The Coming of the Light

I’ve become somewhat obsessed with electric candles.

Okay, more than somewhat. I have them all over the house. Pillars with what look like real flames, flickering against the dark wall. Tiny pinpoints of fairy lights—glowing in jars, on shelves, and soon, on little Christmas trees.

I suppose this has something to do with the fact that it now gets dark at 4:30 in the afternoon! And, because one of my eyes is permanently dilated, very bright light is often blinding. The softer light of candles is so much more comforting.

Truthfully, though, I have long been preoccupied with light and dark, not only their physical realities but also their powerful symbolism. I’m particularly drawn to their use in scripture. My favorite is John 1:5—The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness has not overcome it.

The first half of the verse resonates deeply within me—and perhaps within you, too. It feels like a promise. It expresses a hope, a reassurance that the light does continue to shine. The light of God in Jesus Christ. The light of goodness, and perfect Love. The light that shines on, even when we can only see it dimly, sometimes through our tears.

This is the language of Advent. It’s in our readings, our music, our sermons. It’s in the flames of the Advent candles we light each Sunday. During Advent, we embrace the mystery of one of the many apparent contradictions of our faith. The Light has come, we say. And the Light is coming.

We spend less time talking about the darkness. The powers of darkness that have tried, are trying, and will continue to try to overcome the Light.

This is why the second half of John’s verse won’t leave me alone. With apologies for slipping into my English teacher voice, it’s the statement’spresent perfect tense that troubles me.

Present perfect is used to describe something that happened in the past and continues to happen now. The scripture doesn’t say, “Darkness will never overcome the Light.” It doesn’t say it will no longer try. No. It simply declares that “darkness has not overcome it.” The inference being…not yet.

I don’t believe that I have lived through a darker time than the one in which we now live. You may feel the same. No need to list all the disturbing, terrible things that are happening in our world, in our country—and in our community. It’s impossible not to see the fear, the pain, the anger that, ultimately, is not about political parties, but about the dignity of human life.

And we cannot bury our heads in the sand until it all goes away.

I know, because I’ve tried. I no longer listen to or watch the news. I read through only as many headlines as I can stand without being driven to a place of fear and sadness. But closing my eyes doesn’t make the darkness go away.

 It only blinds me to the fact that it may be spreading.

One of my favorite authors is a Canadian mystery writer, Louise Penny. Unlike many mysteries, her books are true literary fiction, wrestling with some of our most basic questions. Often, the question is this: What does it mean to be an authentically good person who cares deeply for others, in a world that often pushes us to be quite the opposite? In her novel, The Grey Wolf, she writes:

How easily humans could adjust to darkness. To dark thoughts and darker deeds. Until, finally, the darkness became normal. And they no longer missed, or looked for, or trusted, the light.

We cannot allow the present darkness to become our new normal. We cannot simply close our eyes.

Because some things must be dragged into the light, must be seen and heard and felt. People without enough food. Children separated from their families. Thousands suffering the loss of good medical care at prices they can afford. Students losing the means for education and training that lead to meaningful work.

No, we must not close our eyes to this.

Two important seasons are central to our faith tradition. Both are times of waiting. During Advent, we wait, and receive into our souls the Light of God, streaming from a newborn child. In Lent, we wait, and confront the darkness that destroyed that same, precious body on a cross.

But we know that in that death, darkness was not the victor. The death of the Messiah was not an ending, but a new way into resurrection life—for Jesus, and for us. It was, simply, a doorway into the Light of God. And we who believe are called not only to celebrate that Light, but also to make sure it keeps burning, in our hearts and in our lives, so the present darkness cannot diminish its brightness.

And so we light candles—whether wax or electric—and we remember.

The Light has come. The Light is coming. And the darkness has not overcome it.

May it always be so. Amen.

Lou Ann