Light come into darkness

Sermon planned for the Longest Night service at Altona Mennonite Church on Wed, December 21st

Texts: John 1:1-14

"In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God... in him was life, and the life was the was the light of all people. The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness did not overcome it."

The gospel of John has summed up the entire life of Jesus, the purpose of his ministry, the nature of God's grace – in esssence, the entire salvation story is summed up in those first fourteen verses. Every year, during this season, I'm faced with these verses; and every year something else jumps out at me.

After I was asked to share a brief meditation here with you tonight, these verses caught my attention once again. This past week, I was struck with how John speaks about the context into which the Word of God was born. The light of the world came into darkness. The spoken Word of God was made flesh in a world that did not know him – a people that did not accept him. The light of the world came into a place of deep and long darkness.

What does it mean for us, here in southern Manitoba, to experience the longest night? Physically and emotionally, it means that we're not receiving nearly enough sunlight and its accompanying benefits. If you're anything like me, this season is more of a challenge for this reason. I've got less energy than normal – and feel less positive generally. But it's also a challenge for other reasons.

Some of us experience this Christmas as a time of intense loneliness. Some are grieving the loss of a spouse or family member. Others have never married, and find this 'family season' to be painful or just plain annoying. For some, mental illness can push-out any of the shimmer and beauty that others celebrate. For others, it is broken relationships that make this time especially painful. The darkness of this side of our planet is matched by the darkness in our personal lives, and by the struggles we face. A season of 'hope and peace' doesn't feel all that hopeful and peaceful. A season of fun-filled family festivities is experienced as a time of bleak loneliness.

The stories of the gospels are also marked by these mixed feelings. On the one hand, there's festive celebration, angelic announcements, and a Savior born in a manger. But there's also the imposed Roman census, the massacre of infants, and Mary, Joseph & Jesus' arduous escape to Egypt. Or as John puts it – the light of the world came into the world, and the world came into being through him; yet the world did not know him. He came into what was His own, and his own people did not accept him.

This rejection is first seen as Mary and Joseph being stuck in some kind of barn for Jesus' birth – but it was a rejection that went as far as Christ's execution on the cross. The Christmas story, in scripture, is no stranger to brokenness and darkness.

So why is it that I feel so out of place expressing these sentiments most of the time? The more people I talk to, the more I hear about the dark-side of this season. The embarassment of what parents would like to give their children, but can't because of inadequate income. The loneliness of widowhood. The emptiness of broken family relationships. I'm hearing about this side of Christmas more and more; and this year I'm bringing my own baggage to the table.

In spring, my wife Karen and I found out that we're unable to have children. We had been trying for two years, and when the news came that this was next-to-impossible we both entered into a period of grieving. This Christmas, that grief stirred, in me, once again. Isn't this supposed to be family time? There's so much about Christmas that is centered on children that when you're childless, you really notice what's missing in life rather than the good things God's gifted us with. We've decided to not put up a Christmas tree; not because we're scrooges... but because there's too much pain riding on that practice – too many fond family memories that now remind us of what we're not – parents.

Sometimes it seems that, for everyone else, this season has to be happy and giddy. And when people find out that things are a bit darker for you – they feel the need to offer their brilliant and profound words of comfort and wisdom for us. Instead of listening to the loneliness or the heartache, people will offer up a simple and cliche piece of "comfort" or wisdom.

It's as if our surrounding culture, and much of the church itself, doesn't know how to handle difficulty, doesn't know how to just be there, without any cheap advice or cheesy words of comfort. I'm sure this is all well-intended... but that just goes to show how little help intentions are. It's as if people don't read their Christmas story and see it for what it was: an introduction to Good Friday – a foretaste of crucifixion. The light of the world came into the darkness, and the people rejected him.

The hope and joy of Christmas is not family time... people without family, or with broken families know this. The hope and joy of Christmas is not enjoying the simple things, once the money's all gone... for some, there was no money to begin with. The hope and joy of Christmas is not merely that Jesus was born – because even after that, much of this world rejected that boy and his Kingdom. The hope and joy of Christmas is that this boy made it possible for us to become children of God.

The light came into the darkness... but the darkness did not overcome it. But to be able to say that means that you first got to get a grip on the fact that much of what we deal with in life is dark, broken, shattered and lonely. But this reality has not overcome the work of God. Your loneliness can find reprieve – not in some cliche, but in the God who set up camp in our midst, the Spirit that comforts you and walks with you in your grief.

The verse that stuck out most for me in John's passage is this piece about becoming children of God. "To all who received him, who believed in his name, he gave power to become children of God." Being childless, I can appreciate this power that God showed in Jesus. I can't provide my church with any more children – but God can. We can become God's children. It comforts me to know that God is counting me as a member in His family – and that in God's Church I am part of the lives of many children. In fact, I was asked to be a godfather just a few weeks ago. Not sure even what that all means, but I know that it's a journey I'm on because of the gift God has given me in Christ.

This Christmas, ignore the cliches and cheap wisdom that doesn't really comfort or help. In the darkness, that kind of talk is for those who are blind. The folks that are looking for a baby Jesus born into some sanitzed world of pure happiness and warm cozy family life – well... they'll find this Jesus in a stinky barn, born to parents on the run from a vicious King Herod, in occupied territory, and set for a journey towards the cross. The world of sentimental Christmas purity needs to wake up!The light of the world came into the darkness... This Christmas, we're allowed to name the darkness and the brokenness in our hearts and lives. The light came into the darkness... but, thanks be to God, the darkness is not overcoming that light! May it be so for you, this Christmas! May the light of Jesus remain alive amidst the deep and long darkness of night. Amen.