me with your words in the midst of my own darkness.’ Amy went on to share of her grief and sorrow and that the woman’s words meant a world of difference to her, that she could bring good news, light in the darkness.
As many of you know our Jewish sisters and brothers have just concluded Hannukah and during this season they light the Menorah. And one of the candles is used to light the other eight candles. This unique candle is called the shammash. Here’s what the little boy buying the puppy knew, we can be the shammash. We can be the candle lighters in a dark and broken world.
So as you prepare to go out into the world this week, remember the power of healing and restoring power of candle lighting. The power of someone who sees the broken places and does not run, but hugs and offers healing. The power of someone who listens and understands. The power of someone who creates safe places for grieving and resurrection. The power of embracing that the candle inside of your own vulnerability and brokenness is alive and well.
My confession is that I preach a good game, and too often try my best to hide my broken places. And pretend, somehow, not seeing the light. That’s why I am grateful for those who can be shammash in my life – like my wife, my best friends, my kids and grandkids, even you can shine light upon my life. “In everyone’s life, at some time, our inner fire goes out. It is then burst into flame by an encounter with another human being. We should be thankful for those people who re-kindle the inner spirit with their light.” (Albert Schweitzer)
Remembering the story of the young boy and broken puppy helped me to remember the power of bringing light to the darkness. Not as an assignment, rather honoring the gift that light spills simply by being present. ‘Today was a difficult day,’ said Pooh. There was a pause. ‘Do you want to talk about it?’ asked Piglet. ‘No,’ said Pooh after a bit. ‘No, I don’t think I do.’ ‘That’s okay,’ said Piglet, and he came and sat beside his friend. ‘What are you doing?’ asked Pooh. ‘Nothing, really,’ said Piglet. ‘Only, I know what Difficult Days are like. I quite often don’t feel like talking about it on my Difficult Days either . . . But goodness,’ continued Piglet, ‘Difficult days are so much easier when you know you’ve got someone there for you. And I’ll always be there for you, Pooh.’ And as Pooh sat there, working through in his head his Difficult Day, while the solid, reliable Piglet sat next to him quietly, swinging his little legs . . . he thought that his best friend had never been more right. Light in the darkness – thanks be to God – amen.