December 24, 2010 - Christmas, Year A (RCL)
On Monday night,
or more accurately, Tuesday morning,
my alarm rang at 2.30am.
I got up, put on furry boots and a ski jacket and overcoat over my pajamas,
went outside, and looked up.
What I hoped to see
was a lunar eclipse,
the first time it has coincided with the winter solstice
in either 372
or 456 years,
depending on which expert you believe.
Anyway, the first time in a long time, and likely the only time
in our lifetimes.
And what I saw when I looked up
was
nothing.
In spite of forecasts for a clear night,
clouds had drifted in,
and there was no sign of the moon.
It was dark,
as dark as it ever gets
here in the suburbs.
This year, for some reason
I’ve noticed the winter darkness more than usual.
The sun seems to rise later than it ever did,
and I don’t remember it getting dark this early
in other years.
Of course, my head says
that I’m just imagining it;
the length of days doesn’t vary from one year to the next.
But it feels darker.
And perhaps that feeling
is not so much about the length of time between the sun going down and its rising again,
as about the state of the world.
Last year at this time, the recession had been declared officially over, and we expected things to get better in the year ahead.
This year, not so much.
The recession might be officially over,
but we haven’t seen the growth that we hoped for.
Family members and friends are still unemployed;
the stock market hasn’t fully recovered;
houses are in foreclosure;
and budgets are still tight.
Yesterday official statistics were more hopeful,
but there is still a cloud over our economy,
and if you’re like me,
there’s a lingering unease.
And it’s not just the economy.
This week
we’ve had more bad news about
the state of security in our world.
Yesterday [on Thursday]
two bombs went off at embassies in Rome;
yet another terror plot was uncovered
at the beginning of the week.
The war in Afghanistan looks like it will never end,
and in Iraq,
Christians are dying for their faith.
And here in our own parish,
we’ve had sadness and death.
It’s a dark time, this time of the year.
But one of the quirks of physics
is that there is no such thing
as darkness. In spite of what we might feel,
darkness
is not a presence.
What darkness is,
is the absence
of light.
And what it takes
to break the darkness
is simply to add
a little light.
Which is why, in the darkness of this midwinter,
the words of Isaiah
ring particularly clearly.
“The people who walked in darkness
have seen a great light;
those who lived in a land of deep darkness--
on them light has shined.”
Of course, Isaiah wasn’t talking about
the darkness we experience.
His was another darkness,
the darkness of a nation
that had been invaded,
and was under foreign rule.
Many people
had been taken into exile.
And what was left
was just a remnant
of its former glory.
And the people dreamt
of a time
when they would be free,
free of foreign government,
free of oppression,
free of the darkness
that had invaded their lives.
And then
a child
was born.
Just a baby,
but a royal baby, a prince,
one who might just grow up
to lead the nation
back to freedom.
A small light, but enough
to lighten
the darkness.
But that light
was only temporary.
And so it came to be
that the people waited for another light,
that would be more substantial,
a light that would burn brightly
and dispel the darkness
for all time.
They waited.
And then
one day
in a small town
in a stable
a baby
was born.
His father’s lineage
was impeccable,
descended from the great king David
and before that the patriarchs, Abraham, Isaac and Jacob.
Though there was some confusions about it;
rumor had it
that Joseph wasn’t his father at all;
that his mother hadn’t been with any man,
and this child
was conceived
by the Holy Spirit,
though how that could be
no-one
quite knew.
But there had been angels,
first coming to Mary,
saying,
“Don’t be afraid,”
though they had thought it might just be
her imagination
or wishful thinking.
But then Joseph received a visit,
and again the words, “Don’t be afraid,”
and it seemed like the imagination and wishful thinking
were contagious.
And finally the shepherds, far away in their fields,
and they had no way of hearing about Mary and Joseph’s angels,
and again the words, “Don’t be afraid.”
A Savior
is born.
And decades later,
the gospeller John
reflected on it this way.
“In the beginning
was the Word,
and the Word was with God,
and the Word was God.
He was in the beginning with God.
All things came into being through him,
and without him not one thing came into being.
What has come into being in him was life,
and the life was the light of all people.
The light shines in the darkness,
and the darkness did not overcome it....
And the Word became flesh
and lived among us.
Jesus Christ,
baby in Bethlehem,
Word made flesh
is the light of the world.
His great light
shines in the darkness
and dispels the gloom and fear.
And as our candles
are lit from from the great Christ candle,
so the light of Christ
light smaller lights
that together continue
to illumine
the darkness.
Light
is a picture in an English newspaper
of four soldiers from the Irish Guards, standing in front of an army hut.
One is wearing a green bed sheet round his shoulders, and a piece of green fabric tied on his head. Another has a white sheet,
and a scarf.
Another a red stripy sheet, and the fourth a scarf and a makeshift turban.
Two of them clutch pieces of paper.
It’s the shepherds,
greeting the Christ child at Camp Shorabak in Afghanistan.
Light
is the fifth grade in Quinhagak, Alaska.
They stand
in their classroom,
on the steps of the school,
in front of a container,
in a car,
behind a snowbank,
in a shop,
holding up signs
that spell out the words
of the Hallelujah chorus.
Light
is the Garbage Village in Cairo,
where for decades, tens of thousands of people,
the bottom rung of society,
have collected and sorted and recycled trash.
Thirty five years ago
one of the villagers
asked a businessman whose trash he collected
to explain to him the gospel of Jesus Christ.
Since then, the church in Garbage Village has become the largest church in the Middle East.
And the village has been transformed.
They still collect garbage,
but they transform it into things of beauty and usefulness.
There are schools and hospitals and gardens.
It is one of the safest places in the country,
and they now welcome and care for refugees from Sudan.
Al these pinpoints of light,
the light of Christ
transforming
the darkness.
For a child has been born for us,
a son given to us;
authority rests upon his shoulders;
and he is named
Wonderful Counselor, Mighty God,
Everlasting Father, Prince of Peace.
His authority shall grow continually,
and there shall be endless peace
for the throne of David and his kingdom.
He will establish and uphold it
with justice and with righteousness
from this time onward and forevermore.
We who have walked in darkness
have seen a great light;
We who live in a land of deep darkness--
on us light has shined.
Thanks be to God.
© Raewynne J. Whiteley 2010