Light into Darkness
Reflection
December 18, 2012
It is easy to be confused about what Christmas is in a world that acknowledges it with festive décor, an abundance of food and drink, parties and presents, and pressure to shop until we are deep in debt. The song “It’s the Most Wonderful Time of the Year” adds to the confusion.
But those things are so far from what Christmas really is. If you read the scripture, you will see that it is actually a story of pain, loneliness and fear. It’s a story of being chosen by God. But, we shouldn’t romanticize that either. Throughout the Bible, being chosen by God was far from good news. In this case, a pregnant unmarried teenager had to find her way in unknown territory as she lived with the risk of being stoned. It was terrifying and lonely to be chosen.
The Christmas story in the gospels doesn’t include chestnuts roasting on an open fire, a snowman named Frosty or a reindeer with a red nose. The story is one of God stepping into the mess of our lives and becoming human – not at a five-star hotel, but in a smelly barn where the rejected go. From Jesus’ first breath, he is in the midst of the pain of ordinary human life. His entire ministry is with those who are hurting and discarded. He dies as one rejected by society, abandoned by his closest friends.
So if you feel rejected and abandoned – if you feel grief or fear or pain of any kind tonight – the Christmas story is for you. It tells us that God has come among us to share our troubles. So we can bring our pain to God and trust that God understands it – from personal experience.
We gather tonight with our own burdens and we remember that we are not alone. We hold the people of Newtown, Connecticut in our hearts and know there is nothing we can do to take away their pain. But we trust God is with them in ways beyond our comprehension.
As we sit with all the pain and grief in our world tonight, we can turn to others who lived with incredible pain and suffering. There are times when it feels like we are the only ones who are hurting, but all around us people are in pain. Even so, I am often stunned at the resilience of the human spirit. At the end of a horrific experience, we may find ourselves looking back and asking, “How did I survive that?”
Corrie Ten Boom was a Dutch Christian who was sent to Ravensbruck concentration camp by the Nazis during the Second World War. She and her family had helped Jewish people escape the Nazi Holocaust. Corrie and her sister Betsie went to Ravesnbruck and Betsie eventually died of the sufferings she endured there. Listen to the words Betsie spoke to Corrie just before she died: “You must go all over the world and tell people what we have discovered here. You must tell them that there is no pit so deep that God is not deeper still. And they will believe you, because you have been here”.
“There is no pit so deep that God is not deeper still.” That was true for Corrie and Betsie, and it can be true for us tonight as well. So let us turn to God in our pain and struggle, knowing that God hears our prayers and shares our sufferings, and that nothing can ever separate us from God’s love for us.
The audacity of hope is not that our suffering is over tonight, but that we can rest in the One who has lived our pain. In our own darkness, God is with us beckoning us toward the dim light in the distance. We may not see it at all, or perhaps only a little. But we don’t have to see it. God keeps the light for us until we can see it ourselves. God gently holds us in the places that seem to be beyond all hope. God’s love is more than enough.
My friend Jan Richardson wrote a blessing for the longest night. It is a reminder that we may not be able to see in the dark, but the dawn is coming. We can trust that the steps we take will lead us toward the dawn.
Blessing for the Longest Night
-Jan L. Richardson
All throughout these months
as the shadows
have lengthened,
this blessing has been
gathering itself,
making ready,
preparing for
this night.
It has practiced
walking in the dark,
traveling with
its eyes closed,
feeling its way
by memory
by touch
by the pull of the moon
even as it wanes.
So believe me
when I tell you
this blessing will
reach you
even if you
have not light enough
to read it;
it will find you
even though you cannot
see it coming.
You will know
the moment of its
arriving
by your release
of the breath
you have held
so long;
a loosening
of the clenching in your hands,
of the clutch around your heart;
a thinning of the darkness
that had drawn itself
around you.
This blessing
does not mean
to take the night away
but it knows
its hidden roads,
knows the resting spots
along the path,
knows what it means
to travel in the company
of a friend.
So when this blessing comes,
take its hand.
Get up.
Set out on the road
you cannot see.
This is the night
when you can trust
that any direction
you go,
you will be walking
toward the dawn.
Reflection
December 18, 2012
It is easy to be confused about what Christmas is in a world that acknowledges it with festive décor, an abundance of food and drink, parties and presents, and pressure to shop until we are deep in debt. The song “It’s the Most Wonderful Time of the Year” adds to the confusion.
But those things are so far from what Christmas really is. If you read the scripture, you will see that it is actually a story of pain, loneliness and fear. It’s a story of being chosen by God. But, we shouldn’t romanticize that either. Throughout the Bible, being chosen by God was far from good news. In this case, a pregnant unmarried teenager had to find her way in unknown territory as she lived with the risk of being stoned. It was terrifying and lonely to be chosen.
The Christmas story in the gospels doesn’t include chestnuts roasting on an open fire, a snowman named Frosty or a reindeer with a red nose. The story is one of God stepping into the mess of our lives and becoming human – not at a five-star hotel, but in a smelly barn where the rejected go. From Jesus’ first breath, he is in the midst of the pain of ordinary human life. His entire ministry is with those who are hurting and discarded. He dies as one rejected by society, abandoned by his closest friends.
So if you feel rejected and abandoned – if you feel grief or fear or pain of any kind tonight – the Christmas story is for you. It tells us that God has come among us to share our troubles. So we can bring our pain to God and trust that God understands it – from personal experience.
We gather tonight with our own burdens and we remember that we are not alone. We hold the people of Newtown, Connecticut in our hearts and know there is nothing we can do to take away their pain. But we trust God is with them in ways beyond our comprehension.
As we sit with all the pain and grief in our world tonight, we can turn to others who lived with incredible pain and suffering. There are times when it feels like we are the only ones who are hurting, but all around us people are in pain. Even so, I am often stunned at the resilience of the human spirit. At the end of a horrific experience, we may find ourselves looking back and asking, “How did I survive that?”
Corrie Ten Boom was a Dutch Christian who was sent to Ravensbruck concentration camp by the Nazis during the Second World War. She and her family had helped Jewish people escape the Nazi Holocaust. Corrie and her sister Betsie went to Ravesnbruck and Betsie eventually died of the sufferings she endured there. Listen to the words Betsie spoke to Corrie just before she died: “You must go all over the world and tell people what we have discovered here. You must tell them that there is no pit so deep that God is not deeper still. And they will believe you, because you have been here”.
“There is no pit so deep that God is not deeper still.” That was true for Corrie and Betsie, and it can be true for us tonight as well. So let us turn to God in our pain and struggle, knowing that God hears our prayers and shares our sufferings, and that nothing can ever separate us from God’s love for us.
The audacity of hope is not that our suffering is over tonight, but that we can rest in the One who has lived our pain. In our own darkness, God is with us beckoning us toward the dim light in the distance. We may not see it at all, or perhaps only a little. But we don’t have to see it. God keeps the light for us until we can see it ourselves. God gently holds us in the places that seem to be beyond all hope. God’s love is more than enough.
My friend Jan Richardson wrote a blessing for the longest night. It is a reminder that we may not be able to see in the dark, but the dawn is coming. We can trust that the steps we take will lead us toward the dawn.
Blessing for the Longest Night
-Jan L. Richardson
All throughout these months
as the shadows
have lengthened,
this blessing has been
gathering itself,
making ready,
preparing for
this night.
It has practiced
walking in the dark,
traveling with
its eyes closed,
feeling its way
by memory
by touch
by the pull of the moon
even as it wanes.
So believe me
when I tell you
this blessing will
reach you
even if you
have not light enough
to read it;
it will find you
even though you cannot
see it coming.
You will know
the moment of its
arriving
by your release
of the breath
you have held
so long;
a loosening
of the clenching in your hands,
of the clutch around your heart;
a thinning of the darkness
that had drawn itself
around you.
This blessing
does not mean
to take the night away
but it knows
its hidden roads,
knows the resting spots
along the path,
knows what it means
to travel in the company
of a friend.
So when this blessing comes,
take its hand.
Get up.
Set out on the road
you cannot see.
This is the night
when you can trust
that any direction
you go,
you will be walking
toward the dawn.
